In the heart of Montblanc Palace, gilded corridors opened up into realms of awe, where the grandeur of history whispered through the air. The glisten of chandeliers cast a golden tapestry of light upon the walls, illuminating portraits of the venerable Lady Montblanc and her storied ancestors. Scenes painted with mythical elegance graced the ceiling, and flowers burst in immortal bloom, separating the world within from the one that lay beyond its grand windows.

The majesty of silence reigned over these empty halls, save for the distant strains of an orchestra and the hushed voices of the past that seemed to murmur in the air. Drawn to the music as if by enchantment, Aurelius and his company proceeded, ensnared in the melody’s invisible threads. Flanking them were men of stature, garbed in royal red tailcoats adorned with gold and white — their attire a silent proclamation of their station. The gleam of aiguillettes, like strands of liquid gold, fell from their shoulders, a testament to the opulence that surrounded them.

Amidst this splendor, a current of unease tugged at Aurelius’s senses. The very air felt laden with unspoken words, a narrative not yet revealed. Herius trailed just a step behind him, a quiet sentinel in the unfolding drama. Lady Montblanc, ever the sovereign of her domain, kept pace beside Aurelius. With each measured step, she wordlessly asserted her dominion. Without uttering a single syllable, her movements declared an unchallenged command, a dance of power and poise that needed no confirmation.

Herius, observant yet reserved, could sense the silent discourse between them — the subtle exchange of wills. In this elegant procession toward the heart of revelry, every gesture, every glance was a meticulously crafted verse in a silent symphony of aristocracy.

The opulent corridors of Montblanc estate seemed to hum with a secret life of their own, the walls echoing with the vibrant history they’d witnessed. As Aurelius walked in tandem with Montblanc, her voice, tinged with a bright and youthful excitement, danced around them. “The anticipation of their faces when they see you,” she enthused, her words painting visions of a night destined to become legendary. “You’re set to be the beacon of the evening!”

Despite the warmth in her words, a cool frisson of apprehension traced Aurelius’s spine. He mustered a smile, a lightness to his tone that barely veiled his nerves. “Ah, to be part of such a storied event would be my honor, Lady—”

“Gabrielle,” she corrected him with a playful firmness that spoke of close companionship not yet earned. “Please, I insist.”

“Then it shall be my utmost pleasure, Gabrielle,” he acquiesced, his eyes fleetingly darting back to Herius. A few paces removed from the gaiety of their exchange, Herius’s eyes remained sharp, his presence a steady shadow, absorbing every detail with the keenness of a hawk. The glance that passed between the two men was a silent conversation, filled with unvoiced thoughts that rippled beneath the surface of the evening’s gilded facade.

The towering doors, a pair of architectural sentinels clad in a regal blend of red and white, stood before them, guarding the realm of opulence that hummed on the other side. Attendants in uniforms that echoed the doors’ majesty dipped their heads in a reverent pause, their movements synchronizing with the fading symphony that seeped through the woodwork, carrying whispers of the hidden festivities.

A voice, clear and resonant, sliced through the anticipation, announcing, “Her Grace, Lady Montblanc, accompanied by Sire Aurelius Vi Eterna, and Herius of Montsombre.” As the proclamation waned, the grand doors obeyed their silent command, sweeping open to unveil the ballroom’s splendor, a cathedral to beauty and grandiosity.

Toe-to-toe with Lady Montblanc, Aurelius stepped over the threshold, his gaze swept up in the embrace of the ballroom’s embrace. Walls whispered in pastel, their surfaces a ballet of hues—sky blues, petal pinks, and buttery yellows, all singing beneath a canopy of gold that clung to the elaborate reliefs and cherubic frescoes. The very architecture seemed alive, ebbing and flowing with a grace that drew the eye heavenward to where the cherubs played amidst a sapphire expanse.

Pale moonlight danced through the grand windows across the parquetry, a mosaic of dark wood that unfurled in elegant scrolls, weaving a narrative of shadows and light. Velvet draperies, the color of ripe plums, stood parted, their tassels a flirtation with the wind, framing glimpses of nature’s own artistry that lay beyond.

The assembly’s gaze, a tapestry of intrigue and emotion, was fixed upon Aurelius, Herius, and their noble escort. Laughter tinkled from a coterie of ladies, their fans fluttering like the wings of curious butterflies, while the gentlemen’s stares wove a complex story of envy, calculation, and intrigue.

