Chapter 7 – The Hollow Masquerade

  The Grand Masquerade Ball of Voltheria arrived draped in candlelight and silk.

  Gilded masks shimmered like ghosts beneath the chandeliers, casting ripples of reflected firelight across the polished marble. Music floated from the minstrels’ corner like something half-remembered in a dream. It was a night for illusion, for secrets to slip between gloved fingers and eyes to lie behind painted porcein.

  Lilienne stood near the center of the ballroom, her hands lightly csped in front of her. She wore sapphire silk that caught the light with every movement, her bodice ced with silver embroidery that bloomed like frost. Her mask, delicate and ced with purple gems, framed her soft features like a bruise turned beautiful. She didn’t belong here, she felt it in the stiffness of her breath, in the way ughter from the nobles rang too loud, too hollow.

  They greeted her as though she were family. But their smiles were masks, too.

  And behind her, there were whispers.

  “Lavender hair... is that—?”

  “She’s from House Nocthrein, isn’t she?”

  “I thought they were all gone.”

  “The traitor’s blood…”

  “Such a rare shade. Only the Sirius line bore that color.”

  “I’ve heard that the daughter of Caelistra-Veyrath is of Nocthrein’s blood.”

  “Then could she be-?”

  The murmurs hissed like wind slipping through marble cracks, soft, but never kind. Nobles, even behind masks, cast side gnces at the long, pale-vender strands that spilled down her back. No matter how regal her dress or how composed her poise, that hair reminded them of things better buried: war, betrayal, a fallen general, and a house they’d rather forget.

  Across the marble floor, Lucian leaned against a column near the open balcony. His mask resembled a raven's beak, dark and narrow, leaving his sharp eyes untouched. He didn’t dance, didn’t speak unless spoken to. Instead, he observed. He watched the angles of bows, the flick of fans, the tremble of smiles that said far more than the words behind them.

  The kingdom was holding its breath tonight. And Lucian knew how to read silence.

  A whisper of movement shifted the atmosphere near the eastern staircase.

  She entered with the grace of a falling petal, gliding rather than walking.

  The girl was unfamiliar to Lilienne, but no one could miss her. She wore a gown of soft ivory chiffon that seemed to glow faintly under the light. Her sky-blue hair flowed in soft, effortless waves down past her waist, ethereal and gently swaying with each step. The mask she wore was a silvery blossom, sculpted like a bloom of moonlight over her eyes. Beneath it, her gaze shimmered with a gentle pink hue, like crushed rose quartz wet with tears. Her lips, soft and naturally tinted, looked almost as if she’d stepped out of a dream.

  “Who is she?” Lilienne murmured aloud without realizing.

  “Oh my, she’s from House Lysarian,”

  “It must be Solenne. One of their muses. A rare one.”

  “Solenne Lysarian? The daughter of Viscountess Virelia, the head of Lysarian?”

  The room filled with soft whispers yet again, nobles speaking in hushed tones as their curious eyes followed the girl, graceful and striking, she moved with quiet elegance.

  The name struck Lilienne like a quiet thundercp, Lysarian. Her breath caught subtly in her throat. House Lysarian, the silent house. Apolitical, quiet, beautiful. Known for their distance from power struggles, and for sending their muses into the capital as tokens of peace. Tokens, people called them, as if they were paintings or flowers.

  But Lilienne knew better.

  Her eyes lingered on Solenne's retreating figure, tall and poised in her graceful stride. Cold, yes, but strikingly composed. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, she radiated the mystery that surrounded her house.

  House Lysarian... they’ve sent her letters.

  The memory surfaced unbidden. Those cryptic, unsigned messages she’d found randomly around her belongings. Letters that hinted at truths behind her father’s death. Secrets of the pace. Warnings. Every word had been carefully chosen, almost too carefully, as if the writer was deliberately hiding their identity. Though the letter hinted at ties to House Lysarian, it was clear they didn’t want to be found.

  She had long wondered: who sent them? Who in Lysarian knew the truth?

  Now, her heart beat faster. Solenne... could it be her? Was she involved somehow? Or at the very least, did she know something?

  Lilienne’s eyes sharpened with a quiet resolve. If this muse from Lysarian was within reach, then so too was a chance to dig deeper into her father’s case. She didn’t believe in coincidence, not here in Voltheria. Not anymore.

