Lady Celine Rochefort was quite famous for hosting the most unique banquets. No one ever left one of her gatherings without feeling that they had witnessed something beyod ordinary.

  An attention seeker, some called her, but the truth was, they knew she found events hosted by other nobles dull, boring, and lackluster, and would rather host her own than suffer through theirs.

  If she accepted an invitation to attend another's event, it meant she either truly wanted to see what the fuss was about, or the host was so impressive (high ranked) she had no choice but to show up and be impressed.

  The greatest embarrassment was to have Lady Celine Rochefort leave your party early. It was a statment: the host was not entertaining enough.

  This event hosted by the Royal family carried a similar vibe like hers, and everyone was excited to participate.

  The security was tight.

  The rules were simple: no family crests, no house colors, and no titles.

  And, above all, the most important rule: no talking until the feast. The weight of one's presence, and the subtle power of gestures, was to be the language for the first part of the night.

  Lucian picked up the glass from the passing tray, swirling the dark liquid and lifting it to his nose. He sniffed, but didn't taste.

  The "seating" arrangement was not fixed. Unlike traditional grand dinners with rigid seating charts, this one was designed for movement.

  The main area featured small standing tables where guests could come and go freely. For those seeking comfort, semi-private booths lined the hall's perimeter, both outside and inside.

  The music, the scent, the taste, the atmosphere ─ everything was designed to be stimulating, and intoxicating.

  The exotic dancers weaved between the tables and the standing guests, their movements hypnotic.

  Even though Lucian didn't want to admit it, even though the idea of giving in, even for a second, disgusted him, he had to admit, it was a fascinating experience.

  The music faded, and the dancers disappeared.

  Silence fell.

  The guests waited, holding their breaths.

  And then, a male's voice.

  "Welcome."

  The guests turned their heads, searching.

  "I am pleased to see you all here tonight," the man continued, taking off his hat, and bowing low, "And I hope you will enjoy yourselves," his words followed by a magic trick. A white dove appeared from his sleeve, fluttering away.

  Everyone clapped, their smiles widening. No whispers, no strange looks, no subtle sneers ─ everyone was equally excited, and no one could hide it, gesturing to the person closest to them, nodding, and laughing.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  When the performances ended, the King and the Queen took their seats at the head table.

  The King gestured, and a single chime followed, "Ladies and gentlemen, let's raise our glasses for a toast," he said, lifting his glass, "And have a good time!"

  The guests raised their glasses, toasting, "Long live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live the Royal Family! Blessing to the Kingdom!"

  The feast officially began. The music resumed, the atmosphere was lively and relaxed.

  "What do you think?" a voice asked.

  Lucian's gaze flickered to his right.

  A tall figure, lean, yet muscular. Dressed in a crisp, royal uniform, with a sharp jaw and even sharper gray eyes. The mask did little to hide his identity. And the rare color of his hair, black as coal, was even more recognizable.

  "Your Highness," Lucian bowed.

  The Crown Prince has been building a Royal Army for the past few years, and Lucian has invested a fair amount in the project to lower the nobles's influence on the throne.

  The Crown Prince didn't return the gesture. Instead, he let his gaze sweep the crowd, "Not what you expected?"

  "On the contrary, Your Highness," Lucian replied smoothly, following the Crown Prince's gaze, "I find myself quite entertained."

  There stood a shy girl, under the gaze of those around her. Her masquerade mask hid most of her face, but unable to conceal the beauty that made men trip over their own feet — unknowingly captivating — a bit dense, a bit awkward, but with an inner strength that would shine when needed the most.

  "The little lamb has wandered a bit too far," the Crown Prince commented, his tone unusually soft.

  The noble women curtsied, greeting the Crown Prince with warm, flattering words, their eyes glittering with the desire for his favor.

  He barely acknowledged them, his focus solely on the girl, who had taken a few steps back when she felt his intense gaze, her eyes darted, looking for an escape.

