Underneath A Thousand Skies ✔️

96 Foster Son, Don't Be So Crazy (33)

Song Jia handed over a thick ivory card to the attendant. Its surface glimmered faintly—wax seal pressed with the sigil of the Bai royal house, a snow-white stag crowned with thorns.

The attendant gave the card a brief, practiced inspection, then inclined his head in approval.

He stepped aside and bowed deeply, one gloved hand sweeping outward in a graceful gesture as the great doors swung open before them.

"Welcome to the royal ball."

The ballroom was vast, stretching endlessly before them. Vaulted ceilings arched high above, their shadows softening in the warm light. Crystal chandeliers swayed gently, spilling fractured rainbows across the polished marble, turning every movement into a ripple of sparkling color.

Dark, towering tapestries lined the walls, each one embroidered with scenes of past queens being crowned beneath winter stars—pale and silent figures whose eyes seemed to follow those who passed. A double balcony ran the circuit of the walls, where guests with a higher status could hide behind the railings and look down at the spectacle below.

Music drifted through the air—soft strings, slow and haunting. A sinfonietta played from a raised gallery, unseen behind carved wooden latticework.

Just by sweeping a glance, Song Jia counted almost fifty candelabra.

Su Liang was not as reserved and secretive as Song Jia, so she had many friends in the capital. She quickly found her friends and bid her farewells to them.

Song Jia had not involved Su Liang in her plans, so she let her go without hesitation. Putting her hand lightly on top of Nian Shou's offered arm, they made their way to the center of the ballroom.

As they moved through the throng of guests, Song Jia felt as if she had stepped into a shifting mosaic of history.

The silver filigree threaded into the intricate braids of the various noblewomen caught the candlelight, sending fractured sparks dancing across their powdered faces like fireflies. Pearls glimmered at the nape of necks, their gowns of velvet and brocade whispering over the reflective marble floor, skirts undulating like waves. The men followed their lead, their doublets gleaming with threads of gold and silver, their cuffs and collars stiff with lace, each step measured and precise.

The music swelled, a lilting minuet that wound through the room like a silken ribbon, coaxing turns and curtsies, pauses and glances. Every movement was a ripple of light and shadow, stretching and recoiling, keeping pace with the music.

Nian Shou took Song Jia's right hand in his left hand and raised it. Song Jia put her other hand on his shoulder. He guided her effortlessly, his right hand firm yet gentle at her waist, his movements precise and unhurried. At one particularly flowing passage, Nian Shou spun her gently away from his body, letting her glide across the floor. The hem of her dress fanned outward like a halo of snow, the woollen petticoats beneath giving it a soft, billowing weight.

Song Jia took the chance to look up, her eyes lifting toward the balconies above.

Masked observers leaned over the railings, their whispers floating through the warm candlelit air like a secret breeze. A subtle nod here, a quick tilt of the head there, and entire conversations seemed to pass in the space between glances.

Nian Shou lowered his head and murmured to her in a low voice, "We should take this chance to see what Her Highness actually looks like."

Song Jia nodded.

The rumors about Princess Bai Xue's beauty were far and wide, but there were actually only a few people who had seen her face. Because they were too far in the south, Song Jia had great difficulty in finding a portrait of the princess. Even when they managed to find a portrait of her, the quality was so bad that Song Jia could hardly tell if it was the fairest face in the land or the depiction of a wild boar.