“Is this really a good idea?” Estel whispered, trying to adjust the folds of her gown in the cramped carriage. “If the Viscount finds out that we don’t have invitations, how am I going to answer him?”

  “Rex, I’ll think of it when the time comes.” Checking her reflection in a pocket mirror, the Witch produced a small wooden box and opened its lid. “Wear this. Remember to keep it on at all times.”

  She nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the mask id out inside the box. It was a marvellous piece of art, crafted from fine white porcein and adorned with delicate gold filigree in the design of a swan.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I borrowed it from one of the guests.”

  “…borrowed?”

  “Without permission,” the Witch added with a smirk, slipping on her own disguise—a bck mask yered with feathers that sprouted from the sides like raven wings. “Can you help me take a look at my dress? I’m not really used to wearing such eborate clothes, to be honest.”

  “Hmm…ah, this needs some adjusting. Please pardon me.” Estel turned her around and pulled the ces of her corset tighter.

  “Oomph—”

  She shot a bemused gnce at the Witch. “Why are you making such a funny noise?”

  “J-just hurry up and do it…”

  Estel obliged, tying the corset with a final tug before smoothing out the yers of the Witch’s dress. It was a striking ensemble—obsidian silk embroidered with shimmering thread that caught glints of purple and indigo beneath the ntern light. The train flowed like liquid midnight, and the feathered colr framing her shoulders lent her the regal poise of a dark sorceress straight from a fairytale.

  “…why are you staring at me like that again?” the Witch mumbled, her cheeks flushed.

  “I was just wondering how much you will stand out tonight,” she said honestly. “Knowing him, I’m sure the Viscount will definitely approach you tonight. Is that also part of your pn?”

  “Well, he’s not the target I’m after…” The Witch shrugged and gave a teasing smile. “You don’t look half-bad either, you know. The Viscount might notice you first before me.”

  Estel gnced down at her own dress—an icy vender satin that clung to her slender frame before cascading into a fan of pleats at her waist. Silver beads caught the light as they traced the swirling embroidery along her bodice, mimicking the trails of frost on a winter morning.

  “…now you’re making me feel self-conscious too.”

  “Oh, please, you should be more confident in yourself,” she chided, waggling a finger. “When you receive compliments from others, you must act haughty and fan yourself with an arrogant smirk! That’s how a real viliness does it.”

  “You sure do know a lot about vilinesses, don’t you?” Estel said, heaving a sigh. “But I still don’t get it.”

  “Hm?”

  “If what you’re saying is true, and I am really an evil character whose sole purpose is to be selfish and destroy the happiness of others—then what exactly do you like about me?”

  The Witch paused, her face unreadable in the dim light.

  “Well…” She gave a small, awkward cough. “This is kind of embarrassing to say out loud, but I’ve always thought that the viliness is the coolest character ever in any otome story. So just the fact that you’re Estel and radiate that ‘if evil, why hot?’ energy is enough to fall in love.”

  Estel offered her a dry smile. “Have I ever mentioned that the way you sometimes talk about others is freakish?”

  “I’m sorry, you’ll just have to get used to it.”

  The carriage rolled to a halt.

  The Witch leaned toward the window, parting the velvet curtains just a fraction. Outside, nterns hung in the air like fireflies, illuminating the grand facade of Viscount Revent’s manor. Masked guests swirled around the manor grounds in bursts of color, ughter ringing out like distant bells.

  “Get ready,” the Witch whispered, signalling to Estel. “It’s showtime.”

  The driver opened the carriage door, and the two women stepped out, their heels tapping against the polished stone in tandem. The scent of roses and warm wine wafted in the air, and distant violins pyed an elegant waltz that transported them away from reality.

  But first—the main gate.

  Two guards fnked the entrance, cd in silver-trimmed uniforms and armed with halberds. One stepped forward, bowing deeply.

  “Ladies, may I see your invitations?”

  “Oh dear,” the Witch said, drawing close with a refined simper and a dramatic sigh. “We had them, but—” she leaned forward conspiratorially “—there was an incident in the lower gardens. A rather scandalous affair, if you understand. Our escort panicked and fled with our belongings before the stewards could intervene.”

  The guards exchanged a bewildered look.

  Estel blinked. That was not what they had agreed to.

  “Lord Revent himself invited us,” the Witch continued smoothly. “And I imagine he’d be most displeased if his special guests were barred entry over such a petty inconvenience.”

  The guard frowned. “May I ask for your names?”

  “Lady Ilverin,” the Witch said with regal poise, gesturing to Estel. “I am the retainer of Her Grace Lady Morwenna, of the Duskwell Court.”

  She tilted her head ever so slightly, letting the feathered shadows of her mask py over her face like a whisper of enchantment. The fake name-dropping was totally outrageous—but from the way she said it, they might as well have been gospel.

  The second guard shifted uncomfortably. “We weren’t informed of any guests with those names—”

  “Of course you weren’t,” the Witch interjected gently, almost pityingly. “It wouldn’t be a masquerade if everyone knew who was attending, would it?”

  A tense pause followed.

  Then, the first guard stepped aside. “Very well. Please enjoy your evening, my dies.”

