August returned to his quarters in silence. The door clicked softly behind him as the echo of his aunt's heels fade away outside the blackwood manor. The conversation with her had left a weight in his chest, though he couldn't quite name its shape. Politics wrapped in familial affection always left him cold. He stood for a moment, letting the silence press in. Then, with a slow breath, he moved toward the breakfast tray waiting by the hearth.
It was cold. Eggs congealed, toast dry, tea long since cooled to an unappealing lukewarm amber. He stared at the tray a moment, then tugged the velvet rope near the door. A few moments later, a maid entered.
"Take this away," he said, his voice as smooth and expressionless as ever. "Bring me a fresh glass of milk. Nothing else."
The maid bowed slightly and took the tray without a word. He walked past her, shedding his coat and tossing it over the chair. He didn't glance at Elias, who stood at the far end of the room by the windows, arms crossed, posture stiff with unspoken tension.
Elias hadn't come to him last night. Hadn't spoken a word all morning. The wall between them remained.
August sat at his desk, where the pile of documents had grown like moss in his absence. Letters, official missives, reports from dockhands, noble correspondences, coded messages tucked between pages. And now, a fresh stack of invitations—colorful parchment sealed with ornate wax, scribbled with perfumed flourishes.
He ignored them all at first.
Instead, his fingers moved to the unmarked letter bearing the now-familiar seal of Khyronia's master: a symbol etched in dark ink, stylized like a crescent moon shrouded in flame. He opened it slowly.
August,
The Eclipse Elite lingers. Reports place their agents in at least three cities under your trade route. They do not scatter like rats after fire—they wait, they observe. Your encounter was not the end. Khyronia must not be caught unaware. As cover, we will host a masquerade in the Grand Hall—nobles from all corners will attend. You are expected. It will be held in ten days. Do not concern yourself with preparations—I will have my own designers send appropriate attire and masks to you and Elias. Every detail is planned.
—M
He let the parchment fall gently to the desk. The fire crackled softly behind him, but its warmth did little to chase the chill that the words left in his bones.
A masquerade.
He shifted his gaze to the unopened invitation card resting beside his untouched tea. It was heavier than the others, trimmed in black and gold with flecks of crimson—beautiful, haunting. He opened it slowly.
You are cordially invited to the Grand Masquerade of Khyronia, Held under the waxing moon, In celebration of peace, power, and hidden truths.
Attendance is expected.
Below the ornate calligraphy, a single line had been handwritten:
"Behind every mask, a whisper waits."
August's fingers tightened slightly. He leaned back in the chair, posture rigid. A flicker of pain sparked at the base of his spine, where tension had settled for hours too long. He shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make his back throb—but the numbness was setting in now, spreading down to the backs of his legs.
Still, he didn't rise.
Across the room, Elias rustled paper. Deliberate. Loud enough to be heard, pointedly so. August's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're still angry," he said.
Elias didn't reply. His ink pen scratched against parchment with fierce precision. August watched him—how his jaw clenched, how his shoulders were tight beneath his shirt.
"Then stay angry," August murmured, and turned back to the desk.
He picked up another letter, this one from Port Royal's magistrate, requesting aid in negotiating with a rival faction. He read it once, then set it aside. Another note detailed a merchant fleet gone missing. Another—coded—hinted that a spy had been compromised. His fingers worked without pause, sorting, reading, prioritizing.
It was easier than speaking.
The room remained heavy with things unsaid.
Elias finally snapped. "You should've told me. About your plan. About your aunt. About the trade accords."
"You were too angry to listen," August replied without looking up.
"You made me angry. You don't get to hide behind silence and then blame me for it."
August set his pen down. "I'm not hiding. I'm working."
"You always work when you want to disappear."
Their eyes met then, across the desk. For a moment, neither spoke. The flicker of firelight danced between them. August's fingers twitched slightly.
"You should go prepare," August said quietly. "We're attending the masquerade."
Elias frowned. "We're not—"
"It's not an invitation. It's a warning. The Eclipse Elite are still watching. And if they're coming to the masquerade, we'll be ready."
Elias walked closer, standing beside the desk now. He leaned down, palm pressed to the edge.
