Father turned his fanged dragon mask toward her as she approached; the hollowed eyes and sharp pointed teeth made him look ferocious.
“There you are, darling; once Aristea and Heinrich arrive, we can start.”
“It’s getting late,” Mother said, fingers tapping against the hilt of the Golden Blade as she looked down the hall. When she was a girl, Liane used to beg her mother to retell the story of her quest to obtain the sword and how the goddess herself had gifted it to her to vanquish dark forces that threatened to destroy the land.
Once, she dreamed the blade chose her instead of Aristea to rule, and the sword had enveloped her in bright blinding light. The goddess had spoken to her in the dream, but she couldn’t remember the words anymore.
“I enjoyed your performance,” Mathias said, pulling her from her thoughts, and she narrowed her eyes at his mischievous grin beneath his golden satyr mask.
“I’d love to see your performance next, Mat,” Liane said in a sickly-sweet tone.
“Children, please. Mathias could never be that graceful.” Father smirked.
Liane groaned at his terrible joke and shook her head.
“Speaking of, where is Aristea?” Mathias asked as he searched the hall for her.
As if summoned by his words, Aristea and Heinrich turned a corner, coming into view. Aristea’s sun mask couldn’t disguise the wrinkle on her forehead, or her mouth thinned in displeasure. They’d fought again, or better put, were in the midst of a fight.
“Forgive us for being late,” Aristea said.
“My darling wife couldn’t decide on what accessory to wear, even though I thought we agreed to go as a pair,” Heinrich tutted, gesturing to the star-shaped buttons on his inky-black doublet.
Aristea’s nostrils flared, and Liane contemplated the merits of punching him on her behalf. Not that it would do any good. Aristea would only come to his defense if she did.But she couldn’t stop herself from fantasizing of a day where Aristea realized she was better off without Heinrich, political alliance or not.
“Shall we, then?” Mother said, forcing levity into her voice.
They entered the grand hall: Mother and Father at the front, followed by Aristea and Heinrich, and Liane and Mathias at the rear. Across the crowded ballroom, the Avatheos, the guest of honor, sat on a gilded throne. Normally important guests would enter along with the rest of the family, but she’d never seen the Avatheos walk. For all she knew, beneath his floor-length robe, there was nothing but mist and magic allowing him to glide from place to place or appear wherever he intended to be. Like all priests, a hood covered his eyes, representing the veil between the divine world and the mundane. Little magic remained since The Corruption, and to save themselves from impure sights, and thoughts, they wore hoods to preserve themselves and their magic. It was fortunate the Avatheos didn’t visit Artria often. Every time she saw him, a strange twisting feeling churned in her gut, and despite his hooded veil, she felt his stare across the room, and it sent a tingle up her spine. She’d be glad to be away from him and the masquerade as soon as possible.
They took their seats at the head of the room, the Avatheos behind her. Liane focused on the crowded ballroom, plotting her escape route. The orchestra, which had accompanied her dance performance, played a waltz, inviting the courtiers onto the dance floor. Father stood and bowed with a flourish to Mother, who giggled like a girl half her age. It was an unofficial tradition for them to dance first. She took his hand and walked onto the dance floor, where they were quickly lost in one another’s gazes. Over thirty years of marriage and still madly in love.Before Aristea married Heinrich, Liane thought all marriages were like her parents’: passionate, devoted, and enduring.
Next to Liane, Aristea rested her hand on Heinrich’s arm as she whispered in his ear, asking him to dance with her. Liane tried to imagine Aristea as empress and her and Heinrich taking on the tradition their parents had started, but couldn’t picture it. As if proving her point, Heinrich shook his head, refusing to dance, and instead abandoned Aristea to go greet some lordling across the room as other dancers joined her parents. Hurt flashed across Aristea’s face, and she glanced around the room, checking to see if she’d been noticed. Their eyes met, and Aristea’s skin flushed. Liane resisted the urge to follow Heinrich and give him an earful, but it wouldn’t make a difference other than to cause a scene, which would ultimately delay her and embarrass Aristea.
But she didn’t need to anyway because Mathias offered to dance with her instead. With a bow, he offered his hand, mirroring Father’s gesture, and when Aristea shook her head, trying to refuse, he tugged her onto the dance floor anyway. Mathias always had a knack for improving their moods. Once, when Liane had been bedbound, he’d danced outside her window for her amusement.
Ludwig materialized at her shoulder in a plain, black domino mask, the same uniform as the other Royal Guards scattered about the room. With a sidelong glance at the Avatheos, who seemed to be focused on the dancing, she inclined her head toward Ludwig.
“Did you get it?” she asked him from the corner of her mouth.
“I’m beginning to wonder if I’m your accomplice or your tailor.”
“Perhaps a bit of both.” She smirked.
“It’s not too late. You could dance, and I could alert the guard instead.”
“I’d rather choke on hors d’oeuvres,” she said a little too loudly, and the Avatheos turned ever so slightly in her direction.
Ludwig shook his head, and Liane smiled and bobbed her head in his direction, though she wasn’t sure he noticed. His attention seemed to be elsewhere, or at least she thought it was. It was impossible to tell past the veil. From the corner of her eye, Liane noticed Heinrich returning, and he wasn’t alone this time. Though she longed to leave the ball and get on with more important work, she still had to meet Duke Licht.
“I’ll meet you in the passageway after I’ve finished business here,” Liane said.
Without further comment, Ludwig slipped back into the shadows, and Liane pretended to be very engaged in watching courtiers as they danced while Heinrich drew closer and closer, his eyes trained on her. He couldn’t be coming to talk to her, could he? Liane tried to ignore him until he and his friend were standing right next to her.
“Princess Liane,” Heinrich said with a slimy smile. Did he think that was charming?
“Prince Consort,” she said with a stiff bob of her head.
Overhis shoulder, a man with greasy, brown hair leered at her through his merlot mask festooned with grape leaves.
