The Masquerade
2
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The heavy, ornate timber door rose smoothly after the AI scanner confirmed their identities. Astra slipped on her silver mask, its intricate wisteria design tracing delicate patterns across her eyes, though it did little to obscure her face—not that she particularly cared.
Theo, on the other hand, wore a full Italian mask, concealing every inch of his features. It suited him—anonymity was a trivial concern for her. She was just a shadow in this glittering crowd. Theo, though? His crown wasn’t just a metaphor.
At least, that’s what she told herself.
They stepped into the foyer, greeted by a grand staircase lined with what seemed to be Persian carpets. Then again, it could have been something spun by a reclusive 18-year-old weaver living in a cave. With these elites, who could tell?
Ascending to the second floor, they entered the ballroom, a true reflection of old money. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm, golden light across the room. The walls, lined with dark, polished mahogany panels, featured intricate Victorian Art-Deco plasterwork and tall arched windows. The upper level provided guests with a more private space for conversation and access to the balcony overlooking the fountain and gardens below.
Astra’s other senses scanned for the menacing aura of the purple smoke, but all she found were the lingering notes of truffle, red wine and the sweet fragrance of jasmine and lilies that formed the centrepieces on each round table.
She felt eyes on her—discreet but unmistakable. To be specific, they were directed at Theo. Despite his mask, he commanded attention—he had the presence of someone they couldn’t quite place but knew they should. Like a knig—prince, Astra corrected herself.
Focus.
Yet her mind betrayed her, picturing fleeting images of long silver hair and armour gleaming with an otherworldly glow. She forced it aside. Not again. Now wasn’t the time.
Still, she tucked it away for later. It seemed like something that person would need to know about.
Shifting her focus back to the room, Astra listened to the quiet conversations that surrounded her. They weren’t just small talk; they hinted at business discussions and, of course, the ever-pressing question of whether Thomas was worth the investment.
Noticing a small gathering near the bar, Astra and Theo moved closer and discovered Athena, standing with the timeless sophistication of a classical sculpture in her flowing white gown and immaculate updo. Beside her, Athena's "date"—a nondescript agent in her father's employ—faded into insignificance.
Athena maintained her composure, a polite yet distant smile hidden behind her feathered fan. But Astra's keen eye caught the barely perceptible tightening of Athena's jaw, the way her golden eyes flickered to the tank watch on her wrist with increasing frequency.
She must have accidentally glimpsed something she didn’t want to see.
“I’ll stay close to her,” Theo murmured softly in Astra’s ear.
Astra nodded, sensing a genuine concern within him that went beyond his usual chivalry. As he moved toward Athena, Astra remained on guard, monitoring the perimeter.
“Ah, there you are, Thena,” Theo’s deep voice cut in smoothly as he positioned himself between Athena and a man whose gaze had overstayed its welcome.
Athena’s expression softened with gratitude as she took his hand. “Theo!” She faced the disappointed onlookers with a graceful smile. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet my fiancé.”
Astra’s eyes danced with amusement at the collective disappointment, but Theo’s absence at her side meant…
"My lady," a voice as smooth and unwelcome as an oil slick oozed into her personal space. "Surely you wouldn't deprive me of the immense pleasure of your acquaintance?"
Relentless… annoyances. How many was this now? Five? Fifty? Keeping track had long since lost its meaning. She mentally jotted down yet another IOU to Eydis for her “brilliant” fashion advice. Perhaps opting for a granny-chic ensemble to blend in with the woodwork would’ve been wiser. Silly her.
The thought of Eydis’s inevitable playful teasing made her heart skip—much to her irritation. Damn it.
Sadly, her rare moment of stepping away from her resting…neutral face was clearly a mistake. The glossy interruption before her mistook her fleeting smile for encouragement.
"I assure you," she snapped, "the deprivation is entirely mutual."
The man, either too dense or too arrogant to take the hint, flashed a dazzling smile, the kind meant to leave women blinded. She wasn’t. “How terribly rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself properly—”
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“Unnecessary,” she cut him off, stepping smoothly around him with a smile so brief it barely brushed her lips. She headed to the upper level, gaining a vantage point over the gathering below.
Her gaze roamed the crowd until it found Thomas—the only one without a masquerade mask—moving through the elites like a social chameleon. Athena and Theo had already tried approaching him, but he sidestepped them with precision. Though his demeanour remained light and unhurried, it was clear he was intentionally avoiding them.
How strange. Athena stood out with her striking golden eyes and hair, making her hard to overlook, even behind a mask. The unmistakable signs of House Van Nassau were familiar to anyone with even a cursory understanding of politics. So, what was causing Thomas to evade her?
Unless… he feared her. Feared her power. Athena’s abilities were far from common knowledge. Astra’s focus sharpened, following Thomas’s movements as Athena tried once more to speak with him. Then she saw it—his gaze briefly darted toward Theo before he excused himself, melting into the crowd like a shadow.
Now that was interesting. If her instincts were right, Thomas had insider information… from St. Kelvin’s. Possibly the same source who leaked Natalia’s duel video. Which likely meant he had orchestrated the leak.
She glanced at the ebony grandfather clock. 7:00 p.m. was approaching fast. Trouble. Thomas would soon take the stage for his hour-long rally, and the guests would begin settling into their assigned seats at the tables.