"Is this still about revenge? Or are you trying to protect something else?"
August didn't reply.
The maid returned then, carrying a crystal glass of milk on a silver tray. August took it with a nod, then sipped it slowly. The coolness soothed his dry throat, though the ache in his spine refused to ease.
Elias sat on the edge of the desk now, picking up one of the invitations. "Khyronia's Grand Hall," he said. "Last time when I was in a masquerade Hall, a duke tried to stab me with a hairpin."
"And failed," August said, lips twitching faintly.
"You weren't there to see it."
"I read the report."
Elias watched him for a long moment. "You still haven't said why you didn't tell me."
August set the glass down. "Because I didn't want to see your face when I said it."
"Said what?"
"That this... isn't just about your family. Or mine. The Eclipse Elite are planning something larger. Something that will ripple beyond just us. I needed more information before dragging you deeper."
Elias scoffed. "You didn't drag me. I walked in beside you."
August's throat tightened, but he nodded.
The silence returned, but it was softer now—no longer sharp with resentment.
Outside, the sky had turned to a orange. The golden light that poured through the windows had turned dusky, casting long shadows across the floor.
August rose, wincing slightly at the numbness in his legs. He gripped the edge of the desk until the tingling subsided.
"I'll need a new suit," he said. "And a mask."
Elias stood as well. "I'll take care of it."
August looked at him. "Make it silver. And quiet."
"What does 'quiet' mean in fashion terms?"
August gave him a faint glance. "Something that doesn't scream."
Elias smiled for the first time in hours. "That'll be a challenge."
August turned back to his letters. "Send word to Khyronia. We'll arrive before the first bell."
"And if the Eclipse Elite strike again?"
August's eyes darkened. "Then I'll remind them who survived last time."
Elias nodded, his smile fading back into something hard, something resolute.
The masquerade was more than just a party. It was a trap set under candlelight and silk. And somewhere behind the masks, enemies were waiting.
But August had worn masks long before he ever attended a ball.
He would wear one again—this time, to war.
As Elias turned to leave, he paused at the doorway. "August."
"Hm?"
"Next time... don't shut me out. We're stronger when we're not pretending we're alone."
August didn't answer immediately. He stared at the half-written letter on his desk, ink drying beneath his hand.
Finally, he said, "I'll try."
Elias didn't press further. He simply nodded once and stepped out, letting the door close softly behind him.
The next morning dawned sharp with the scent of rain in the air. A carriage waited in the courtyard, glossy black with a silver crest on the door. Two horses stood restless, hooves clacking against the stone.
August stood in the entryway, gloved hands resting behind his back, dressed in charcoal and ivory with a long overcoat. His butler, the same man who had served his family since childhood, waited beside the coach. Two soldiers—uniformed, discreet, and deadly—flanked the carriage.
Elias appeared at the top of the steps, brows furrowed.
"Where are you going?"
"To the estate of my cousin," August replied calmly. "There's a political matter that needs tending."
Elias's eyes narrowed. "Then I'm coming with you."
"No."
"August—"
"You're needed here," August interrupted, tone quiet but firm. "Khyronia's tailors will arrive soon. I need you to prepare for the masquerade. I won't be gone long."
Elias took a step down. "You think I'll let you walk into some noble's den alone while assassins are lurking in every alley?"
"I won't be alone. The butler my aunt assigned knows the route. The guards are under direct command."
"That's not what I meant."
August held his gaze. "I need you to trust me."
Elias's jaw tightened. "It's not trust that's the problem. It's the thought of you meeting that cousin of yours. The one who thinks war is just a card game."
August's lips twitched. "Handsome but arrogant. Yes, that one. But I'm not meeting him. I'm meeting his father."
"And that's better?"
August turned toward the carriage. "That's necessary."
Elias didn't follow.
The butler opened the door. August stepped inside without another word. The door shut behind him with a hollow thud, and the carriage rolled into motion, wheels hissing through the damp street.
The estate lay two hours away, nestled in vineyards and guarded by roses with thorns like knives. And within, more politics. More danger. More masks.
But August would face it alone—because some wars required silence to win.
And some conversations were better held without the people you couldn't afford to lose.