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The annual gala isn’t something Grace particularly looks forward to, but her appearance at the royal affair is something one might liken to the sunrise each morning or the stars coming out at nighttime.
As the eldest daughter, there’s no discussion or debate with her family—she’s simply expected to do as she’s told. And she has.
Much like her fast-approaching wedding to Lord Ashtor, the son of a diplomat whom her family has trade relations with, it simply must be.
And so without complaint, she finds herself on the palace floor in the midst of all the usual pageantry that makes her teeth ache and toes curl, sipping on a glass of chardonnay and pretending to care about her father’s old war buddy’s hunting tale—while her fiancé leaves her on the dance floor to run off with some politician’s daughter.
The only difference this year is the excess security roaming the halls and near the door, their bright red coats an eyesore amongst the rest of the party goers. Luckily, it’s still not enough to detract from the true entertainment of the evening.
Beautiful garments made of lustrous satin and glittering jewels twirl amongst each other on the dance floor, facial features hidden behind masterfully crafted masks carefully fitted to its wearer, while a half orchestra strings out a jaunty waltz from the stage.
Grace absentmindedly fingers the black feathery half mask obscuring her eyes, recalling how her younger self once gazed upon the same scene with excitement to join their ranks in her own dazzling dress—with the hopes of a handsome man coming to sweep her off her feet.
The illusion is gone now, the façade having been peeled away with her childhood innocence. Gone are the days of playing swords in the castle gardens with the caretaker’s daughter, of scraped knees and sneaked kisses in the broom closet. Her warm summer nights at the lake instead were replaced with late hours studying under candlelight and even longer afternoons learning to be the perfect wife.
She’ll live out the rest of her life as a tool and die an unremarkable death—something she’s struggled to come to terms with at first but has since begun to accept as an inevitability. For what power could she possibly hold to deter the path of fate itself?
And so lost in thought was she, that the presence of a rich feminine voice at her ear jolts her out of her reverie. “Pardon me, my lady. May I have this dance?”
Startled, Grace turns to the most stunning shade of scarlet eyes peeking out from behind a similar half mask to hers. Instead of black feathers, however, vines of gold accentuate this mysterious woman’s features from the bottom of her right jaw up to cover one eye, the side of it extending above her left. Larkspur blossoms branch from the top, weaving up diagonally in front of slicked back, short maroon strands. In the middle of her forehead is an intricately carved skull to fit the whole piece together.
The frigid room rises a few degrees, Grace concludes from her flushed cheeks and racing heart. Yet, this stranger’s timing and presence here is curious. Anyone here who knows anything about anybody knows better than to approach her with the marriage ceremony fast approaching.
Does this woman have a death wish?
As if sensing the unspoken question in the air, the woman leans in close enough to whisper with crimson-painted lips quirked into a smile. “You look like you could use a distraction.”
“But, who…?“
“You can trust me.”
They find a spot away from her family, away from their stares and expectations, while the veil lifts—and suddenly it’s just the two of them.
“Persephone.” The woman speaks, and every word is like the sweetest wine. “How rude of me not to introduce myself earlier, but it seemed time was of the essence. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Grace,” she breathes. “And there’s nothing to forgive.”
Hand in hand with a grounding touch along her waist, she’s whisked away into the music in the arms of this handsome stranger. The path is uncharted and melody unfamiliar, yet Persephone effortlessly leads them along, their eyes locked in tandem all the while.
Violins swell to a high peak when Persephone twirls her around with a flourish before pulling her back in—and Grace actually laughs, light and weightless in a way she hasn’t done in years. “Who exactly are you?”
“My lady.” She chastises with a shake of her head, flashing a sly wink. “Were you too enchanted to pay attention to my words?”
“Persephone—a beautiful name. I just haven’t seen you around before.”
The woman clicks her tongue. “These masks can be deceiving.”
“Mask or no, I’d remember someone like you.”
The tempo depreciates to an adagio while the crowd follows suit. Grace gravitates inward until they stand nearly chest to chest, the hand playing at her waist taking risks of its own by sliding to the small of her back, effectively pulling her flush against that delicious, well-fitted suit.
Grace wonders if the woman can feel the quickening of her heart pounding against her chest, threatening to escape.
“I’m from a long ways away,” murmurs Persephone into her ear, a warm breath brushing her neck. “Very different from here.”
Grace shivers. “How so?”