Chandeliers, each a constellation of crafted glass, hung from the heights like crowns abandoned by celestial beings. They scattered prisms of light throughout the chamber, brushing the attendees’ features with a painter’s touch and setting the mirrors ablaze with reflections that danced into infinity.

Each piece of furniture stood as a testament to craftsmanship, with chairs and settees dressed in the finery of fabric, their wooden bones sculpted into whispers of flora and fantasy. Gold leaves kissed the crests and feet, echoing the chamber’s warm luminescence.

A grand staircase cascaded into the ballroom, its railings a marriage of iron strength and gilded finesse. Silk flower garlands entwined around the balustrade, a nod to the gardens that lay in patient splendor outside.

The ballroom air was a concert of senses, interlaced with the perfume of fresh blooms and the honest earthiness of beeswax candles that danced their flickering ballet in wall sconces. A quartet’s melody lingered just beyond sight, weaving a subtle tapestry of sound that draped over the shoulders of every guest.

Here, within these walls, was a haven of passion—a scene painted with the brushstrokes of opulence and the whispers of theatrical romance. It was a room that played its own symphony, a celebration of the artisan’s love affair with the ornate, where every element conspired to serenade the senses into a waltz of courtly delight.

Descending the grand staircase, Lady Montblanc and Aurelius became the cynosure of all eyes, yet there remained a courteous distance as if an invisible cordon of propriety encircled them. Aurelius let his gaze drift across the ballroom’s grand spectacle, the couples swirling in a waltz’s gentle embrace on the dance floor, the onlookers lining the periphery with glasses of champagne and wine in hand, all bathed in the soft, golden glow of the chandeliers.

In this tableau, Aurelius searched for familiar anchors in a sea of faces—Elara, Katarina, and Kinder. A flutter of unease tickled his chest, the grandeur around him suddenly too vast, too impersonal. Yet relief washed over him like warm sunlight as he spotted Kinder by a table laden with sweet confections, his small wave a beacon of comfort, and Elara’s soft smile a silent symphony of reassurance.

Upon reaching the foot of the staircase, a cadre of servants glided forward, as seamless as the music enveloping them. A glass of dark red wine found its way to Aurelius’ hand, and Gabrielle was gracefully handed a flute of bubbling champagne. The servants offered their tribute with a bow, their heads dipped in silent homage before they retreated back into the sea of celebration, becoming once more a part of the ballroom’s living tapestry.

As the strings of the quartet surged in a crescendo, the ballroom came alive anew. The dancers surrendered to the rhythm, and even the hushed whispers that had been tiptoeing around the edges of the room were swept away, entwined in the beautiful, unyielding melody that spoke of timeless moments and the sweet intoxication of a night wrapped in splendor.

The ballroom was a cavern of opulence, alive with the whisper of silks and the subtle clink of finery. It was into this symphony of aristocratic elegance that Gabrielle, entwining her arm with his, beckoned Aurelius toward an expectant throng of ladies. Their conversation had all the lightness of bubbles in champagne—intimate and fizzing with anticipation.

Aurelius’ reluctance was but a brief flutter, lost in the assuredness of Gabrielle’s guidance. He cast a backward glance toward Herius, who lingered at the stairs with an encouraging nod, his smile a beacon of camaraderie amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces. As Herius stepped forward, a servant, as if summoned by thought alone, emerged before him. A silver tray presented like an offering held a choice between champagne and wine.

“Would you like something to drink, Sire?” the servant inquired, his voice threading through the hum of conversation.

Caught off guard, Herius murmured, “Uh—wine, please,” his words trailing off as he plucked a glass from the tray. The servant bowed, a quiet ghost of motion, then melded back into the tapestry of guests.

A palpable current of curiosity now turned toward Herius. Navigating the gaze of the assembly, he found a moment of solace in Elara’s gaze across the room, her smile a soft lighthouse amidst the throng. With each step toward the pastry-laden table, he found respite from the probing eyes.

Elara’s voice, light as air, greeted him. “You look stunning, Sir Herius of Montsombre,” she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes as she toyed with the stem of her champagne glass.

Kinder, ever the echo of good cheer, chimed in with mock solemnity, “Indeed, Sire!” raising an imaginary hat in salute.