  If House Lysarian had decided to pce someone like Solenne in the pace, there had to be a reason. And perhaps... Lilienne had just found her next lead.

  Solenne moved alone. She offered no smiles, no eager conversation. There was respect in her posture, in the slight tilt of her head when nobles greeted her, but not warmth. Her eyes scanned the crowd as if searching for something unpleasant beneath the perfume and ce.

  Lucian’s gaze briefly caught hers as she passed the balcony. For a moment, nothing was exchanged. No words. No gestures. Then she looked away, a subtle scoff in her breath, and turned toward the far end of the hall where lesser nobles gathered.

  Lucian blinked. He knew her. Not personally. But he’d seen her before. That ethereal sky-blue hair of hers is impossible to forget.

  She was always there. An entertainer, a muse, a living flower pced to decorate the pace halls.

  At royal meetings, she stayed on the edges. At feasts, she sat in silence, distant from the seats of power. Though her beauty was praised and her presence requested, she moved like a shadow through the court.

  Seen, admired, but never entangled. Even though she was often in the pace, or pyed her part beside nobility, she never allowed herself to become one of them.

  Lucian remembered her stillness, the way she watched but never involved herself. And more than once, he’d heard her refer to him as something under her breath when she passed.

  “Royal dog.”

  Solenne Lysarian did not like him.

  And tonight, she was here, as expected of the muse. Dressed in reverence. Masked like the rest. Yet clearly apart.

  As fate would have it, they crossed paths near the wine fountain. She had turned at the same time he approached, and they nearly collided. For a breathless second, they simply stood too close.

  “Forgive me,” Lucian said first, stepping back.

  Solenne tilted her head. “No harm done.”

  Her voice was smooth and lovely, but cool, like water that hadn’t touched sunlight.

  “You’re Lucian Elion Caelistra,” she added, eyes narrowing. “The cipher. They say you spend more time with the crown than with your own kind.”

  “I do what the kingdom asks of me.”

  “A noble answer,” she said. “Fitting for a noble.”

  Lucian didn’t rise to the bait. “And you are Solenne Lysarian. A muse of House Lysarian. They say you’re known for keeping silence.”

  “I speak when it matters,” she replied. “To those who deserve it.”

  Before he could respond, she dipped her head respectfully and turned away.

  Lilienne had been watching from a distance, close enough to sense the weight in Solenne’s graceful movements. The tension in her shoulders, the subtle sharpness in the way her gaze swept the room as if evaluating everyone and finding them cking. It was rare to see someone from House Lysarian up close, let alone someone as striking and elusive as her.

  Lilienne adjusted her posture, smoothing the folds of her dress and steadying her breath. She couldn’t afford to appear uncertain. Not now.

  Solenne was more than a passing curiosity; she might be a key. And if there was even a sliver of chance that this woman had a connection to the letters Lilienne received, then building a bridge between them wasn’t just useful. It was necessary.

  As Solenne passed near, Lilienne stepped slightly forward, enough to be noticed but not enough to seem intrusive. She dipped into a graceful curtsy, her voice calm, carefully measured.

  “You must be Lady Solenne. It’s an honor.”

  She lifted her gaze just in time to catch the Lysarian woman’s subtle gnce. A hint of interest, or suspicion, behind her cool expression. Lilienne held her smile, soft but poised. Her tone had been polished, respectful yet warm. She wanted to seem intelligent, approachable... harmless, even. But underneath it all was intent, an unspoken hope that this first impression might be the first stone in a fragile path toward trust.

  And information.

  Solenne’s eyes flicked over Lilienne’s gown, her mask, and then her hair.

  Her breath hitched, subtle but present. The vender shade, impossible to miss.

  The mark of Sirius.

  There was no mistake.

  Solenne had heard the whispers already, the same ones echoing through the halls in poisonous tones. Her gaze lingered longer than it should have, and though she said nothing, a flicker of discomfort passed through her expression. Not for herself. For the girl in front of her.

  She did not pity nobles. She didn’t trust them either.

  But something about Lilienne’s stillness, her carefully composed face amid the scrutiny, struck a quiet chord.

  Still, Solenne chose silence.

  She returned the courtesy, her voice gentler, more guarded.

  “And you are…?”

  “Lilienne Aeris Caelistra.”

  Solenne paused. Her lips parted slightly, surprise fshing across her features. “Caelistra?”

