The ceremony ended. People stood, moved, reformed into new configurations as the ballroom transformed from a chapel to celebration. Staff appeared like magic, clearing chairs, setting up tables, turning the space into something meant for dancing and drinking and the performance of joy.
I found Luka near the doors, tall and relaxed in dark red, mask pushed up on his forehead. He held two glasses of champagne, shoved one at me.
“You survived standing up there without passing out. Impressive.”
I took the glass but didn't drink. “It wasn't that bad.”
“You looked like you were at a funeral.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did. Very stoic. Very 'I am suffering but will not show it.' Very you.” He grinned, took a drink. “Viktor cried.”
“He didn't cry.”
“He teared up. During the vows. I saw it.”
“That's not crying.”
“It's crying-adjacent. Close enough.” Luka's gaze tracked across the room to where Dmitri was talking to Adrian. “Whole thing was surprisingly nice. For a wedding.”
“High praise from you.”
“I hate weddings. But this one wasn't terrible.” He paused. “You see Ash earlier?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“He's on the terrace. Hiding. These things are rough for him sometimes. Crowds, formal events.” Luka's expression shifted, went careful. “Could use someone checking on him.”
“I'll find him,” I said.
“Good. Tell him I'll be out in a minute. Just need to make sure Dmitri hasn't started a fight with the French delegation.”
“Has he?”
“Not yet. But the night's young.” Luka clapped my shoulder, moved off toward where Dmitri was gesturing emphatically at a man in an expensive suit.
I set my champagne down on a passing tray, untouched, and headed for the terrace.
I foundAsh exactly where Luka said he'd be. Leaning against the stone balustrade, staring out at the gardens, his mask still in place. White. Simple. Covering the upper half of his face like armour.
“Hiding?” I asked.
He didn't turn. “Surviving.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
“Yeah.” His voice was quiet, nearly lost beneath the music drifting through the open doors. “You?”
“Same.” I moved to stand beside him, leaned against the balustrade. The gardens below were lit with lanterns, paths winding between hedges shaped into geometric patterns that probably meant something to people who cared about symbolism. “Luka sent me.”
“Figured.” Ash's mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smile. “He worries.”
“He's good at it.”
“He's good at a lot of things.” Ash's shoulders were tight, his hands gripping the stone. “How was the ceremony?”
“Good. Viktor cried.”
