The capital shimmered under the noonday sun, its marble towers and golden spires glittering like a kingdom built on dreams. But Eira knew better. Cities this perfect didn't shine—they masked. Just like the people who ruled them.
From the high balcony of the guest manor, she watched the palace rise in the distance, a pale behemoth flanked by guard towers and gilded gates. The Masquerade's heart.
She sipped bitterleaf tea without tasting it. The Mask of Echoes sat hidden in a false-bottomed satchel beneath her cloak. Every step she took in the capital felt like walking through a mirror maze—distorted reflections, lies dressed as truth.
"You're frowning," Dare said, emerging from the corridor behind her. He wore a plain merchant's tunic, but nothing could soften the sharp cut of his gaze. "Bad omen?"
"Just listening," Eira said. "The city's too quiet."
"The capital?" He leaned on the balcony beside her. "It never sleeps."
"Exactly," she murmured.
She had sensed it from the moment they arrived. The silence of the streets, the guards stationed at every corner, the way nobles spoke in riddles and watched their backs even in their own homes. This wasn't the capital of prosperity—it was the calm before a storm.
And they were right in the eye of it.
---
They moved through the Lower Quarters at dusk, cloaked and unremarkable. The city below the golden towers pulsed with life—vendors shouting, children racing, and thieves brushing too close. But even here, in the hum of everyday living, there was unease.
Dare handed her a folded parchment. "From my contact in the Raven Post."
She read it quickly.
Whispers rising. Palace summons all House Lords. A declaration coming. Watch the Hall of Sevens. Midnight. Masked envoy spotted—Moon sigil.
Her fingers tightened on the paper. "A Moon sigil?"
Dare nodded grimly. "That's your mark, isn't it?"
"No," she said. "It was my mother's."
And it hadn't been seen in over a decade.
---
At midnight, they stood hidden beneath the carved archway of the Hall of Sevens, the sacred chamber where the Queen addressed the ruling houses. From the shadows, Eira watched nobles file in. Each wore the traditional court mask of their house—tigers, stags, crows, serpents. All brilliant. All hiding their truths.
The Queen entered last, flanked by her Obsidian Guard. She wore no mask. She didn't need one.
Her gaze swept the room, freezing the air.
"My lords and ladies," she said, her voice rich with command, "a relic has surfaced. An artifact of the old world."
Murmurs rippled like fire through silk.
"The Mask of Echoes," she continued. "A weapon once lost to time. I want it found. And returned. Any who harbor it will be treated as traitors to the Crown."
Eira's blood went cold.
"Furthermore," the Queen said, her lips curling ever so slightly, "a woman bearing the Moon sigil was seen entering the city. She is not to leave it."
Dare's hand brushed hers in warning.
"She knows," he whispered.
"Of course she does," Eira said, voice low. "She always has."
---
Later that night, back in the manor, Eira paced the stone floor of their chamber.
"She's tightening the noose," she said. "She's baiting us. She wants me to run."
"And you won't," Dare said, arms crossed.
"No. I'll walk straight into her web."
He arched a brow. "Care to explain that suicidal plan?"
Eira stopped pacing and pulled a folded invitation from her satchel. "Tomorrow night. A royal performance at the Capital Theatre. All nobles are expected to attend."
Dare frowned. "And?"
"She'll be there. And so will I."
His eyes narrowed. "You want to confront the Queen in public?"
"No," Eira said. "I want to draw out the Prince."
---
The next night, the Capital Theatre burned with light and song.
Nobles arrived in embroidered carriages, their masks carved of obsidian and moonstone, feathers and jewels. Eira wore a sleek gown of midnight silk, her own mask plain and silver-veined, her hair swept up in the fashion of the ancient houses.
Dare escorted her as her "companion," a title that meant everything and nothing in court circles.
Inside, music soared, dancers spun, and firelights danced above the stage in the form of dragons and moons. But Eira saw none of it.
She scanned the balcony, searching for him.
The Crown Prince.
The ghost of the throne.
He'd vanished from public life years ago, rumored sick or disinterested. But Eira had seen the edge of a report in the archives. He was still very much alive. And hidden in plain sight.
Then—movement.
A figure in the upper balcony stepped forward.
He wore no mask.
His eyes were the same storm-gray she remembered from her mother's sketches.
The Prince.
He watched her directly.
No disguise. No fear.
Eira felt the Mask of Echoes pulse beneath her cloak.
She inclined her head, the barest of gestures.
And he nodded.
---
After the final curtain, a servant slipped her a note sealed with the royal sigil.
"The library tower. One hour."
---
The tower was dark, abandoned, full of dust and silence.
She arrived early.
He was already there.
No guards. No advisors.
Just the Crown Prince—tall, calm, dangerous in that quiet way that kings are.
"You've been watching me," she said.
He didn't deny it. "You carry something the Queen fears."
Eira studied him. "You don't seem afraid."
"I was raised with fear. I've had enough of it."
She took a step closer. "Why call me here?"
"Because I want what you want," he said. "To end the Masquerade. To burn the lies."
Eira's heart thundered.
"Then help me," she said.
He reached into his cloak.
And withdrew a black coin etched with the phoenix crest of the Forbidden Circle.
Eira's breath caught.
"You're one of them."
"I was," he said. "Until I realized the Queen plans to consume every relic."
He stepped closer.
"She doesn't want power," he whispered. "She wants to erase anyone who remembers the old world."
They were inches apart now.
"I'll help you," he said. "But understand this—if we fail, it won't just be our lives. It will be truth itself that dies."
Eira looked into his eyes.
"No pressure then," she said, voice steady.
And together, in the shadowed capital, a prince and a masked heiress made a vow.
The war had begun.