Chapter 8: The Ball of Masks

The Grand Hall of the Royal Academy shimmered under the glow of a thousand candles, their light reflecting off gilded walls and crystal chandeliers. Nobles and students alike drifted through the room like specters, their faces hidden behind ornate masks of silver, gold, and obsidian. The air buzzed with whispered alliances and veiled threats, the clink of goblets harmonizing with the soft strains of a lute.

Cedric adjusted his mask—a simple black half-face adorned with silver filigree—and scanned the crowd. Beside him, Lysandra fanned herself with a feathered mask shaped like a raven's wing, her gaze sharp behind its gilded edges. "Remember," she murmured, "every smile here is a dagger. Choose your cuts wisely."

Garrett, wearing a mask resembling a grinning fox, nudged Cedric's shoulder. "Relax. Just pretend everyone's a blueprint. You're good at those."

Tristan, masked as a stoic wolf, said nothing, his eyes tracking Roland and Edmund across the room.

A hush fell over the crowd as Headmistress Elara ascended the dais. "Tonight," she declared, "is not merely a celebration. It is a test. Observe, adapt, and remember—*masks reveal more than they conceal.*"

The music swelled, and the dance began.

---

Cedric wove through the throng, exchanging polite nods with minor nobles whose names he'd memorized from Wyntor's journals. His siblings circled like sharks: Selene in a serpentine mask dripping with emeralds, Roland in a boar's visage, Edmund masked as a crowned falcon.

Then he saw *her*.

She stood at the edge of the hall, her mask a crescent moon studded with sapphires, her gown the color of midnight. Silver hair cascaded down her back, and though her expression was unreadable, her eyes—sharp and calculating—locked onto his.

**Seraphina Duskthorn.**

Cedric's pulse quickened as she glided toward him, her movements deliberate. "Prince Cedric," she said, her voice cool but laced with intrigue. "A rare sight—a Valerian who doesn't preen like a peacock."

"Lady Seraphina," Cedric replied, bowing slightly. "I prefer to let my work speak for itself."

Her lips curved beneath the mask. "A dangerous philosophy in a den of liars. Shall we test it?"

Before he could reply, she extended a gloved hand.

---

The dance was a duel. Seraphina matched his every step, her grace a silent challenge. Cedric's modern instincts clashed with the medieval rhythms, but he adapted, blending efficiency with elegance.

"You've studied," she observed, her tone approving.

"I learn quickly," he said.

"So I've heard." Her gaze flicked to his siblings. "They resent you. Fear you, even."

"And you?" Cedric asked, spinning her smoothly. "Do you fear me?"

Seraphina's laugh was low, melodic. "I fear *for* you. Ambition without armor is folly, Prince."

As the music crescendoed, Cedric's hand brushed the small of her back, feeling the tension coiled beneath her poise. "What armor do you suggest?"

"Allies," she said simply. "Even stars need constellations."

The song ended, leaving them breathless and closer than propriety allowed. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Seraphina stepped back, her mask flawless, her eyes unreadable once more.

---

A servant materialized, offering Cedric a goblet of wine. He drank absently, his mind still on Seraphina—until a metallic tang hit his tongue.

*Poison.*

His vision blurred. The hall tilted. He staggered, clutching a pillar as fire raced through his veins.

Selene's laugh rang out nearby, sweet and venomous. "Poor Cedric. Too weak for even a sip of wine."

But Seraphina was already at his side, her voice cutting through the haze. "*Fool.*" She pressed a vial to his lips—bitter herbs and honey. "Swallow. Now."

The antidote burned, but clarity returned. Cedric's gaze snapped to Selene, who paled beneath her mask.

"A clumsy trick," Seraphina hissed, loud enough for nearby nobles to hear. "Poisoning a prince at a royal ball? How… *common.*"

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Selene retreated, her reputation fraying.

---

Cedric fled to the corridors, his breath ragged. Seraphina followed, her mask discarded, her expression fierce. "You're reckless."

"And you're saving me. Why?"

She hesitated. "Your mother… she was kind to mine. Consider this repayment."

Before Cedric could press, a draft stirred—a hidden door, slightly ajar behind a tapestry.

Inside lay a narrow staircase descending into darkness. Seraphina lit a torch, revealing walls lined with schematics. Cedric's breath caught.

*Eleanora's blueprints.*

Gears, pumps, and engines—designs centuries ahead of Valeria's technology. A sketch of a steam-powered loom. Notes on crop irrigation. And at the center, a massive parchment labeled *Ashenfell Aqueduct System*.

Seraphina traced the faded ink. "She was a genius. The court called her a heretic."

Cedric's chest tightened. "They killed her for this?"

"For threatening their power." Seraphina met his gaze. "Finish what she started. *Change the world.*"