Chapter 5 – Beneath the Mask

The grand halls of the Valenhart palace were alive with celebration. Chandeliers bathed the ballroom in golden light, their glow reflecting off the polished marble floors. Music swelled through the air, a haunting melody of strings and whispered promises. Nobles laughed behind jeweled masks, their eyes betraying secrets far deadlier than their smiles.

Elara stood at the heart of it all, wearing a gown of deep sapphire that clung to her curves and shimmered with every movement. A delicate mask adorned her face, but it did little to hide her tension. This masquerade ball was more than just a lavish event—it was a test. Tonight, the royal family was hosting the most powerful figures in the kingdom, and hidden among them was the enemy who had orchestrated the recent assassination attempt.

Her fingers curled into her silk gloves as she scanned the crowd. Every step she took was deliberate, measured, as if one wrong move could shatter the fragile illusion of control she barely held onto.

And then she felt it. A presence.

Her pulse quickened, though she hadn’t turned around yet. It was as if her body recognized him before her mind could process it.

“Princess.”

His voice was a low murmur against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She turned, already knowing who she would find.

Vesper Moretti.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, his mask was simple—midnight silk covering half his face, but nothing could conceal those piercing storm-gray eyes. The eyes that had haunted her since their last encounter.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, barely moving her lips. No one could suspect that the mafia heir was standing this close to the princess.

He smirked, tilting his head as if amused by her attempt at composure. “You wound me, Princess. You think I’d miss such an extravagant affair?” His gaze flickered down the length of her gown before locking onto hers again, the intensity in them setting her nerves ablaze.

“I don’t recall extending an invitation.”

“You didn’t.” His smirk widened, but his tone darkened. “I make my own way in.”

Her breath hitched. He wasn’t just here to play games.

Vesper leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a hushed murmur only she could hear. “You’re being watched.”

A cold wave of realization swept over her. Not by him—by someone else.

She swallowed, keeping her face neutral despite the way her stomach twisted. “Who?”

His gaze flicked over her shoulder. “The man by the east balcony. Tall, dark cloak, pretending to admire the paintings.”

Elara resisted the urge to turn. “Do you know him?”

“I know the type.” His voice was a warning. “Assassin.”

Her blood ran cold. Someone had come to finish what the failed attempt had started.

She inhaled slowly, forcing a smile for the watching crowd. “I suppose I should take care of it then.”

Vesper’s fingers brushed against hers, a brief, scorching touch. “No, Princess.” His voice was like silk-wrapped steel. “You and I will handle it together.”

For the first time that evening, a slow smirk curved her lips. “Now that… sounds dangerous.”

His eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You have no idea.”

And just like that, the masquerade ball had turned into a battlefield.

The masquerade had become a battlefield of whispers and hidden daggers.

Elara forced a slow breath through her lips, keeping her expression poised even as her pulse pounded beneath the lace of her mask. She couldn’t afford to panic—not here, not in front of Avarath’s most powerful elite.

Vesper’s presence beside her was a storm barely restrained, his eyes locked onto the cloaked figure by the east balcony. “He hasn’t moved,” he murmured, his voice a blade of quiet menace. “But he’s watching you.”

Elara’s fingers grazed the stem of her crystal goblet, feigning ease. “Then let’s give him something to watch.”

Vesper’s smirk was a dark thing, dangerous and knowing. “Careful, Princess. Tempt me, and I might just play along.”

Before she could respond, he extended a hand toward her. A challenge. A dare.

Her fingers slid into his instinctively. The warmth of his skin sent an involuntary jolt through her, but she masked it with a practiced smile as he pulled her toward the dance floor.

The music shifted—a slow, seductive waltz.

They moved in perfect rhythm, though the tension between them was anything but practiced. Vesper’s hand settled against the small of her back, the pressure just firm enough to remind her who he was—a predator among royalty.

“You know,” he murmured, his breath fanning against her ear, “if I wanted to kill you, this would be the perfect moment.”

Elara tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze with defiance. “And yet, here I am. Still breathing.”

His smirk deepened. “For now.”

She barely had time to process his words before he spun her suddenly, sharply, just enough to turn her so she could finally catch a glimpse of their mysterious stalker.

The cloaked man wasn’t admiring the paintings anymore. He was moving.

Elara’s heart slammed against her ribs as she saw the glint of something beneath his cloak. A blade.

She sucked in a breath, but Vesper was already ahead of her. With a final turn, he guided her off the dance floor, his arm coiling around her waist as if they were nothing more than lovers lost in the music.

“We need to move,” he murmured against her temple. “Slowly. Don’t let him see us panic.”

Her throat tightened, but she nodded. She wasn’t some helpless royal waiting to be saved.

“What’s the plan?” she whispered.

Vesper’s lips brushed dangerously close to her ear as he led her toward the arched corridor at the edge of the ballroom. “We split up. You take the west hall. I’ll go east. If I don’t find you in five minutes—”

“That won’t happen,” she interrupted, gripping his wrist. “Stay close.”

His gaze darkened, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his stormy eyes. Then, just as quickly, his smirk returned. “As you wish, Princess.”

And then—they vanished into the shadows.

—

The moment Elara slipped behind one of the towering marble columns, the deafening noise of the ballroom dimmed. The weight of her gown felt suffocating now, the delicate silk too fragile for what was coming.

She exhaled slowly, scanning the hall ahead. It was empty—too empty.

A shadow moved in the periphery of her vision. Too fast. Too silent.

Her muscles tensed. He’s here.

Elara didn’t hesitate. She turned, dodging just as the assassin’s blade slashed through the air where her throat had been moments before.

A near miss. Too close.

Her heel skidded against the marble as she stumbled back, her heart hammering. The assassin lunged again, but this time, a blur of darkness intercepted him.

Vesper.

He moved like death itself—silent, precise, brutal.

Their attacker barely had time to react before Vesper’s hand shot out, catching the man’s wrist and twisting it until the dagger clattered to the floor. The assassin growled, struggling, but Vesper was faster—stronger. He slammed the man against the stone wall, his arm pressing hard against his throat.

Elara caught her breath, stepping forward. “Who sent you?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she felt.

The assassin sneered beneath his hood. “You’re already dead, Princess.”

Vesper’s grip tightened, his voice turning lethal. “Wrong answer.”

The man choked, but before he could say anything else, a sudden explosion of power erupted through the hall.

Magic.

Elara gasped as the air crackled, a force unseen but unmistakably deadly sweeping through the corridor.

The assassin—he was a distraction.

“Elara—move!” Vesper shouted.

And then—the world shattered around them.