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Tonight was Hallows Eve, and there was a masquerade ball at the Black Palace. It was the first of four major festivities to take place since I’d become a Challenger.
The Palace’s gates were thrown open for any who wished to become part of the revelry. Everyone was welcome. Though commoners contented themselves with their own, more modest celebrations. A night out on the town, dancing under the moonlight in the central courtyard of their Square. A meal with their family in one of the inns. A drunken gathering with friends to consume all the ale their money could buy. Or an extra special meal at home, safe from harm.
Obviously, as a commoner with enough reasons to stay away from both palaces, I had never attended any of their fancy balls. I had, instead, spent those nights with my family. My parents and Timotei, at first, and after they died, only with my little brother.
I had been in the Black Palace for four months already—two as a Challenger, and two as Fourth Pawn—and I had yet to set foot inside of King Maximus’s lair.
Tonight that would change.
The sky was clear, a full moon casting light bright enough to read by. I was on the path that led from my dormitory up to the palace. I wore my black uniform, the insignia of a Pawn with four bars under it embroidered on the right arm of my jacket.
As the night required highly formal attire, I wore my cloak as well as my sword. My perfectly-polished boots reflected the moonlight and marked my every step toward the sounds of merrymaking and debauchery that emanated from the palace.
The black building ahead reflected the moonlight, its four domed towers perfectly visible, for once. Light shone extravagantly from every window. Just the candles required for such a fit must cost my monthly income times a thousand. Such a waste.
A string orchestra serenaded the callous nobles, its music drifting placidly through the night’s crisp air. Gone were the humidity and heat of summer. Winter would be upon us soon, bringing heavy snows and frigid winds.
The familiar heaviness that had throttled my chest ever since that night I tried to rescue Timotei grew worse the closer I got to the palace’s entrance. I hadn’t seen my brother since that terrible day nearly eight weeks ago. I hadn’t even seen the King, despite my fear he’d come to find me, looking for more “entertainment.”
A horse-drawn carriage rode up to the paved path and stopped in front of the steps that led to the massive entrance. A page walked forward and opened the door to the carriage. A woman in an elaborate white gown descended with his help. Unhurriedly, she climbed up the steps and went into the palace, her voluminous skirts swaying as she walked. She was fashionably late, as was I.
The page returned to his spot next to the imposing obsidian dragon sculptures that framed the stairs. They stared straight ahead, ignoring me as I stopped and stood between them, glancing up at the glowing black building.
Light spilled out past the threshold, warm and inviting, but it was a deception because I knew the inside was as black as the outside.
Timotei was in there, had been for too long. I didn’t know if I would see him tonight. And after failing him so dismally, I didn’t know if I could bear it. A child shouldn’t be part of such late-night celebrations, but if the King didn’t respect life, why should he respect bedtime?
Holding my chin high, I made my way up the steps. Gods only knew what awaited me inside, what new cruel game King Maximus might design for me once he saw me.
But, ignored as I’d been since I became Fourth Pawn, I felt lured into the palace. I had no choice but to go in since anything I could find out about this place could be useful in my quest to rescue Timotei. I didn’t know the palace’s layout, and this was my first opportunity to learn it. Still, I feared the consequences of going near the King.
Pushing all of that aside, I crossed the threshold. The night stayed behind and, paradoxically, I seemed to step into daylight. The enormous foyer was illuminated by hundreds of candles. The space felt welcoming and merry. The complete opposite of what I had imagined.
Dominating the room was an enormous marble staircase, carpeted with what looked like red velvet. Elaborately carved tables topped with porcelain vases lined the walls, spilling with fragrant flowers of all colors. Oil portraits graced the walls, many of them depicting King Maximus in different settings.
There was no one around, so I meandered for a moment, examining the portraits. Every person on every canvas appeared human, even the King. There was color in their cheeks and life in their eyes.
I stopped in front of one of Maximus’s portraits. In it, he stood tall next to a marble column, his black suit pristine, one hand resting on the sword at his waist. He seemed to stare down at me with blue eyes that reflected the light. His skin was white but had a slight pink tint to it. No veins snaked up his neck or around his eyes. A chill ran down my spine as I realized he appeared more alive on the canvas than he did in person.
When had this portrait been painted? Before he became a vampire? Or afterward? If the latter, did that mean he wished to be human again?
I turned away from the many portraits and made my way up the stairs. I’d lingered enough, trying to avoid joining the revelers.
At the top, more fragrant flowers graced the landing. They made me think of sunshine and gardens when I should have been thinking of death and cemeteries. Was this the King’s way to lure in his victims? To make them feel comfortable and forget where they were? Maximus hated the light, no matter that he drank enough Trove blood to allow him to walk unharmed during the day. When he wasn’t hosting a party, most of the windows remained dark, so, clearly, this wasn’t for his benefit.
A tall, double door lay at the right end of the landing. Music, chatter, and laughter drifted through the air, a lure of gaiety and pleasure. Just like all the light, it was designed to fool the guests into a false sense of security, to make them forget their throats could be ripped open at any moment.
After a calming inhale, I lifted the mask I’d been carrying to my face, tied the silk lace behind my head, and walked toward the door.
Twirling color and brilliance dazzled me as I entered the ballroom. Couples danced to the cadence of a slow waltz, their feet sliding across the inlaid wooden floor. Men, dressed in black tails, wore simple velvet masks over their eyes. Women in stunning gowns of red, purple, green, and turquoise sported more elaborate masks, decorated with feathers and jewels. They smiled up at their partners, their feet light and graceful.
My eyes roved around the large room, searching, trying to find the danger that I knew lived between these walls.
But I didn’t find it. I saw only lies.
Back straight, senses alert, I moved around the dance floor, past onlookers who stood chatting, drinking wine from tall glasses, cackling in their nonsensical conversations.
A few ladies glanced my way and smiled. I frowned.
That was different.
I was used to people’s smiles disappearing whenever I walked through the city in my uniform, used to their bowed heads and hurried steps as they rushed away from me. But apparently, the gentry didn’t feel the same way about the members of the Board—not even a lowly Fourth Pawn like me.
A young woman with a jewel-encrusted mask winked at me as I passed. Her rouged lips twisted in an inviting smile meant to tempt me. But to what? Ask her to dance? Something more?
I pressed forward, ignoring her. I wasn’t here for that. I was here to—
My roving eyes stopped.
A graceful figure moving flawlessly to the rhythm of the waltz captured my attention. I froze, utterly captivated, as if this person possessed some sort of magic that could immediately ensnare me in any crowded room, tavern, or market.
She was wearing a silken, lilac gown, dark hair flowing in tight curls over her shoulders. Her golden skin glowed with the warm light from the candles. Her presence completely filled the ballroom, the way water fills a glass. I was swimming in it, my every sense immersed.
I called to her, the way she called to me.
Her brown eyes—behind a glittering mask with pink and purple gems—locked with mine. Her lips parted, and I knew, even by that simple stirring that she recognized me too.
Bianca was here.