The night of the festival arrived quickly. Lanterns bloomed across the palace grounds like constellations pulled down from the heavens, the red glass reflecting the deepening violet of the sky.
Silk banners cascaded from balconies in rich waves of scarlet and gold, their edges embroidered with ancient sigils meant to honor the coming Red Moon, though that celestial omen still lingered two nights away.
Musicians lined the grand courtyard, their instruments tuned to melodies both jubilant and reverent, while nobles adorned in elaborate masks drifted through the torchlit pathways like living art.
The masquerade had begun. Within the inner chambers of the palace, however, celebration felt distant.
King Kaelvryn stood before a tall mirror framed in dark iron, his reflection fragmented by candlelight.
