"You dare accuse me before the entire court with nothing but staged tears? Bold. Stupid. But bold." She leaned closer, her gaze locking on Selena's, her smile a razor's edge. "Next time, at least have the courtesy to faint properly."
The orchestra faltered back into silence. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then slow, deliberate applause echoed from Marcellus, breaking the spell.
"Well said, Duchess," he drawled. "It seems the evening just became entertaining."
Veloria didn't glance at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the Prince and his trembling flower, daring them to press further.
The night had turned.
And Veloria Ardent was not the victim of the story. Not anymore.
The ballroom glimmered with gold and crystal, laughter echoing beneath the chandeliers. Yet beneath the silks and polished smiles, Veloria felt the familiar pull of tension the kind that slithered between whispered rumors and sharpened stares.
She swirled her wine glass, letting the deep crimson catch the candlelight. Her mask glinted, a delicate thing of silver and feathers, hiding little but revealing enough. Across the room, eyes followed her—envy, suspicion, curiosity, hunger. All expected the Duchess Ardent to play her part: ornamental, predictable, forgettable.
She did not oblige.
Marcellus stood by the far column, half-shrouded in shadow, a wine goblet untouched in his hand. His gaze never wandered far from her, a constant reminder that games had already begun long before the music swelled.
Then came the spark.
"Duchess Veloria," a voice rang out smooth, calculated, far too loud to be accidental. A nobleman stepped forward, mask gleaming with gold filigree. His lips curved in a smile that reeked of malice disguised as courtesy. "I find it curious… that every place you grace seems to court chaos. First the ruins, then the vault, and now this gathering."
Gasps rippled through the hall, like a breeze disturbing the calm surface of a lake.
Veloria tilted her head, feigning innocence, though her eyes flashed sharp as a drawn blade. "Chaos, my lord? I believe you mistake me for poor planning. I prefer efficiency."
Soft laughter trickled around them, half-nervous, half-amused. The nobleman's smile faltered.
But he pressed on. "Efficiency? Or manipulation? Perhaps the Duchess thrives where shadows grow thickest. After all, who else emerges from ruins unscathed… carrying relics no one else could touch?"
The hall quieted. Every masked face turned toward her. The accusation, though veiled, was sharp enough to draw blood.
Veloria sipped her wine, savoring the silence that stretched between them. Then, with a small smile curving her lips, she set the glass aside.
"If you wish to paint me a villain, at least choose colors worthy of the frame," she said coolly. "This shade of envy does you no favors."
A few nobles stifled laughter. Others shifted uncomfortably. The man's jaw tightened.
Before he could retort, the music stuttered to a halt.
The chandeliers flickered. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the ballroom floor. From the far end of the hall, a second voice emerged low, resonant, and all too familiar.
"Envy is only the beginning."
Marcellus stepped forward, the crowd parting as though pulled by invisible strings. His presence swallowed the air, his smile as sharp as any blade.
Veloria's smirk didn't waver, though her pulse thrummed. Of course. He chooses now.
The nobleman paled, retreating half a step. But Marcellus's eyes never left Veloria.
"Tell me, Duchess," he said softly, though the words carried like thunder, "how long will you keep playing a game you've already rewritten?"
The hall froze. Every whisper died. Every gaze burned into her.
Veloria's lips curved upward, a smile as dangerous as it was amused. "As long as it takes, Marcellus. And not a moment less."
The silence before the storm stretched, taut and breathless.
And then, the ballroom doors slammed open.
The ballroom doors groaned open, the thunderous sound silencing even the bravest whispers. A gust of cold night air swept inside, carrying with it the scent of steel and rain.
Veloria's hand hovered near her fan, her expression serene but her mind calculated a dozen possibilities in an instant. Assassins? Another faction? Or worse family drama with terrible timing.
Into the hall stepped armored knights bearing the crest of the royal house, their visors glinting beneath the chandelier's dying light. At their head, a tall figure with chestnut hair pulled back in regal fashion, eyes sharp enough to slice through velvet lies.
"Prince Eldrick," someone gasped, their voice trembling.
The prince strode forward, boots echoing against marble. His gaze swept across the nobles, ignoring their bows and curtsies, until it landed inevitably on Veloria.
The corners of her lips lifted. Ah, the ex-betrothed arrives. How convenient.
