The thought caught her by surprise. Why should she wish for Lord Jasvian’s presence? He’d likely only sour the atmosphere with his perpetual seriousness and refusal to dance. In all the gatherings she’d attended since arriving in Bloomhaven, not once had she seen him take to the dance floor, much to the disappointment of every eligible young lady present.
“We should separate,” Rosavyn said in her new lilting tone. “The whole point of the masquerade is to mingle freely. Let us meet by the crystal fountain in the entrance hall just before midnight. That way, we can leave together, and I can help you get home safely.”
Iris nodded. “Until midnight, then. And thank you again for this!”
With that, they parted ways, each disappearing into the swirling crowd of masked revelers.
The ballroom of Rowanwood House had been transformed beyond imagination. The ceiling appeared to have vanished entirely, replaced by a perfect view of the night sky where stars twinkled against velvet darkness. Swirling patterns of luminescent mist drifted overhead, and the very air sparkled with tiny motes of magic that resembled fireflies hovering just above the guests’ heads. Iris stood at the edge of the dance floor, simply absorbing the spectacle. Couples twirled in perfect synchronization to the music, and the floor beneath them gleamed with intricate lumyrite inlays that pulsed with light in time to the beat.
The air itself felt charged, scented with exotic flowers and something more elusive—pure magic, perhaps, or simply the combined energy of so many powerful fae gathered in one place. It made Iris’s skin tingle pleasantly, heightening her sensesuntil every color seemed more vivid, every note of music more resonant.
As she watched the dancers, she allowed her mind to relax, and slowly she became aware of possible futures flickering across her vision, almost too fast to make sense of before they folded into one another. A flash of white wedding lace unfurling beside one laughing couple, a glimpse of a sealed letter being hastily tucked into a pocket overlaying the gentleman over there. Nothing that made much sense to her.
She surveyed the crowd until her gaze eventually settled on the far side of the room where the High Lady stood in conversation with Lady Rivenna. Unlike the rest of the attendees, neither woman wore a mask, their true identities visible to all who approached them.
As Iris watched, another series of scenes unfolded rapidly, playing out over the image of the two women. For a brief moment, Iris caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned man towering over the High Lady in a threatening stance. Iris blinked, the haunting image gone in an instant.
Then, to her horror, the High Lady’s gaze snapped up, locking directly with Iris’s across the crowded room. Her piercing stare seemed to cut through the enchantment, and Iris quickly looked away, heart pounding. Had the High Lady somehowfelther magic like an intrusive touch? And what if she could somehow see beyond the enchanted masks? Was she now aware of who it was that had inadvertently attempted to exert some kind of magic over her?
But the High Lady had turned back to Lady Rivenna, bending her head close to speak to the tea houses’s proprietress, and before Iris could dwell further on the unsettling possibility that the High Lady had seen her, a voice spoke from beside her. “Would you care to dance?”
Iris turned to find a tall gentleman in a coat the cheerful hue of sun-warmed marigolds, its cuffs and standing collar richly embroidered with gleaming rose-gold thread. A bronze mask obscured his face, revealing only a friendly smile.
And all of a sudden it struck her, what was distinctly lacking at this event that had shadowed almost every other gathering: the judgmental stares and whispers. Tonight, there were none. No sidelong glances at her half-fae ears, no hushed comments about the ‘half-breed’ behind gloved hands. For the first time since arriving in Bloomhaven, she stood unscrutinized, her identity concealed behind her silver mask. The realization brought with it a lightness, as if she’d suddenly shed the weight of others’ expectations and prejudices.
She placed her hand in the outstretched gentleman’s and said, “I would be delighted.”
The first dance passed with pleasant small talk about the decorations and music, neither participant revealing anything that might hint at their identity. Iris found herself relaxing into the anonymity the masquerade provided. Her second partner was more talkative, speculating about which prominent families might be represented among the masked guests. “I’m certain that’s the elder Lord Thornhart over there,” he whispered conspiratorially, nodding toward a portly gentleman who kept stepping on his partner’s toes. “Dancing has never been counted among his accomplishments.”
Iris laughed, playing along with the guessing game while carefully avoiding revealing details about herself. When the dance ended, she found herself near one of the garden archways and gratefully accepted a glass of something rose-tinted and effervescent from a passing footman.
As she stood sipping her drink, enjoying the refreshing breeze that drifted in from the gardens, Iris noticed a tall gentleman lingering on the other side of an elaborate floralarrangement. His mask, adorned with intricate bronze and ink blue detailing, caught the light as he occasionally glanced in her direction. There was something striking about his posture. A certain controlled elegance that contrasted with the casual revelry around him.
Catching him looking her way once more, Iris offered a small smile and lifted her glass in polite acknowledgment. He seemed to hesitate, his attention fixed on her for a moment longer before returning to surveying the room.
As the orchestra struck up a new melody and couples began forming for another dance, Iris considered the impropriety of initiating an invitation herself. The mysterious gentleman’s repeated glances surely indicated some measure of interest, and she herself was quite keen to dance again. Would it truly cause much of a stir, especially when everyone was masked?
She had just taken a step in his direction—thinking that this was precisely the sort of behavior her grandmother had dreaded—when he finally approached her. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice deep and measured. “May I have the honor of this dance?” he asked, extending his hand.
Amused by his evident deliberation in approaching her, yet pleased he had finally gathered the courage, Iris nodded. “You may,” she replied, glancing around for somewhere to set her glass. As if summoned by her thought, a footman appeared at her elbow. She handed him the glass before turning back to her prospective partner and placing her hand in his.
His touch was warm as his fingers closed around hers, guiding her toward the dance floor. As they assumed the formal hold for the waltz, Iris found herself half expecting that his initial reserve might translate into a degree of awkwardness on the floor. She was pleasantly surprised, therefore, when their first movements flowed together with a wonderful, almost instinctive effortlessness.
“You … dance well,” he remarked somewhat stiffly.
“As do you,” she replied, hoping to ease his apparent discomfort. “The orchestra is particularly excellent tonight, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” he agreed, then took a breath, seeming to search for something more to add. “The acoustics of the ballroom are well-designed for such performances.”
“Have you attended many masquerades before?”
“Not as many as one might expect,” he answered. Another pause, in which he appeared to think and rethink his words before finally uttering them out loud. “To be perfectly honest, I find gatherings like these rather challenging. The expectation of easy conversation with strangers … it creates a certain anxiety. Where possible, I prefer to avoid such situations altogether.”
A pang of sympathy rose in Iris’s chest. His confession resonated more deeply than he could know. She remembered all too well her first few society events in Bloomhaven. The whispers that followed her, the sidelong glances, the way conversations would halt at her approach. Though things had improved somewhat as the season progressed, she still felt the sting of being an outsider, never quite belonging. Social anxiety was a familiar companion, even now.
“Well, I’m glad you chose to attend tonight,” she replied with genuine warmth. “And I hope I’m not causing you further discomfort. If you’d prefer to forego trivial banter, please feel free to introduce a more serious topic. I’m perfectly amenable to discussing something of substance.”
His expression softened behind the mask, almost reaching a smile. “Thank you for your consideration, but that won’t be necessary. I find myself quite enjoying our exchange as it is.”
