Outshine All the Stars

Isadora:

Two days of near-normalcy feel like a miracle.

I wake, attend every class, and—despite the ever-present whispers of the wards—the boys keep their silent promise. Each night one or all of them slips into the room, shadow and warmth woven together. Sometimes Silas claims the windowsill, shadows curling at his boots. Sometimes Rhett stands guard by the door, a dark sentinel. Kai always finds a way to make me laugh before sleep claims me. Even Lucian, though he pretends indifference, lingers in the hallway until dawn bruises the horizon.

It’s…refreshing. Almost normal.

Almost.

By the night of the Festival masquerade, the castle hums with anticipation. Music thrums faintly through stone corridors, a heartbeat in the bones of Ashwyck.

A knock breaks the quiet. When I open the door, a delivery waits: a sleek black box, tied with crimson velvet ribbon. On top lies a folded card in Kai’s familiar, elegant hand.

For the most gorgeous woman, the note reads, we will outshine all the stars in the sky.

—Kai

A smile tugs at me before I can stop it.

Inside the box, crimson tulle spills like liquid dusk. The gown is an A-line dream: ruffled sleeves that tumble off the shoulders, a bodice cinched for sin and shadow. Nestled beside it: a black lace mask, and jewelry of blood-red stones that catch the candlelight like captured hearts.

I run my fingers over the fabric, soft as a secret. For a fleeting second I let myself imagine a night where prophecy and darkness do not matter.

Later, candlelight pools across the room as I wrestle with the corset strings. The gown fits like a whispered dare, but the laces defy me.

A knock.

Before I can answer, Kai slips in—immaculate in a perfectly tailored black suit with subtle crimson embroidery that mirrors my own dress. His grin is a slash of wicked delight.

“Need a hand?” he asks, eyes glinting.

I turn, the back of the gown gaping just enough to feel scandalous. “If you must insist.”

He steps behind me, fingers warm as they slide along the ribbons. “Breathe in,” he murmurs, drawing the laces tighter with practiced precision. “Not too much. I like you breathing.”

His breath skims my neck; a shiver trails down my spine. When the last knot is tied, he reaches for the necklace. The blood-red gems settle cool against my skin, a perfect counterpoint to his heat.

“There,” he says, voice a low velvet. “You’re absolutely lethal. I got the color scheme from your bloom of nightshade in the windowsill.”

I can’t resist brushing my hand along the lapel of his jacket, the silk beneath my fingers sparking something reckless. “So are you.”

He catches my wrist, but instead of pulling away he presses a slow kiss to my palm. “Shall we—”

The door bursts open.

Three shadows fill the threshold.

Rhett stands first, broad shoulders tense, eyes burning like stormlight, the the head to toe black dress outfit doesn't help. Silas hovers a step behind, all sharp lines and quiet menace, his formal black coat tailored yet austere. And behind them, leaning with deceptive ease, is Lucian: crimson shirt unbuttoned just enough to be sinful, dark gray slacks and a black jacket framing his careless elegance.

Kai sighs, still holding my hand. “Gentlemen.”

Rhett’s gaze rakes over me, fury warring with something darker. “Kai,” he growls, “you didn’t think we’d let you have all the fun?”

Silas’s eyes flick to the crimson stones at my throat, unreadable but intent. Lucian’s half-smile is a knife. “You two were taking your time.”

The air thickens, charged as the moment before a storm.

I step forward, fingers still tingling from Kai’s touch. “Are we going, or are you all planning to brood in her doorway all night?”

Lucian’s eyes catch mine—silver-black, hungry. “After you, little star.”

The Grand Hall is a cathedral of shadow and candlelight. Crystal chandeliers drip molten gold. Masks of every shape gleam—silk and velvet, feathers and bone. The air tastes of wine and uncoming winter.

Whispers follow us as we enter. I feel the weight of their stares: the girl in crimson flanked by four dark royals. My pulse drums like the distant music.

Kai keeps me close through the first dance, his hand sure at the small of my back, his smile easy as the crowd parts around us. We spin beneath a sky of candle flames until my laughter rings against the stone.

Then Rhett appears, all restless heat. “My turn.”

Kai relinquishes me with a mock bow. Rhett’s grip is possessive but careful, guiding me through a wilder rhythm. His scent—woodsmoke and storm—wraps around me, a promise and a warning. “You look like fire,” he murmurs near my ear. “Don’t let him burn you.”

Before I can answer, Silas slips between us like a shadow given form. He moves with a quiet grace, his touch barely there yet impossibly grounding. The world narrows to the steady cadence of his breath. “The night is loud,” he whispers. “But you…you’re the only sound that matters.”

A final twirl and Lucian claims me, the crowd drawing a collective breath. His hands are sure, his body a controlled hunger against mine. “Careful, little star,” he says, voice a dark purr. “Everyone’s watching.”

“Let them,” I reply, surprising myself.

He smiles—a flash of fang and moonlight—and spins me until the room blurs.

By the time the music softens, my heart is a riot of beats not entirely my own. Each of them lingers nearby, a constellation of shadows orbiting my flame.

For a few stolen hours, prophecy and dread recede. I am simply Isadora—masked, alive, the center of a dance that feels both perilous and inevitable.

And above us the chandeliers flicker, as though the stars themselves are leaning closer, waiting to see how the night will end.