  "She's an odd one, isn't she?" Lucian wondered. It seemed like the Viscount's daughter was able to mend the Crown Prince's heart, after the trauma of witnessing his ex-fiance's infidelity first hand.

  Just the thought of Celine treating another the way she treated him ─ Lucian couldn't stomach it, his insides twisting in pain.

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  The Crowns Prince walked ahead, his presence commanding attention, and many eyes were already glancing his way.

  The girl didn't want to be seen with the Crown Prince, that much was clear, and to avoid further attention, she looked around and quickly ran awa–

  Only to collide against Lucian's chest.

  The collision was strong enough for her to stumble back. She would've fallen if Lucian hadn't caught her by the arms, steadying her.

  "I'm sorry, I–" the girl's eyes widened, her mask falling. She took a step back, stumbling again, and this time, falling.

  Letting go, Lucian watched her collapse on the ground. The girl's face turned pale. She didn't seem able to get up, hissing a quiet "ow".

  The Crown Prince's eyes flashed. He was clearly irritated as he lifted her up by the arms. She tried to struggle free, but his grip was firm, and her feeble attempts only seemed to fuel his anger. Carrying her in a princess carry, he strode out of the ballroom.

  In a world where schemes, plots, and intrigues were a common thing, she was a fresh breath of air. Not tainted by greed, not stained by corruption, one who didn't have the desire to gain anything from the Crown Prince, and that, was what made her an object of interest.

  Lucian wanted to follow after them, but didn't, yet.

  Throughout the whole event, he had felt a strong gaze lingering on him, and now, as he turned and met her eyes, he was finally able to confirm it.

  Standing close to the entrance, Lady Celine Rochefort was looking straight at him.

  The moment their eyes met, his expression changed. From a distant indifference, to a mocking, derisive smile. A trained reaction, honed to perfection, one that showed nothing of the scorching heat brewing inside him.

  "Can't keep your eyes off me, My Lady?" he asked, pausing at his steps.

  She ignored his words, and instead, passed him her handkerchief. "Here," she said, slowly fanning her face with a fan, hiding her bottom face, "You need to clean yourself up a bit. After touching the girl, you've gained an unpleasant stench. Do yourself a favor and wash it off."

  Lucian's chest squeezed, his pulse spiking. He didn't take the handkerchief, and instead, gave a low, mocking laugh. "I'm afraid the stench you are smelling is done by you, My Lady. If I may, it's coming from the wound that refuses to dress, and instead, is still left open for the rot to spread."

  She clutched the fan tighter. Her eyes were hard to read, and it made him wonder if she could still feel emotions at all.

  He turned his back, then, changing his mind at the last second, he faced her again, and reached out to offer his handkerchief, whispering, "Perhaps I should be the one offering you this, my lady. For I believe you're the one who needs it more."

  He didn't wait for a reply, placed the handkerchief on the table beside her, and walked away, leaving the ballroom.

  She was no longer important enough for him to waste any time on, and made it clear with his actions.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  Celine glanced down. The white handkerchief, embroidered with his initials, lay folded in front of her. She didn't pick it up, not until a waiter came to clean and collect the dishes. Before he could touch it and move it away, she snatched it up, holding it between her fingers like it was a rag soaked with poison.

  Even with the mask on, even with the room full of people, she had found him without any effort. She had never seen Lucian wear a suit, and yet, he wore it well, like he was born to wear the fineries.

  A few people stopped by her table to greet her, her focus straying. Most of them were her business partners, and she made small talk with them, trying not to think about the burning cloth between her fingers.

  "May I have this dance, My Lady?"

  Celine glanced at the masked man, and then looked around, seeing the rest of the couples moving towards the center of the ballroom. "My apologies," she replied, "I must refuse."

  "May I know the reason?" He was persistent, and didn't take her rejection lightly, "Nobody else will ask you. You might as well dance with me."