Herius’ response was a tender smile, a soft exhalation betraying his relief at their company. “Thank you,” he acknowledged, his voice tinted with a relief that felt almost like confession. “Have you seen Katarina?”

“The lady excused herself, perhaps to find a moment’s respite as well,” Elara replied, her eyes following the delicate dance of bubbles ascending her glass. “She ventured in the direction of the powder room not long past.”

The ballroom, swathed in sumptuous shadows and the gleam of candlelight, hummed with the undercurrent of a hundred private dramas. In this setting ripe with opulent whispers, Herius turned to Elara, his brow arched in playful accusation at her ceremonious tone.

“Why this air of formality?” he probed, casting a bemused glance at Kinder, who was occupied with the delicate balance of a slice of cake and a fork precariously in hand.

Elara’s laughter bubbled up like the champagne in her glass, her eyes twinkling with unspoken tales. “Forgive me, Herius,” she breathed, the whisper of silk against silk. “Old habits, they do cling like morning dew.”

Kinder, his youthful exuberance barely contained, interjected with a giggle that rivaled the clink of fine china. “She was warding off a tiresome admirer before you all swept in!” he announced, unabashed, the cake savored like a stolen sweet.

“Kinder!” Elara’s voice carried a feigned rebuke, softened by affection.

Herius allowed himself a soft chuckle, his sigh mingling with the subtle symphony of the ballroom. “This company we keep,” he mused, “I only hope my presence brings no discomfort.”

“Discomfort?” Elara’s retort came swift and sweet as summer wine. “Dear Herius, you would sooner dance upon the stars than cause a stir.”

“Such words, they coat the spirit like honey upon the tongue,” he replied, his smile as warm as the glow of the chandeliers above.

“And you, the charmer as any here,” Elara teased back, her gaze dancing across his face.

“Oh?” Herius’s laughter was a soft note amidst the crescendo of voices. “Has there been an attempt to claim your heart amidst this throng?”

“Attempt?” Elara scoffed gently. “A grand gesture lacking all grace.”

“Ah, then he played the fool,” Herius mused with a sparkle in his eye, his own amusement mirroring the chandeliers’ twinkling light.

In the heart of a ballroom draped in velvet shadows and the golden glow of countless chandeliers, Kinder’s youthful voice, pure and untempered by the artifice around him, cut through the murmurs like a solitary note of curiosity. “I’m wondering,” he started, his innocence a stark contrast to the opulent setting, “how did all of you come to be friends?”

Elara, her gown catching the light as if woven from the very essence of twilight itself, tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Whatever do you mean?” she inquired, the words wrapped in the warmth of shared secrets.

With a thoughtful munch on his cake, Kinder’s brow furrowed slightly, a puzzle unfolding in his bright mind. “Well, Aurelius saved me, and I’ve heard tales of Herius’ valor, but you and Katarina,” he paused, eyes glinting with the spark of a wild thought, “have you ever been in peril?”

A laugh burst forth from Elara, silvery and clear, dispelling the boy’s fantastical suspicions. “Oh, heavens no, Kinder! I too was rescued. An ambush laid for me near his palace, and he,” her gaze swept the room to the man of honor, “brought me to safety.”

“Really?” Kinder’s face lit up with the simplicity of acceptance, his smile a beam of light in the dusky grandeur.

Herius, with a fond chuckle, tousled Kinder’s hair, affection in the gesture. “He’s not a sorcerer, little man,” he said, his attention momentarily caught by the sight of Aurelius, a magnet for admiring glances, his charm effortless and unwavering. “He is indeed a remarkable man.”

Elara, catching the length of Herius’ gaze, allowed a teasing glimmer to touch her lips. “That he is,” she agreed promptly, an unspoken narrative threading between her words and Herius’, carefully hidden beneath the surface of their conversation.

“Shouldn’t Katarina have returned by now?” Kinder’s voice, laden with a touch of concern, brought their attention to the absent friend.

Herius, his eyes now reflecting a touch of concern, mused aloud, “Perhaps she’s lost? This palace dwarfs even Aurelius’ in its grandeur.”

Kinder, ever hopeful, took another generous bite of his cake, the sweetness perhaps a comfort against the vastness and mystery of the palace. “Maybe,” he agreed, the word left hanging in the air, an invitation to the endless possibilities that a night such as this could hold.