  Once inside the manor grounds, Estel exhaled a breath she didn’t know she had been holding in.

  “You—how did you even come up with that?”

  “Nobles don’t usually hire the brightest bunch to become their guards, you know.”

  Past the marble archways of the garden, the masquerade ball spilled out into the open night beneath a sky littered with stars. A gentle mist curled around the ankles of the masked guests, conjured by subtle enchantments to keep the atmosphere cool and ethereal. Floating nterns bathed the trimmed hedges, stone fountains, and manicured flowerbeds in a soft, romantic glow—the perfect mood for nobles who wished to get together without their social standings getting in the way.

  I knew that Viscount Revent hosted many extravagant parties in his estate, but I’ve never been to one before…it sure feels different from the gas in the royal capital.

  Every breath Estel took seemed too luxurious for reality. She watched a dy in a rose-pink gown twirl beneath the sea of nterns before them, the wings of her butterfly-shaped mask fluttering with every turn. Her partner, wearing a half-mask of a fox, held her with theatrical flourish while the spectating masqueraders appuded. From the far corner, ughter bubbled from clusters of nobles lounging in silk-draped gazebos, their voices low and flirtatious. Servers in ivory uniforms drifted between them with a practised grace, bancing trays of sparkling wine and dark-red liqueur.

  “What should we do now?” Estel whispered in the Witch’s ears. “You said that you are looking for a specific target, have you found him?”

  The Witch took two flutes of sparkling wine from a passing server and offered one to her. “It’s not time for him to make his appearance yet. Just rex, you look way too tense for such a lovely atmosphere.”

  The music changed—slower now, more intimate, with a deep cello threading through the violins. A new pair took the stage: a man dressed in full white with a mask shaped like a falcon, and a tall woman draped in liquid gold, her mask smooth and featureless save for a single ruby set between the brows. Their movements were sharper, more intense. The watching guests quickly fell silent, completely enthralled by their dance.

  “A breathtaking performance indeed, wouldn’t you dies agree?”

  A voice, smooth as honey and ced with nguid amusement, cut through the music behind them.

  That voice…

  The Witch turned first, her expression unreadable beneath the feathers of her mask. Estel followed, slower, her breath catching as she id eyes on the man who had emerged like a shadow from the nternlight.

  He was tall, wrapped in a deep sapphire coat embroidered with silver thread that caught the light in glimmers like frost. A mask of gleaming bck obscured his face, the high, curved beak and snted eye slits giving his features a sharp, predatory elegance.

  But Estel didn’t need to see his face to know who he was.

  After all, there was only one man in the entire court who spoke with such a precise rhythm to his tone, a man who chose every word he said as if it were part of a game he never lost. Polite, confident, and always on the hunt for the test hearsay.

  “Viscount Revent,” Estel said, then immediately regretted it. “O-oh, I—”

  Masquerade etiquette! You’re not supposed to—

  The man tilted his head slightly. “I don’t recall introducing myself.”

  Estel cursed inwardly.

  But the Viscount only chuckled—a low, velvety sound that prickled along her spine like static. “That’s quite the perception you have, my dy. Or perhaps… I’ve made more of an impression than I thought.”

  He stepped closer, his presence almost too tangible, like a heat she could suddenly feel in her lungs.

  The Witch’s voice slipped in, smooth and deflective. “Oh my, how rude of us to not introduce ourselves to the esteemed host of tonight’s party! My name is Ilverin, and she is Morwenna. A pleasure to meet you, Viscount.”

  Revent smiled—or at least, Estel thought he did. She couldn’t see it behind the mask, but she felt it. A curl of amusement yered with interest.

  “I have heard many names, but this is the first time I have come across such interesting identities,” he murmured. “I have to wonder if the Duchess came up with them—or perhaps,was it your invention?”

  Estel stiffened behind her mask. But the Witch ughed breezily, seemingly unfazed by his provocation.

  “I’m honoured that the Viscount finds our names unique,” she said. “Pray tell, how should we address you tonight?”

  With graceful poise he reached out and lifted the Witch’s hand, pressing a kiss to her gloved knuckles.

  “Since you are already aware of my identity, I entrust you with my secret, Lady Ilverin,” he said, releasing her hand with a gentleman’s precision. “And you, Lady Morwenna. Please enjoy the rest of this evening, my mysterious swans.”

  And then he was gone—disappearing into the ntern-dappled haze like a ghost wrapped in silk and secrets.

  Estel didn’t move for several long seconds.

  The Witch exhaled beside her. “Jesus, what a sly character to deal with. Please be more careful with introductions next time…”

  The rest of her words were lost as a distant sound cracked through the night—like a string snapping under pressure. The music faltered. Several masqueraders turned their heads, puzzled expressions peeking through their ornate masks.

  A second bst shook the ground beneath their feet. The nterns overhead swayed, several flickering out. A sudden wave of hot air smmed across the garden. Screams followed—high, shrill, and filled with utter panic.

  Estel’s heart jumped. “What’s going on?!”

  “Took him long enough.” With a gleeful smile, the Witch grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the trees. “Let’s go—time to meet the star of the show!”