Shadows Behind the Veil

Under the gilded ceiling and golden chandeliers, the wine in Lady Marianne's glass shimmered like blood flowing in slow motion.

With the slight movement of her fingers, the red liquid struck a deep, silent note — as if it were recalling some old sin of time.

In the soft golden light of the ballroom, her face looked almost ethereal — but in her eyes was an unfamiliar fatigue and some unsaid darkness hidden.

Lucain quietly observed from the corner — in his eyes was that trained sharpness that becomes a scalpel in a surgeon's hand, but beneath that calm façade, something else was stirring.

His face was still, expressionless, but his fingers — were slowly tightening around the rim of the glass — a reflex, a microscopic betrayal of his composed exterior.

"You're not here just like that, Lady Marianne…"

He said, in a soft and measured voice — no urgency, but an unmistakable pull.

Marianne slowly took a sip — her every movement was a kind of performance — poised, graceful, and perfectly timed. She slightly tilted her glass, with a playful yet pointed look.

"And you… are still the same, Lord Lucain. Less questions, more suspicion."

A barely-there smile was on Lucain's lips — the same smile that suited him comfortably in courtrooms and funerals.

"Suspicion is just a mask. And you know… I'm good with masks."

There was a teasing glint in Marianne's eyes, but within it was a layered sadness as well.

"Hmm... the faces behind masks are the ones that get remembered. Yours… especially."

She softly sipped — the gleam in her eyes momentarily turned dark. For a moment it seemed like every sip was the liquid translation of some old memory. Lucain was just about to speak when an overly perfumed presence disturbed their air.

Viscount Edrel approached, with a perfect white smile and unnecessarily loud confidence.

"Lady Marianne, will this beautiful evening pass only in words, or will you give me the chance of one dance as well?"

Marianne looked at him — with a polished smile, flawless… but fatal.

"Dance is tempting, Viscount... but I've already reserved my evening."

She tilted her head slightly toward Lucain — subtle, but sharp.

It took Edrel a second to understand the gesture, then with an awkward chuckle he stepped back.

"Oh… I see. Doctor Valehart, then I won't disturb you both further."

Lucain gave Marianne a sideways glance, a faint flicker of amusement rising in his eyes.

"You've made me responsible for the flirt quota."

Marianne said in a hushed voice, smirking,

"Oh, don't be so modest. The pain hidden in your eyes... is the most seductive thing in the court."

Lucain slightly raised his glass, with a sharp flicker in his eyes.

"And you... are still deadly."

Marianne leaned in slightly, her voice softer, almost like silk sliding across skin.

"Deadly or familiar?"

The silence between them deepened — not tense, but electric. A shared space, a shared past that only their eyes could decode.

Marianne softly placed her glass on the table. Her words were measured and certain.

"Walk with me, Doctor... someone wants to meet you."

Lucain looked into her eyes. There was something there — a strange calm, but within that calm, a warning too.

"Do your steps still lead only to records... or have the paths changed now?"

Marianne replied with a slight smile,

"Paths change, Doctor. But some faces… return."

She turned, and began walking — measured, elegant steps, as if every floorboard was pressing down on an old memory.

Lucain glanced once more toward the ballroom below. The glittering hall now looked like a canvas — a painting of light, music, and politics, in which everyone was wearing a mask.

In one corner, Clearia and Shopia were discussing something — urgency in Clearia's eyes, while Shopia's face was pale and distracted, as if some invisible weight were upon her.

On the other side, Lord Gregory was in close conversation with some senior nobles — tight gestures, hushed tones — power games in motion.

And then… the Princess.

She was in another corner, amid the royal entourage. For a moment, her eyes met Lucain's. Just a few seconds, but in that gaze was a strange clarity. As if she weren't just seeing his face, but the shattered truths hidden inside him.

Lucain's throat tightened. A sensation that only comes when someone stands before your personal shadows.

The Princess casually turned her face away, and went back to the conversation.

By then, Marianne was at the top of the stairs. Lucain gave the ballroom one last glance — and walked after her.

The second floor was relatively quiet — warm amber lights wrapped old paintings and dust-covered mirrors in gentle shadows. The silence here wasn't a blankness, but a layered presence — as if the walls too were repeating heard whispers.

Marianne slowed her pace a little — there was an almost teasing softness in her tone.

"Did you keep me only in memories… or also on your list of friends?"

Lucain replied with a cold smile:

"I file memories away, Marianne. You're still one of them."

He lightly rubbed his ring finger — an unconsciously repeated movement, as if some old file had surfaced.

Marianne said in a low voice,

"And some files… are never opened. Out of fear? Or… for some other reason."

Lucain's face went blank — a familiar, trained expression. Neutral, detached.

"You still speak in riddles."

Marianne's lips curved — playful, but with a challenge in it.

"And you still fear understanding them."

Silence returned — but now it wasn't heavy. It was shared.

Ahead stood a grand black-and-gold gate — worn, but imposing. On both sides stood elite guards — motionless, but alert.

Marianne stopped. Her face was poised, but in her eyes — a flicker: hesitation, or warning?

"This door… holds some old answers and new questions."

Lucain looked at the gate — intricate symbols, faded goldwork. A boundary — not just physical, but emotional. A line that, once crossed, could change everything.

"Are you ready, Doctor?"

A brief shadow passed through Lucain — then he left it behind. There was clarity in his eyes.

"Let's go."

Marianne gave a soft knock. The door slowly opened, with a sound like an old bell...

And the two stood at the threshold.

Inside had not yet been revealed — only a dim glow, and beyond it, some unknown truths.

Lucain looked once at Marianne — her face was in shadow, but in her eyes, a spark.

They did not step in.

Not yet.

They just stood there.

Silence between them thickened again — not out of fear, but memory.

The kind of silence that tastes like ash and unsaid names.

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To be continue...