"Duchess Ardent," Eldrick said, his voice cold, cutting through the crowd like a blade. "You stand accused of breaching royal trust. Relics that belonged to the Crown are missing. And witnesses…" His gaze flickered briefly toward Marcellus, then back to her. "…suggest you are no stranger to shadows."
Gasps filled the hall. Masks suddenly felt heavier, as though every noble present feared their own secrets would spill next.
Veloria offered a slow, deliberate curtsey. Her tone was silk wrapped around steel. "How flattering, Your Highness. To be accused so publicly surely you could have written me a letter instead of ruining such a lovely evening."
Laughter shocked, nervous, but laughter nonetheless broke the tension for a heartbeat. Marcellus's smirk deepened, clearly amused. Eldrick's jaw tightened.
"Do not mock this court, Veloria," Eldrick said sharply. "The relic will be recovered. And if you truly are innocent…" He paused, eyes narrowing. "…then you won't mind proving it. Before all of us."
Veloria straightened, her smile dangerous, her heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and wicked delight. So, the masquerade has become a trial. How terribly entertaining.
But before she could answer, the chandeliers flickered again this time not from wind. A black shimmer laced the air, crawling like ink across glass. Murmurs turned into screams as the ballroom's gilded perfection began to fracture.
Veloria's smile sharpened. "Well," she murmured under her breath, "it seems the relic has decided to join the party itself."
Veloria sat gracefully at the edge of the long banquet table, her goblet untouched. Laughter and shallow flattery filled the hall, yet beneath the music, she sensed the tension crackling like hidden lightning. Every noble's smile seemed painted on, every word carefully measured.
So predictable… she thought, lips curving faintly. A room full of masks, and they all believe themselves clever.
Her eyes drifted across the room. Eldrick, her so-called fiancé, stood too close to Selena, their conversation hushed but not nearly discreet enough. The sight no longer stirred her anger it only confirmed what she had already decided. Tonight was not about romance or betrayal. Tonight was about survival.
Then, a presence brushed against her awareness. Across the hall, in the shadow of the marble pillars, Marcelus lingered his gaze fixed on her, unblinking, deliberate. Unlike the polished nobles, he didn't bother to disguise his interest. His smirk was sharp, like a predator amused by its prey.
Veloria raised her goblet at last, sipping without haste, her expression calm. So the villain himself has come to play.
Before she could look away, the music stopped abruptly. The doors to the hall creaked open, and an urgent messenger entered, breathless. He bowed low to the crown prince, his voice trembling as he delivered whispered words that silenced the court.
Whispers rippled through the nobles like wildfire. Some paled, others leaned closer to their allies. Veloria tilted her head, hiding her amusement behind the rim of her glass. Whatever chaos was about to unfold, she was certain of one thing: it would shatter the fragile balance of this court and open a path she could exploit.
And when she glanced back, Marcelus was gone, as if he had never been there at all.
The grand hall, moments ago filled with shallow laughter and glittering smiles, now held its breath. The messenger's voice carried a weight that pressed down on every noble present.
"Your Highness… the northern borders have been breached. Our scouts report an army advancing under an unknown banner."
Gasps, sharp and unrestrained, echoed across the chamber. The noblemen exchanged nervous glances, while their ladies clutched jeweled fans tight enough to bend the delicate frames.
Veloria, however, only arched an eyebrow. An invasion? How convenient. She leaned back in her chair, letting the panic ripple around her like a storm she had no intention of stepping into.
The Crown Prince rose, his expression dark. "Summon the generals. This matter will not leave this hall."
Veloria's gaze flicked briefly to Eldrick, who stood stiff, trying to mask his unease. Selena reached for his arm with a trembling hand, playing the part of the fragile heroine so perfectly that Veloria almost clapped. Ah, there it is the damsel routine. No wonder half the court trips over themselves to protect her.
And then movement. A presence slipped back into the hall, unseen by most but impossible for Veloria to miss. Marcelus had returned, this time at the far edge of the chamber, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. Unlike the others, he didn't look startled by the news.
Of course. He already knew.
Veloria's lips curved into a sharp, humorless smile. "Interesting," she whispered under her breath, though no one around her heard.
While the court scrambled to react, her mind raced ahead. An invasion meant chaos. Chaos meant opportunity. And if Marcelus truly had a hand in this, she needed to decide ally with the villain and gamble everything, or play the loyal noblewoman until the perfect moment to strike.
One thing was certain: tonight's dance of masks had only just begun.