  Celine exhaled a soft, amused breath. "Must I explain?" Tilting her head in his direction, she said, "I do not dance with men below my status. Unlike you, they know their place. What do you have that would make me lower myself to you?"

  His fingers curled into fists. "If a mere servant could have you, how am I beneath that?"

  A sharp, mocking laugh escaped her lips. She leaned closer, letting the warmth of her perfume linger between them. "Do I look like a woman who would ever so much as glance at a servant?" she murmured, her voice dripping with disdain. "You overestimate yourself ─ and insult me in the same breath."

  She pulled back, her eyes cold, and her expression distant, like he was a pebble by her feet.

  The man's cheeks flushed, but he didn't argue. With a scoff, he left to search for another partner with his tail tucked in between his legs.

  Celine waited for a few minutes, and then moved toward the exit.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  Lucian was leaning against the railing, his eyes focused on the night sky. He was no longer wearing the outer jacket the earlier girl's face planted into, and was instead wearing a plain, white shirt and a vest.

  He noticed Celine coming, and glanced in her direction. His eyes flickered toward the handkerchief pinched between her fingers, "..."

  "...What's so funny?" Celine's mouth pressed into a thin line, not realizing how comical she looked, holding the piece of cloth in the air, like she didn't know what to do with it.

  "I didn't say anything."

  "Your eyes are too loud." She looked him up and down, "I was wondering what happened to your clothes. It seems that her face was enough to ruin the fabric."

  Lucian didn't deny her words, and instead, asked, "Is there something you need, My Lady? Or have you just come here to taunt me with your presence?"

  Celine could just leave, but her legs were stuck to the ground, and she didn't want to admit that the sight of him had made her pause, had made her stay, had made her talk to him.

  "Don't tell me," Lucian said, his gaze lingering on the handkerchief, "That you've come here just for me?"

  "And what if I did?"

  Lucian stared at her, his expression shifting from surprise, to a strange, almost hopeful emotion, to a cold, detached look, all in a matter of seconds. She really had a talent for making him lose his mind, and it was a habit he would have to get rid of, if he ever wanted to regain control over his life.

  "What did I do to receive such an honor?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, "Or rather, what do you want from me, that you've decided to grace me with your presence?"

  She looked away. "Forget it," she muttered. She took a step forward, and then, another, walking past him.

  He turned, watching her go. He didn't call after her, and he didn't stop her either.

  · · ─────── · ???· ─────── · ·

  Celine kept walking, slower, and slower, yet the distance between them was getting farther and farther.

  She came to a halt.

  Lucian didn't follow, didn't chase, didn't ask her to stay.

  She didn't know if she was relieved or disappointed. She didn't know what she was expecting, either.

  She turned.

  He was gone.

  Lucian was gone.

  The handkerchief with her initials fluttered to the ground, a white blur in the darkness.

  She couldn't even crouch to pick it up, the corset squeezing the breath out of her, her skirts heavy. And rather than have it fall into the wrong hands, she remained where she was, unmoving.

  The masked man from earlier appeared again, noticing her lonely figure standing in the middle of the hallway.

  "You changed your mind, my lady?" he asked, bending down to pick up the handkerchief, but before he could touch it, Celine stepped on it, crushing it underneath her heel that peeked from under her long skirt.

  Startled by her action, the man paused, and looked up.

  "You do not talk to me like you have a right, you do not approach me like we are equals, and you most certainly do not touch what belongs to me," Celine warned, her words cutting like a whip. "Do I make myself clear, or shall I cut your tongue out, and force the lesson down your throat?"

  The irritation she had suppressed was coming out. With hands behind her back, she crumbled the cloth in her fist.

  "Is my standing high enough for you to allow me to touch it? Or will you cut my tongue, too?" a familiar voice cut through the silence.

  From around the corner, The Crown Prince stepped into their view.

  ╔═══ Author's note ════╗

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