A hushed inquiry drifted towards them, gently parting the sea of idle chatter that filled the room. “Do you three happen to be acquaintances of Lord Vi Eterna?” The voice belonged to a woman whose entrance seemed to echo the quiet authority of a sea calmed by the evening tide. As they turned, they beheld a figure garbed in a gown that whispered tales of elegance without a word. The dress clung to her form with the grace of twilight shadows, its bodice a soft embrace that bloomed into a skirt as voluminous as the night sky. The fabric, a deep crimson, held the hushed promise of the final whispers of daylight enfolded in silk.

Elara responded, her tone an icy breeze over a still lake, as she delicately raised her glass of champagne to her lips. “Indeed, we are familiar with him.” Beside her, Kinder offered a silent nod, his attention momentarily returning to the confection that lay before him, a sweet solace amidst the opulence.

The woman dipped her head, an elegant nod of introduction. “Maria de Medici,” she announced, the name rolling off her tongue like a secret melody.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Herius responded, his voice carrying the warmth of a welcoming hearth. “I am Herius.”

“And I am Elara,” she added, allowing the contours of a formal smile to grace her features, “and this young gentleman is Kinder.”

Kinder, cake momentarily forgotten, chimed in with the bright enthusiasm of morning sun piercing through a canopy of leaves, “Hello!”

Amidst the murmurs and the subtle cadence of chamber music, Herius turned his attention to the enigmatic woman poised with an air of intrigue, her presence stirring a ripple of curiosity among them. “How might we be of service, Lady Maria?” His voice wove through the collective anticipation, a beacon seeking clarity in the unfolding narrative.

A brief silence ensued, a solitary interlude punctuated only by hushed exchanges and distant melodies, until the woman’s reply unfurled, “My desire is to have an audience with him.”

Elara’s gaze, cool and discerning, drifted to where Aurelius and Lady Montblanc held court among the resplendent throng, a tableau of ambition and veiled alliances playing before their eyes. “He is within your reach,” she remarked, a hint of disinterest veiling her tone, “You may present yourself.”

The woman’s request took on a sharper edge, “A rendezvous, apart from prying eyes, is what I seek.”

“We hold no leash to his will,” Elara retorted, her indifference as crisp as the snap of a fresh page, “The onus is yours to bear.”

As the conversation wove its delicate dance, Kinder placed his plate upon the table with deliberate grace, locking a silent exchange with Herius. “I shall inquire after Katarina,” he declared, his glance momentarily alighting upon Elara, a silent symphony of understanding passing between them.

Herius held a pause, his eyes flitting between Elara and their unexpected interlocutor, momentarily adrift in the tide of unsaid words. “Uh, yes, of course,” he finally acquiesced, his counsel dressed as permission, “If she isn’t in the powder room, please return fast.”

With a nod, Kinder receded into the sea of guests, his departure as quiet as a shadow seeking the solace of dusk.

The hushed grandeur of the ballroom, draped in velvet shadows and whispers, set the stage for an encounter laced with subtext. Herius found himself the focus of a woman’s frost-laden gaze, her stance rigid, arms folded like the wings of a disgruntled raven. “Shouldn’t the servants aide their master?” she queried, her voice cutting through the air, sharp and diminishing.

“We stand with him, Madam,” Herius countered with newfound steadiness, his advance measured and intent, “And it is our considered opinion that your company may not be sought by him at present.”

Her laugh, sharp as a shard of ice, filled the brief silence. “How dare you?” she challenged, one eyebrow arching in marked offense.

“We shall convey your request,” Herius continued, unflinching, “But it would be imprudent to presume his acquiescence.”

Without waiting for her retort, Herius and Elara retreated, their steps leading them to a solitary haven by a large painting, nestled beside a column entwined with floral splendor. This nook, away from the throng, offered a clandestine view of the festooned entourage encircling Aurelius and Lady Montblanc.

“I hadn’t pictured you quite so bold,” Elara murmured, a quirk to her lips.

Herius exhaled a soft apology, “I should have corrected her—that you’re far from servitude.”

Elara’s response was a gentle dismissal, “No amends needed, for you’re no servant either.”
Under the opulent chandeliers of the grand hall, Herius found himself contemplating the crystal goblet cradled in his palm, its contents catching the flickering light. He brought the wine to his lips, a delicate sip unfolding layers of robust flavor across his palate. Yet, beneath the expected notes, something else vied for his attention—a subtle, iron tang that pricked his senses and sent his heart into a quiet race. His eyes snapped to Elara, who returned his gaze with an expression that married confusion with intrigue.

