Chapter 9

The halls of Moonspire Castle were ablaze with light, golden chandeliers scattering their glow across a sea of silk and jewels. Music poured from the vaulted ceilings — strings and flutes weaving together a melody both haunting and mesmerizing.

Serenya stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, hidden behind a silvered mask that curved like the crescent moon. Every noble, duke, and emissary swirled before her in brilliant colors, yet she felt like an intruder at her own stage. No one here knew who she truly was — the lost heiress of Vale, the girl raised in shadows. Tonight, she was only another masked lady at the duke’s elaborate masquerade.

Her chest tightened as her gaze swept across the crowd. Somewhere among these figures, cloaked in finery and deception, lurked her enemies. Somewhere among them also stood Kaelen Draven.

She had caught glimpses of him all evening — tall, lean, his mask wrought in black steel, his posture as still and controlled as the blade at his hip. He was not meant to be here, she knew; he had no noble lineage that allowed him entrance to this ball. Yet somehow, he had slipped past the guards and into her world of masks.

And each time their eyes met across the crowd, Serenya’s heart skipped in dangerous rhythm.

“Lady Serenya,” purred a voice at her side.

She turned, and there stood Darian Crestfall, his mask simple but elegant, a knight’s bearing woven into every line of his frame. His smile was courtly, but his eyes betrayed the conflict within him — loyalty to crown, devotion to her, and a duty that could crush them both.

“You linger too long in the shadows,” he said, offering his arm. “Come. The dance floor awaits you.”

Her lips curved faintly, though unease prickled at her spine. “And if I decline?”

Darian’s smile deepened, though a shadow flickered there. “Then tongues will wag. And you, my lady, can ill afford gossip.”

She hesitated — but before she could refuse, the music shifted, a sharper, quicker rhythm that pulled couples toward the center of the marble floor. Darian took her hand before she could protest, guiding her into the whirl of silk and music.

They danced. Step, turn, step — his hold was strong, protective, too protective. She knew why: Darian feared losing her, feared another man might steal her away. And perhaps he feared what whispers of her true identity might already be spreading.

“Your mask suits you,” he murmured, voice low. “But even in disguise, I would know you anywhere.”

Serenya forced a light laugh. “You are too kind, Ser Darian.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it.” His hand tightened on hers. “I see you. All of you. Even the parts you would hide.”

Her heart faltered, but before she could respond, a sudden presence swept between them.

Kaelen.

He moved like a shadow cutting through light, intercepting the dance with a fluid bow. Serenya’s breath caught — his touch as he claimed her hand was fire against her skin, igniting what Darian’s careful grip never could.

“May I steal this dance?” Kaelen’s voice was smooth, edged with danger, pitched just low enough that only she could hear.

Darian stiffened. “This lady is engaged—”

“She is free,” Kaelen interrupted, his dark gaze burning into hers. “Is she not?”

For the briefest moment, Serenya hesitated, her mind warring against her heart. Then she nodded, lips barely moving.

“Yes.”

Darian’s jaw tightened, but he released her hand, stepping back with a bow that was more blade than courtesy.

And then she was swept into Kaelen’s arms.

The music surged, a melody of defiance and temptation. Serenya followed his lead instinctively, her body aligning with his in a rhythm that felt older than memory. Each step brought them closer, each turn blurred the world until it was only them, locked in a forbidden orbit.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, though her pulse betrayed her words.

“Neither should you,” Kaelen replied. “Yet here we are.”

His hand pressed against her back, guiding her into a daring spin that left her breathless. “You belong to this world of masks no more than I do. And yet…” His eyes met hers, searing. “I would burn through every disguise to keep you safe.”

Her lips parted, words caught between fear and longing. She wanted to push him away, to remind him of the danger — but she could not. The truth throbbed in her chest: she did not want him gone.

Around them, the court danced and laughed, oblivious to the storm unfolding at the heart of the floor. But Serenya felt the weight of eyes upon her, heavier than any gaze before.

From the dais, Thalric Veynor, the duke himself, watched with sharp, predatory amusement. His mask of gold could not hide the calculation in his stare. To him, every step Serenya took with Kaelen was another thread to unravel, another secret to exploit.

The dance ended in a final sweep — Kaelen pulling her close, his breath grazing her ear. “Tonight, after the last bell. Meet me in the garden of cypress. There are truths I must tell you.”

Before she could answer, he released her, vanishing into the crowd like smoke swallowed by wind.

Serenya stood trembling, her heart a storm.

“Dangerous company,” murmured another voice — soft, feminine, laced with venom.

She turned to find Eloria Thorne, clad in crimson silk, her mask a cruel, elegant flourish. The rival princess’s smile was poison sweet.

“Dancing with shadows,” Eloria continued, circling Serenya like a hawk. “Do you know what they whisper? That your face is too familiar. That your steps carry too much grace for a common lady.”

Serenya stiffened, every instinct screaming caution.

Eloria leaned close, lips brushing the edge of Serenya’s ear. “One day, someone will unmask you. And when they do… the world will burn.”

The music swelled again, drowning the venom of her words, but Serenya could not shake them.

She excused herself from the floor, weaving through jeweled gowns and perfumed laughter until she slipped into the corridor beyond the ballroom.

Her breath came quick, her mask suddenly too heavy. She pressed her palm against the cold stone wall, trying to steady the chaos in her chest.

Kaelen’s voice lingered in her memory. Meet me in the garden of cypress.

She knew it was reckless. Knew Darian would follow, Eloria would pry, and Thalric’s gaze would never leave her. Yet something within her — deeper than reason, sharper than fear — urged her forward.

If Kaelen held truths that could shatter her disguise, she needed to hear them. If he held secrets bound to his shadows, they might intertwine with hers.

And in that moment, beneath the glitter of Moonspire’s masquerade, Serenya knew: the dance was only the beginning.

A forbidden step into a destiny neither of them could escape.