When a black-lacquered coach bearing the imperial crest rolled up the Aurelian drive at noon, every servant in the manor held their breath. No messenger wore armor this fine unless the Palace wished to be seen.
Eloise hurried into my study, cheeks flushed with worry. "My lady, a royal envoy requests your presence."
Of course they do, I thought, steadying the quill between my fingers. The rune on my collarbone warmed, as if sensing the danger before I opened the door.
Two gold-plated guards bowed, then produced a velvet-lined casket no bigger than a hatbox. "A gift from His Imperial Highness, for tonight's Winter Masquerade."
I thanked them with perfect grace while my mind churned. Kael had sent me nothing in the first timeline, but tonight's ball hadn't existed then either. The timeline was already diverging.
When the guards departed, I pried open the box.
Inside lay a midnight-silk mask, edged in silver filigree that curled like hawk feathers. Its center gem was a shard of moonstone older than any jeweler alive etched with the faint outline of a rune only a Spellweaver could read.
Beneath the mask rested a tiny crystal vial sealed with crimson wax. No note. No explanation.
I felt the warding glyphs woven through both items delicate, sophisticated, and undeniably royal in origin.
Was this a warning or an invitation to step onto a stage I'd tried so hard to avoid?
Either way, refusing to attend would look like cowardice. And Duke Aurelian's daughter did not show fear.
The Winter Masquerade
Snowflakes floated in slow spirals around the palace's frost-lit courtyard as carriages queued beneath silver lanterns. I emerged in a deep-crimson gown whose skirts shimmered like wine under starlight. The black-silk mask hid half my face; the rune gem kissed the bridge of my nose, cool and omniscient.
As I crossed the threshold, warmth and music rose in a single jeweled wave. The ballroom glowed with chandeliers draped in living ice roses enchanted to glint turquoise and gold. Nobles twirled across marble slick enough to reflect the swirling constellations painted on the domed ceiling.
No one greeted me openly yet every masked gaze tracked me. The villainess returned, rumors whispered behind feathered fans. New timeline, same sharp tongues.
I claimed a glass of sparkling nectar from a servant's tray and slid toward the edge of the dance floor. Observe first, act later. Father's old war rule.
That was when the strings swelled, and a partner stepped into my path tall, broad shouldered, his raven-feather mask trimmed in silver.
"Lady Seraphina," he said, offering a gloved hand. I knew that voice: low but clear as winter water.
"Your Highness," I answered, placing my fingers into Crown Prince Kael's grip despite every instinct screaming no.
We waltzed beneath lantern-light that fractured against his mask, rendering his violet eyes almost luminous. His hand at my waist hovered proper, not intimate yet heat radiated through silk and bone.
"Did the gift fit?" he asked.
"You mean the mask that could bankroll three small counties?" I replied lightly. "Yes, it fits."
His jaw ticked, amused. "I thought the moonstone suited you."
"Because it's dangerous to mine and liable to curse the careless?"
"Because it glows only in honest moonlight," he countered, spinning me beneath an arch of dancers. "Few things reveal truth as ruthlessly as the moon."
A strange answer for the prince I remembered who wielded logic like a sword and poetry like an inconvenience. This Kael studied me, searching for fractures in a façade he no longer understood.
Our waltz ended, applause rising. I dipped. He bowed. We separated into the throng.
Do not let him pull you back, I reminded myself, pressing a hand over the rune's faint hum beneath my bodice. Change the story. Protect the secret.
Near the buffet of spun-sugar sculptures, a woman in a lavender butterfly mask brushed my arm. Perfume of night lilac curled around me sweet, cloying, unmistakable.
"Lady Seraphina," she said, voice as delicate as dew. "What a lovely mask. Does it hide regret?"
Princess Alira's golden curls spilled over her shoulders, a perfect angel even half-obscured. Yet her eyes, pond-calm, never blinked.
"I find masks reveal more than they hide," I replied.
She tittered. "Ah, but some faces need hiding, don't they? Especially faces that plan to betray."
My spine chilled. In the first timeline, this was the night Alira slipped poison into her own cup and blamed me. How many steps until she repeated history?
Before I could speak, she lifted a crystal decanter of rose-pear cider. "Toast with me? To… new beginnings."
We both knew the implication. Dare you drink from my hand? If I refused, suspicion bloomed. If I accepted, I risked everything.
I smiled, lifted my flute then pretended to stumble. Liquid leapt from the cup, splashing the hem of Alira's gown. Gasps echoed.
"So clumsy of me!" I exclaimed. "Allow me" I brushed my fingers, secretly weaving a micro-rune that evaporated the stain in a silent puff of steam before any maid could see.
Alira's eyes widened not at the vanished spill, but at the faint glimmer of gold that flickered across my palm.
A Spellweaver's trace.
She saw.
Her smile sharpened. "You really are… full of surprises."
I inclined my head. "It keeps life interesting, Your Highness."
We parted with brittle courtesies, the war declared in a single spill.
Shattered Light
No sooner had I retreated to a marble column than metal shrieked overhead. One of the enchanted chandeliers, overburdened with ice roses, snapped from its chain and plummeted toward the dancers below.
Screams burst.
Instinct overrode fear. My rune blazed hot, searing flesh. I flung both hands upward and wove a fallen-star sigil in the air catching the chandelier in a net of golden lines. Time slowed; fractals of frost glittered, frozen mid-descent.
A heartbeat too long, long enough for every noble to register the impossible magic flaring above their heads then I redirected the mass to crash harmlessly into an unoccupied alcove. Crystal shattered like hail against fortified glass.
Silence echoed wider than the ballroom.
Spell-light faded from my skin, the mark aching as though scalded.
Guards rushed. The emperor himself barked orders. But my gaze locked onto the only face that mattered: Kael, standing where the chandelier should have fallen, his sword halfway drawn.
He stared first at the ruins, then at me eyes unreadable.
Alira watched, too, lips parted in astonishment that looked more like anger.
So much for staying invisible.
Amid chaos, a hand seized my elbow and pulled me through a servants' corridor to a private winter balcony. Snow dusted stone balustrades; the garden below glimmered silver.
Kael released me, breath fogging the air.
"Seraphina," he said, lowering his raven mask. "What… are you?"
Wind tugged my cloak. I met his gaze without flinching. "Alive. Thanks to myself."
He shook his head, disbelief and awe warring in his eyes. "Spellweaving is forbidden. The Church—"
"Would burn me," I finished. "For saving their precious nobles? Let them."
Footsteps sounded beyond the door guards searching. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "No one else saw it clearly. I can bury the report."
"Why?" I demanded. "You hate magic."
His answer was a whisper: "Because this time I refuse to watch you die."
My heart stuttered. This time? What did he remember? Nothing or too much?
Before I could probe, he pressed the crystal vial from the gift into my hand. "It belonged to your mother. She wore it the night she disappeared. I thought you deserved the truth."
He pivoted, vanishing back into the corridor before I could speak, leaving me alone with swirling snow and a thousand new questions.
I uncorked the vial; inside glimmered a single drop of blood that pulsed with faint golden light the same hue as my rune.
Mother's magic.
My inheritance.
A key to power… or ruin.