“Miles and miles of forests and rivers, fields of grain and open expanses of fresh clean air. Nothing like the freezing cold mountains or this endless snow. There’s actual life. Freedom. You’d love it.”
She’s read all about places like that in old story books sneaked out of the library, would fall asleep to them by candlelight, but to Grace, it’ll be nothing more than a fairytale. “I’d love to see it one day.”
Persephone hums. “What if I could show you?”
“What?”
“You could come with me. When I go back.”
And what, leave her family? Just shed all her responsibilities, everything she’s been made for? And all for what, some fanciful dream fit for a child?
It would be stupid, foolish, and utterly ludicrous.
Instead, Grace answers, “If I could go with you… it would be a dream come true.”
A scream rings out from the upper rooms, causing everything to grind to a halt.
“Murder!”
Grace whirls around to see people rushing along the balcony, past maids running down the stairs in a panic. The guards at the door leave their post to sprint toward the scene of the crime.
Gasps and whispers rumble through the crowd.
“I hear Lord Ashtor was stabbed through the chest. He was found in one of the bedrooms by the maids.”
“How terrible!”
“Heavens, the poor family.”
“What does this mean for the party?”
“Bastard finally got what he deserved.”
“Finally some quality entertainment. It was getting a little droll.”
While she should probably be wracked with grief, nearly inconsolable for the fate of her future husband, all Grace can feel is… relief. For what divine twist of fate would grant her freedom after a lifetime of inaction?
It’s overwhelming—almost too good to be true—so she sobs, hands clasped over her mouth to stifle the sound, but people are already crowding her, offering futile words of comfort. But all she can think about in the commotion is a glint of scarlet eyes boring into hers, the ghost of a hand on her waist. But when she turns, all that’s left of Persephone is a hint of pomegranate in the air and a flash of billowing coattails around a corner.
So Grace follows her lead once more.
That familiar figure her heart aches for is halfway in a carriage when Grace catches up, panting in the brisk night air. Gravel crunches beneath her heels, threatening to throw her off balance, so she whips them off and goes forth barefoot. “Wait!” She calls out.
Persephone gasps, frantically looking around before her gaze settles on her. “Grace? What are you doing? Why did you follow me?”
What looks to be a pair of gloves folded in her hands is quickly tossed onto the back seat, but not before Grace recognizes the splotches of dried bloodstains in the moonlight. At the moment of realization, a chill courses through her veins. “It was you.”
For the first time that night, Persephone looks at a loss for words, her face twisted in pain.
Grace gasps. “You killed him.”
That man won’t be missed by many, least of all by Grace. But his mother—who, on a good day, would treat Grace with an icy indifference—would mourn for years to come, and those maids won’t forget walking in on a stone-cold corpse, haunted by the face of death in that house.
Then there’s the peculiar timing of her appearance. It must have been right after she…
“You used me. You must have known who I was.” It all makes sense to her now. “You led me near the door and waited for the guards to leave their post.”
Persephone’s continued silence says all. But Grace knows what she’s done, sees the evidence on her, could run back to the palace and tell everyone—before realizing that the two of them are out here all alone, with not a single other witness in sight.
She croaks, mouth dry. “Are you going to kill me, too?”
“No.” Persephone insists, reaching to grab her by the shoulders but pulling away as if burned when Grace flinches back. “No, of course not.”
“Then tell me this at least. Why do all this?”
“As you said, I knew who you were before we met. Knew all about you and your fiancé.” She spits out the word, full of vitriol. “I knew about your situation, and how trapped you must’ve felt being forced into a marriage with that man to wither away in some lonely corner of the country. So when I finally got the opportunity for my… personal revenge, I thought maybe I could help just one person in return. That’s why I chose you.”
A small group of guards turn the far corner of the building, and one yells in the distance, “Fan out!”
“I know you don’t know me, and you shouldn’t trust me at all.” Persephone reaches up to remove the mask at last so that there’s no barrier between them, no façade to hide behind. She holds out her hand. “But the offer’s there, if you want it.”
Every voice in Grace is screaming at her to go back inside and live out the rest of her days like she’s meant to. Go back to the same family that wants to control her, so she can be their puppet again. Forget this incredibly charming woman who promised her the world, who made her alive again for the first time in years.
It would be so easy to stay the course like she always has.
But if there’s one thing she learned while playing in the castle gardens and reading story books under candlelight, it’s that if adventure calls, you answer it.
So she takes Persephone’s hand and doesn’t look back.