One hardly needed to hear the speech to guess its contents—promises of transforming the Territory for the better, rallying against the common enemies, the smoke monster and the eye, and likely putting fresh pressure on Ares Van Nassau, Alchymian Chief Minister, to address the situation.
To the elites, no doubt, it would sound like prophecy. They’d been dying to shake House Van Nassau’s grip on Alchymia—because a few hundred years of control clearly wasn’t enough time to figure things out.
Which meant cornering Thomas for a private word after the speech would be next to impossible.
Perhaps, Astra mused, a little… coercion might be necessary. She needed to find him, and fast.
The flow of late-arriving guests thickened, their hands seemed permanently fused to their champagne glasses. Astra resisted the urge to curse aloud as she attempted to navigate back downstairs to check the blind spots.
Then, a break in the steady hum of conversation snagged her attention—voices raised, yet muffled. She followed the faint sound until she reached the thick crimson curtains leading to the private balcony.
Listening intently, Astra caught snippets of conversation and subtly inched closer, careful not to draw attention to herself.
"You think your little stunts will win you this election, Tommy? The public isn't as blind as you think," growled a voice, deep and calm but brimming with restrained fury.
“Oh, please,” came a smoother, more condescending tone. “Bitter, Noah? Didn’t realise my dear brother was such a sore loser. But the people have spoken. Maybe check the latest polls, hmm?”
Noah? Astra’s eyes narrowed. Why was he here? And if it was indeed him, then the smug voice could only belong to one person—
Thomas.
Astra suppressed the power thrumming through her veins, wary that Thomas might sense it. Silent and still, she became a living mirage—though even mirages cast shadows.
As the weight of unwanted gazes pressed down on her, her fingers twitched slightly. In that moment, a nearby server stumbled, his tray wobbling precariously. Crystal glasses tipped, spilling red wine across an elite’s pristine shirt just as he moved toward her.
“Oh my, t-terribly sorry, sir,” the server sputtered, though Astra couldn’t miss the faint hint of amusement in his eyes. His unsteady hands only worsened the spill, drenching the guest further.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Astra slipped behind the curtain, peering through the narrow gap. She caught sight of Noah’s golden mask, the moonlight catching his silver hair as he confronted Thomas.
Noah’s hand gripped Thomas's shoulder in what should have been a forceful shove. But Thomas remained as immovable as a statue. The wine in his crystal glass was so still it might as well have been frozen.
And then she felt it—a wave of malevolence so dark, so dense, it made her skin crawl. It radiated from Thomas like a venomous fog, seeping into the air around him.
"My, my, Noah, physical violence? How... quaint." Thomas’s emerald eyes glittered with malicious amusement. "Who would have thought the great Noah Blackwood—star athlete, golden boy, Father's pride and joy—would devolve into such a pathetic, feeble old man?"
Noah's hand fell away from Thomas's shoulder as if burned. “What... what have you done to yourself, Thomas? This isn't natural. You were always the sickly one, always in and out of hospitals, unless—"
“Choose your next words very carefully, brother,” Thomas hissed, his mask of composure slipping for the briefest moment. He raised his glass and took a measured sip, never breaking eye contact with Noah.
"I don't know what kind of deal you've made or what you've become, but I swear on our father's grave, I will expose you. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it? Like father, like da—" Noah cut himself off seeing the murderous glint in Thomas’s eyes.
“Go on, finish it,” Thomas rumbled, "and you might find yourself praying for early retirement. Wouldn't want to disappoint your doting supporters with a tragic... accident, would we?"
Noah staggered back as though physically struck, fury blazing in his blue eyes. Without a word, he spun sharply, nearly tearing the heavy curtains in his haste to escape.
Astra slipped into the shadows as Noah stormed past, his low mutter reaching her: “This isn’t over, Thomas. I’ll tear away your mask and burn your house of lies to the ground.”
Noah stepped around the wreckage of glass and wine that Astra had caused, disappearing down the stairs. The quiet buzz of the room drowned out his footsteps, leaving only Thomas’s laughter behind. It was a sound that didn't belong in a human throat. Astra’s fingers flew over her phone, but her attention remained fixed on him.
“Oh, Noah, Noah, Noah-the-saviour, the shining example,” Thomas spat, “while I’m just… ‘Tommy’.” His eyes darted to an empty corner, his head cocking at an unnatural bird-like angle. "Can I kill him now?"
For a moment, all was quiet save for the distant clatter of glasses and forced laughter. Thomas’s grin widened. “Ah, ever the grand strategist. Of course, the long game… you always play the long game, don’t you? I bow to your brilliance, My Lord.”
Astra’s brow furrowed. ‘My Lord? Who is he speaking to?’
Yet deep down, she already sensed the truth. The darkness radiating from Thomas seemed to expand, throbbing like a living entity. It reminded her of Tiffany’s menacing aura—but this was different. Denser. Significantly darker. Starving, as though it had been feeding off something corrupt and unseen…
Keeping her eyes trained on Thomas, Astra sent the message quickly, while her free hand summoned a translucent shield over the exit.
“Upper-level balcony, NE corner ASAP. Thomas compromised. Purple entity, sentient.”