  Lilienne nodded, her heart quietly skipping. That brief look, it meant something. Recognition? Wariness?

  “I see.”

  Solenne’s expression settled into something unreadable. She didn’t greet her coldly, but not warmly either. It was the polite indifference of someone used to keeping nobles at arm’s length.

  And yet, even as she stepped away, part of her lingered behind.

  She didn’t want to get involved.

  But she did feel a twinge of something.

  A strange, quiet ache she didn’t let reach her face.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, and drifted away like a breeze slipping out of reach.

  Lilienne stood still, her posture composed though her stomach quietly sank. She hadn’t expected warmth from a Lysarian, especially not one bound to the pace as a political ornament. But part of her had hoped… foolishly, perhaps. She knew how the family operated: apolitical, beautifully distant, always silent no matter what storms circled the capital. They sent cryptic letters and never answered. Their muses were supposed to remain uninvolved, untouched.

  Still, Lilienne couldn’t ignore the potential. If House Lysarian had been sending her the mysterious warnings, then Solenne might be more than just a passive observer. There was a chance, however slim, that she was involved.. or at least aware.

  Lilienne inhaled slowly, forcing the disappointment down. She couldn’t push too hard. Solenne was the kind to sense desperation and retreat further. No… she would need time. She would need to approach carefully, deliberately. Befriend her without suspicion.

  And eventually… ask the right questions.

  The Crown Prince arrived as if unaware of the weight he carried with his name.

  Ravien Eryx DeLacroix wore a velvet ensemble of deep forest green and gold, his mask simple, elegant, and unassuming. He greeted each noble with the grace of someone who meant it. No hint of boredom. No distance. His ughter was soft, bright, and seemed to lighten the air rather than command it.

  When he spotted Lilienne across the ballroom, he paused. Just a breath. His eyes softened. He offered her a gentle smile and a respectful nod before continuing his greetings. Nothing presumptuous. Nothing more than polite regard.

  Without warning, when the maid’s scream cut the music in half, Ravien didn’t freeze. He was among the first to reach her side.

  He knelt beside Lucian, lifting the injured hand with careful tenderness. “Gods—she’s shaking,” he murmured, voice full of concern. “Please, fetch a healer. Now.”

  Lucian tensed beside him, eyeing the blood. “She said she was in the east wing. That’s—”

  Ravien interrupted gently. “That wing is locked tonight, isn’t it? She must’ve gotten turned around.”

  He turned to the maid, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “You’re safe now, alright? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she nodded.

  Then he looked up, smiling reassuringly at the gathering crowd.

  “A frightful accident, but it’s under control. She’s being cared for.” He helped the guards lift her carefully. “Let us not turn this evening into fear. Not for her sake.”

  When he looked back at Lucian, there was no cold command, just quiet trust.

  “Will you check the wing ter, Lucian? Just to be safe.”

  Lucian nodded slowly, still unsettled but without reason to object.

  And just like that, the music resumed.

  As the commotion faded, Ravien’s gaze drifted to Lilienne. She stood still, visibly shaken by the sudden incident. He approached her slowly, careful not to startle her further.

  “I owe you an apology, Lady Lilienne,” Lucian said gently, his voice soft with regret. “I was the one who invited you here as my personal guest, yet the night unraveled the moment I arrived.”

  Drawn back to the present, Lilienne turned to face the crown prince. Her expression softened. “It wasn’t your fault, Your Highness. No one could’ve predicted this. Still... thank you for your concern. I’m grateful you invited me.”

  Ravien exhaled quietly, a small breath of relief passing his lips. “Then let me make it up to you,” he offered. “Would you care to step outside for some fresh air?”

  He extended his arm, offering his hand as he bowed his head slightly. A gesture both respectful and sincere.

  Lilienne hesitated, only for a moment. Her heart stirred at the unexpected kindness in his voice. No one from the Caelistra-Veyrath manor, nor from the capital or pace, had shown her such gentle regard. No matter where she is, everyone seemed to view her only as a product of her bloodline, a girl shaped by circumstance. But Ravien… he looked at her differently.

  Wordlessly, she pced her hand in his. His touch was warm, steady, and not the least bit demanding. With quiet grace, he led her away from the lingering stares and murmurs, guiding her gently through the parting crowd. The music had resumed, but for Lilienne, it faded into the background, overshadowed by the soft certainty of his presence beside her.