The Last Mask to Unveil

✧ Chapter Thirteen ✧

The Last Mask to Unveil

from Have You Someone to Protect?

by ©Amer

After the dance, Lhady wore her smile like armor—serene, poised, untouchable. But beneath it, she could feel the ballroom closing in. The laughter. The music. The weight of every eye. Her breath came shallowly, each inhale brushing the fine lace along her collarbone. The soft murmur of silk and velvet brushing the floor echoed louder in her ears than the music did.

The herald stepped forward, clearing his throat with ceremony.

"Esteemed guests," he announced, his voice carrying across the marble hall, "the Elowen family is pleased to honor this evening's finest in grace and presentation."

A hush fell.

"In the gentlemen's category," he began slowly, letting the moment linger, "the honor of Best Dressed and Masked goes to… Sir Caelum Virelian."

Applause rang out, warm and proud. A few gasps, even, from corners of the hall. Some guests turned to see who he was, others nodded, unsurprised.

"And for the ladies," the herald continued, a touch of admiration in his tone, "the title belongs to none other than… Lady Sian Altairé."

Mira gasped and clutched Sian's hands. "We won! I told you!"

Sian, cheeks blooming with disbelief, laughed breathlessly. "Feathers. It was the feathers."

Beside them, Caelum glanced toward Lhady. She stood still, offering a quiet smile and the slightest nod toward Sian—as if to say Go, share the moment with her.

He inclined his head. "I'll be back."

"Congratulations," Lhady said, composed. "Both of you." Her voice didn't waver, but her fingers twitched slightly as they rested at her side.

Ever the gentleman, Caelum offered Sian his arm. "Shall we?"

They stepped forward. The herald gestured again. "Winners, please—honor us with a walk so all may admire your ensemble."

As Caelum guided Sian around the ballroom, heads turned, eyes trailed them—but his gaze kept drifting back to the girl who had chosen stillness over spotlight. He caught glimpses of her between shifting shoulders and drifting sleeves. That shawl. That quiet grace.

Up on the stage, Silas stood beside the host, silent, unreadable. His mask still concealed most of his face, but his eyes—the sharp, smoldering kind—were locked on only one person.

Lhady.

After the short procession, the Elowen family formally handed over modest trophies, ribbons, and tokens. Lady Alen, radiant and proud, descended the stage to greet them personally.

"Well done, Caelum," she said with warmth. "And Sian—you truly do the Altairé name proud."

Caelum turned to her, his voice gentler than the music. "My lady," he said, "may I ask for this next dance?" A short bow. "As thanks—for the mask, and the kindness you've extended me tonight."

Lady Alen's eyes softened. "You may."

The host raised his hand once more. "Now that we've honored the best dressed, the remainder of the evening is yours to enjoy. Guests may now remove their masks!"

A wave of laughter rippled through the ballroom as men and women unfastened their disguises. Applause followed.

Lhady felt her breath catch. The room was brighter now, too bright. Faces emerged from mystery. Some familiar, others not. But all of them real. It was too much.

Her mask was slipping. If she stayed any longer, someone might see what still hurt beneath it.

She turned to Mira. "I'll just step outside for a moment."

Mira blinked. "Do you want me to come—?"

But Lhady, noticing Mira's partner approaching from across the room, gently shook her head. "He's coming to ask you for another dance. Don't even try to deny it."

"But—"

"I'm an adult, remember?" Lhady teased, touching her friend's hand lightly. "Go. I'll be back before the next waltz ends."

Mira hesitated, then relented. "Be quick. Don't vanish on me."

Lhady gave a mock salute and turned toward the garden doors. Behind her, the hall continued to sparkle, full of laughter and unveiled faces. Her shadow stretched across the marbled floor as she passed under the golden arches.

Caelum glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of her just before she disappeared into the crowd. She was speaking with Mira, her smile tired but kind. He felt a sharp pinch of worry in his chest.

He turned to Alen with a soft smile. "Shall we?"

As they joined the others for another turn across the floor, Caelum didn't realize Lhady had already stepped out into the moonlight.

But Silas did.

He had been watching. Every movement, every smile that didn't reach her eyes. When she slipped through the crowd, his jaw tightened. She wore the same shawl she always did. Violet. Unchanging. Like the memory she had become.

He murmured to the host, "Pardon me a moment—I've just recalled something urgent."

Without waiting for a reply, Silas descended the steps and moved silently after her.

The crowd was shifting, music rising again. He hadn't yet removed his mask—almost as if he didn't wish to be seen just yet. It clung to him like a shield, allowing him one last moment of silence before the world knew.

But then—

A shoulder.

The faintest brush.

Silas's arm grazed Caelum's as he passed behind him. The air between them shifted, immediate and crackling, like steel meeting flint.

Caelum turned sharply.

So did Silas.

They locked eyes—just for a moment. One heartbeat. Two.

It was enough.

Caelum saw the mask. Still in place. But he knew. He knew from the way the man stood—shoulders braced like a blade held back, head tilted with quiet calculation. He had known that stance once, and memory answered where sight could not.

Time slowed.

The music dulled into a far-off hum. Colors blurred around them. No words. No gestures. Just two figures caught in a breathless stillness. Neither spoke. Neither needed to. The ballroom blurred around them, noise fading to something low and pulsing—like the moment before a storm.

Then Silas moved on, disappearing into the crowd… and into the garden after her.

And somewhere beneath the garden's bloom, old truths waited. Truths that neither mask nor moonlight could hide any longer.