“What is it?” she inquired, her words light, almost floating above the murmur of the court’s elite.

Herius’s voice was a soft murmur, barely breaching the din of distant dialogues, “This wine…it’s been laced with blood.”

Elara’s response came after a pause filled with the effervescence of her champagne, “Figures,” she said, her toast sardonic.

Aren’t you…alarmed?” Herius’s eyes searched hers for a flicker of unease.

“Surprised?” Elara interjected with a wry twist of her lips. “Not in the least. We stand in a palace where the human facade is upheld by the undead.” Her gaze swept across the sea of guests—a mosaic of the living and the eternal. She gestured subtly towards clusters of revelers, contrasting the blood-tinted glasses with those filled with the golden sparkle of champagne. Her finger then directed his attention to Aurelius and Lady Montblanc, noting the untouched wine and the champagne neglected in their hands, “It’s a subtle dance of pretenses.”

“And how to discern who belongs to the night and who dances in the day?” Herius pondered aloud, his voice a whisper lost in the labyrinth of courtly whispers.

With a soft chuckle, Elara’s eyes gleamed, “Your wit cuts through the masquerade, Herius. Indeed, it does.”

The flickering candles cast a soft glow across the room, shadows playing at the edges of the majestic hall. Herius leaned in, his voice a hushed undercurrent beneath the chamber’s orchestral hum. “You could’ve mentioned it,” he said, his words wrapping around the charged silence between them.

Elara’s laughter, light and airy, floated back to him. “I presumed you were aware,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting as she indulged in the bubbly effervescence of her champagne.

Herius studied her, his brow arching ever so slightly. “You’re quite…”

“Enchanting?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, a mirror to the twinkling chandeliers above. “I borrowed it from Aurelius,” she teased, her hand gently brushing his arm, a whisper of camaraderie in the grandeur of the court.

His lips curved into a half-smile. “Is that why I faced the question of preference earlier?”

“Quite possibly,” Elara mused, setting down her glass with a soft clink. “You walk the daylight, yet you yearn for the night’s embrace. You’re akin to a Ghasaaqir.”

Herius furrowed his brow. “Ghasaaqir?” he echoed, rolling the foreign word on his tongue.

“It’s a term for those who consume their own, whether by ritual or madness,” she explained, the historical weight of the word hanging between them.

“A term from Duskmire?” he inquired, a note of curiosity threading through his tone.

“Yes,” she affirmed, her gaze drifting past him, as if she could see the very place he spoke of.

“Do you long for Duskmire?” Herius’s voice was soft, probing the silence that had fallen between them.

Elara’s response was not in words, but in the quiet that settled over her, a veil of reminiscence and loss. Her silence was a sonnet of yearning for a home that lingered in the realm of memory, resonant and telling.

Under the soft caress of moonlight streaming through the grand windows, the hushed voices of Herius and Elara created a stark contrast against the grandiose silence of the palace. Kinder’s footsteps echoed as he neared, his words cloaked in urgency. “She’s nowhere in the powder room,” he announced, a whisper of concern in his voice.

Herius turned, his eyes meeting Elara’s with a question that lingered in the air. “What do you mean?” he pressed.

Elara’s reply was swift, her voice a calm amidst the brewing storm. “He means she’s absent from the powder room,” she said, her gaze steady. “Did you search the one on the second level?”

Kinder’s nod carried the weight of his words. “I did. And the one upstairs. She’s… not there.”

“And the servants?” Herius’s voice was now a low rumble of foreboding.

“None but the guards,” Kinder admitted, his nervous grin failing to mask his anxiety.

A silent exchange passed between Herius and Elara, a ripple of concern unsettling the air. “Was there anything amiss in those rooms?” Herius probed further, seeking clarity amid the shadows of doubt.

“Just as they are,” Kinder responded, “some occupied.”

“Let’s go then,” Herius decided with a resolve that seemed to slice through the tension.

Elara’s response was a beat behind, confusion lining her features. “Go? But we can’t just—”

Without another syllable, Herius’s fingers intertwined with Elara’s, a silent pact sealed with the urgency of his grasp. With his other hand, he beckoned Kinder, and together they hastened through the grand doors, their figures blurring into the opulence of the palace hallways, swallowed by whispers of silk and secrets.