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The palace shimmered with enchantment as twilight painted the sky in deep rose and gold. Soft music drifted through the halls, blending with the hum of spells being woven and last-minute preparations.
In Liora's dressing chamber, chaos reigned in the most luxurious way.
"I swear if this corset gets any tighter, I'll pass out mid-waltz," Liora huffed, arms lifted as two fae attendants worked on the intricate ties of her seafoam gown. The skirt flowed like ocean mist, and tiny enchanted pearls glistened in her braid.
"You look like an actual goddess," Felice said, adjusting her own dress in the mirror.
Her gown was deep violet, almost black, with silver embroidery that caught the light like stardust. The sleeves swept off her shoulders, and her curls had been coaxed into soft waves with tiny moonflower pins glowing faintly. Magic tingled at her fingertips—calm and content… for now.
"You," Liora said, turning, "are going to cause riots."
Felice blushed. "Cassian picked the color."
Right on cue, the door swung open, and Cassian strutted in, already dressed in a tailored midnight-blue suit with silver thread. His hair was messily perfect, and he held a white masquerade mask in one hand.
"Are we stunning yet or do I need to call in a miracle?"
"You clean up alarmingly well," Felice teased.
"I know," Cassian said, striking a dramatic pose. "I weep for those not blessed with my bone structure."
Liora rolled her eyes. "Where's Lysander?"
Cassian smirked. "Probably brooding into his cufflinks. You know how he gets before formal events."
"Speaking of…" Felice said, feeling a flutter of nerves rise.
"Don't worry," Liora whispered, squeezing her hand. "If he doesn't ask you to dance, I'll hex his boots to squeak."
Moments later, in the grand foyer, nobles and guests began to arrive—cloaks swirling, masks glittering, laughter echoing off marble. The ballroom had been transformed into a dreamscape: floating chandeliers, enchanted petals drifting through the air, and a glass floor that shimmered like starlight.
Cassian, Liora, and Felice descended the grand staircase together. Heads turned. Gasps whispered.
Felice didn't notice any of it—because Lysander was waiting at the bottom of the steps.
He wore black and forest green, a silver stag pinned at his shoulder. His mask was simple, yet elegant—and he held another in his hand.
"For you," he said, offering it to her.
Felice took it slowly, their fingers brushing.
"You look…" he paused, clearing his throat, "you look breathtaking."
Felice smiled, cheeks flushed. "You're not so bad yourself."
Behind them, Cassian leaned in to Liora and whispered, "If they don't kiss by midnight, I'm pushing them into a closet."
"Cassian!"
And with that, the masquerade began.
Music swelled, lights sparkled, and beneath it all, the pulse of magic beat stronger than ever.
Because tonight wasn't just a celebration.
It was the beginning of something new.
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