Chapter 7.5:The Golden Masquerade
The Imperial Ballroom was a masterpiece of excess. A thousand candles burned in tiered crystal chandeliers, casting a warm glow over spinning silk and sparkling jewels. The air was heavy with the perfume of expensive roses and aged wine. It was a sea of laughter and music—a vibrant mask covering a deadly truth.
Near the wine fountains, Alaric was enduring a siege of his own. Known throughout the Empire as the Most Handsome and kind Knight of the Holy Order, he was expected to be a pillar of patience and gentle grace.
But tonight, that mask was cracking.
He was utterly surrounded. Unwed debutantes battened onto his arms, married countesses whispered scandals in his ear, and even wealthy divorcees moved in with predatory elegance, all hoping to secure the favor of the Temples most handsome defender. Alaric offered polite nods, but his brow was furrowed in a dark, heavy scowl that sat unnervingly on his usually serene face.
His irritation peaked as he looked toward the musicians' gallery. Evelinaewas being swarmed by a group of young noblemen and scholars. Because she was the Saintess, known for her pure heart and divine mercy, these men treated her like a holy prize to be won. They leaned in too close, their hands hovering near hers, their voices dripping with flattery as they begged for a "blessing."
Alaric's grip tightened on his ceremonial glass until the stem groaned. The sight of those men hitting on her—men who would have stood by and watched her be hanged and stoned as a heretic in their past life—made his blood boil. He wasn't acting like a Kind Knight he was supposed to be; he looked like a man ready to clear the room with steel.
Killian stood like a pillar of cold obsidian near the Emperor's dais. He was a predator in a dress uniform, and his legendary focus was fracturing. Despite the flock of noblewomen swarming him, his eyes never left the dance floor.
He watched Seraphine spin in the arms of a young Marquis. Then a Count. Then a Duke's heir. Each time a man's hand touched the small of her back or leaned in to whisper a joke, Killian's jaw tightened until it ached. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword so hard the leather creaked. He was here to protect her from an executioner, yet he found himself wanting to draw his blade for a far more petty reason.
Seraphine felt the heat of his gaze. As she was twirled by a golden-haired Baron, she caught sight of Killian. He wasn't just standing guard; he looked like he was about to incinerate the entire floor.
He's distracted, she thought, her heart skipping. Even now, with a blade at our throats, he's fuming over a waltz. She offered a wider smile to her partner, testing him. Killian's aura flared so sharply that the ladies surrounding him actually stepped back, chilled by the sudden drop in temperature.
The music reached a crescendo and stopped. A silence fell over the room, so sudden it felt like the air had been sucked out of the hall. The laughter died, replaced by a respectful, eager hush.
The Emperor stood, his golden chalice raised. "My friends! My loyal subjects! Tonight is a night for old bonds and new beginnings."
He gestured to Seraphine, beckoning her to the center. The crowd parted. Killian and Alaric snapped out of their protective jealousies, the petty anger instantly replaced by a cold, sharp dread.
"Lady Seraphine, my dear," the Emperor said, his eyes crinkling warmly. "Come. The High Priest has brought a masterpiece from the Temple's vaults. As I promised... a gift that will look lovely on your neck."
The High Priest stepped forward, holding a long, narrow velvet box. To the nobles, it looked like a royal jewel. To the four who remembered the previous life—already on edge and volatile—it looked like the drawing of a blade.
Seraphine stepped forward, her hand sliding toward the hidden hilt in her bodice. She looked at Killian. He moved to her side, his body positioned between her and the Priest, his hand on his sword.
"Commander," the Emperor said with a grin. "Help the Lady receive her 'due.'"
Killian didn't wait for the lid to open. He saw the Priest's fingers twitch, saw the glint of metal, and his mind screamed Execution.