9 Chapter 9 – Masquerade Vows
“She’s more effective than all of them.”
Eileen walked behind him in midnight blue, her mask delicate, expression unreadable. Her presence turned heads.
“Just once.”
Varek muttered something about lunatics and stormed out.
He couldn’t stop picturing her.
Back in his chamber, Cyr sat alone, staring at his trembling hands.
Silence.
He leaned closer. “I’m not asking for power. Or magic. Just… truth.”
“That’s her,” someone whispered. “The mute.”
He added, “And she’ll be at my side.”
Icicle chandeliers glittered overhead. Musicians tuned violins while nobles in velvet masks whispered behind fans and wine glasses.
And if the world wanted to tear them apart-he would burn it first.
Before she could move, steel rasped against stone.
That moment when she touched his lips.
“Are you trying to provoke the empire?” Varek demanded.
“I’ll wait,” he said, barely audible. “I’ll wait forever.”
Eileen met his gaze, then signed: *I only need one hand.*
She tensed.
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Varek snapped, “She’s not a guard.”
Count Arel cornered her near the orchid archway.
Cyr wore obsidian silk. His wolf-fur cape dragged behind the wheels of his chair like a king’s banner.
The silence louder than any declaration.
Blade drawn. Mask lowered.
The music faltered. Gasps rippled through the room.
His voice softened. “You okay?”
Cyr turned to Eileen.
She simply stood taller.
Cyr reached for her gloved hand. Held it lightly.
She said nothing.
Auroras swirled above Frostfall.
Outside, the conservatory lights dimmed.
Cyr sipped his tea without glancing up. “No. I’m trying to bait a traitor”
Not the healer. Not the weapon. Not the servant.
Count Arel raised his hands. “Your Highness, I meant no-”
Cyr exhaled. “You’re the only reason I haven’t snapped.”
“Touch her again,” Cyr said, voice low and cold, “and you’ll learn what *my* scream sounds like.”
Across the room, Eileen folded fresh linens without comment.
And soon… of love.
Cyr’s chair slammed to a halt between them.
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And under the glass moonlight, a vow hung unspoken between them-
He watched her go, heart pounding, and knew:
But of choice.
“I should’ve killed him,” he muttered. “One word from you, and I would’ve.”
*Her.*
Cyr froze.
She turned away.
She raised her fingers, then paused.
Eileen’s fingers paused slightly.
“Maybe she’s not even real-just a projection.”
“Exactly,” Cyr said, calm. “That means someone inside wants me gone.”
“You saved me with your voice,” he whispered. “Not just on the hunt. Every time I wake up and realize I’m not alone.”
Cyr smirked. “He’s warming up to you.”
She shook her head.
“I need to hear it again,” he said.
But her hand lingered at her side, near the hidden dagger he had gifted her days ago.
Cyr finally looked up. “Let the vipers dance. They’ll expose themselves eventually.”
“The Blood-Moon ambush nearly killed you.”
Tonight changed everything.
And the terrifying, exhilarating truth blooming in his chest.
She nodded once.
Eileen didn’t respond.
“You don’t belong here,” he murmured, fake smile stretched wide.
He was falling for her.
“And your solution,” Varek growled, “is to host a *masquerade ball*?”
Instead, she gently placed her hand over his lips.
Eileen heard every word. Said nothing.
“I heard she bewitched him.”
He stepped closer. “They say your blood heals alphas. That your voice can tame rage. I wonder what your *scream* sounds like under a scalpel.”
Arel backed away, face pale behind his gold mask.
Varek turned to Eileen. “You really think you can protect him in a ballroom filled with assassins?”
“I don’t care what you meant,” Cyr growled. “You threaten her, you threaten *me*”
Not of duty.
She withdrew her hand, nodded once, and stepped into the greenhouse moonlight.
Good, he thought. She’s ready.
Later, in the moonlit greenhouse adjoining the conservatory, Cyr wheeled into the shadows and beckoned her forward.
Tears shimmered in his eyes.
The conservatory was transformed into a world of crystal and frostlight.
He kissed her knuckles-slowly, reverently.
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