Gregory Beaufort had always been a quiet man. The kind of man who never lifted his voice or spared himself from work if it meant his master would be pleased. For years, Sir Voss—the patriarch of the house—relied on him more than any other servant. To Elena, he was her anchor in a storm, her safety in a world that always demanded more than it gave.
But loyalty had its cost.
The day the grains were supposed to arrive from Qing was supposed to be one Wooden crates heavy with foreign harvest spilled across the courtyard; it was a feast meant to impress the king. Elena remembered standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the servants bustle like ants while her father directed them. He worked from dawn until the stars rose, sweat streaking down his back. He had always flashed a tired smile whenever he caught sight of her just so she wouldn't worry anymore.
"Papa, you're tired. Please sleep a little. I can take care of the work while you're gone."
Her father would laugh whenever he heard her say that and pat her head gently." Oh darling, if I don't do this, I won't get my wages and we won't be able to eat." he would always tell her.
"But he doesn't even pay us that much." Elena would whine to him.
Gregory would only smile softly at her and return back to his work. She never understood why he had to work so hard for a rich man and still get paid in peanuts.
But that morning, the whispers began and trouble followed.
A shipment of grain—enough to feed dozens of orphaned children had vanished overnight. And in a house where envy and rivalry festered, it did not take long for a name to be placed to bear the outcome.
Beaufort.
Elena remembered the look in his eyes when the accusation was brought before Sir Voss. He did not cry out. He did not kneel or beg. He simply stood with his calloused hand itching and his jaw clenched tight as though swallowing every plea for mercy.
But Sir Voss's rage could not be curbed.
"You dare steal from me? You peasant?!" he thundered, his voice echoing against the stone walls. "After I raised you from nothing? After I trusted you with my house with my very name?"
Elena had tried to run forward, but the guards held her back before she could even reach him.
Her father met her eyes then. His brown eyes lined with age made her heart ache with unfathomable pain.
Soon, the matter was brought before the king within hours. Elena was forced to kneel in the cold marble hall where traitors were brought before the court for judgement. The king, in his gilded robes calmly asked what the order for his arrest was
"Theft," the Sir had declared, "is treason against order. Let him be boiled in oil, that his suffering may serve as warning, O great King!."
"False, your highness! It's all false!" Elena cried. After listening to the arguments brought before him, the King started.
"Very well then" said the King. " I shall grant you two options: Either be boiled to death or have your daughter branded as a slave and sent to exile forever."
The entire court fell silent. Elena's voice caught in her throat.
Branded as a slave meant getting pressed with a red hot iron on the forehead with the slavery symbol. It was a permanent tattoo meaning wherever the person goes, he or she was bound to serve whoever took possession of them.
Elena shivered at the King's words, too stunned to even speak. Them for the first time, her father spoke up. "Let the punishment for my actions rest on me and me alone." Her head turned to meet his face. Fresh hot tears streamed from her eyes across her cheeks.
Even in the face of death, he still chose her.
After listening to the complaints and false evidence posed against him by the jealous servants of the estate, the King made his verdict.
Guilty.
Elena's scream had nearly broken her throat. She scampered to where her father sat dejectedly on the stone, hard floor pleading with him to say something.
"O great King!" she cried out throwing herself to the floor. " Please be gracious. It's all false! My father is an upright man who has worked like a slave for years in his house. Please have mercy!."
Elena continued to beg, but the King could do nothing. All hands pointed towards her father's guilt.
With screams and rough protestations from her, Gregory was dragged away from the court to be locked up and boiled after the announcement was made. Soon, the word spread and the entire village gathered at the King's Court to witness the execution of the man.
They brought out the cauldron into the courtyard, blackened with soot from years of kept hidden. Gregory, clad in a white rag that had gone brown with dirt and age, was dragged across the courtyard and made to kneel on a platform on the other end of the courtyard.
The cauldron was lit and oil was poured into it. The oil bubbled inside and the smell rose from the vessel, acrid and choking. Murmurs weaved like a thousand serpents through the air, each having a different story to tell about the matter.
Elena was shoved forward, forced to stand at the front so she would not miss a single drop of agony.
How cruel! she had thought. To watch her father, the kindest man alive, to get boiled because of grains.
Gregory was stripped of his tunic and chained and even with the tightness of the rusted chains, he did not resist.
"Please!" she had cried with her voice that had now gone raw. "He didn't do it! He is innocent. Please—"
A backhand slap from a guard silenced her. Blood filled her mouth with its metallic and bitter taste, as though fate itself wanted her to taste the cruelty.
Her father only smiled at her through his swollen lips. "Elena, my child...," he said softly, still holding on to his soft expression. "Be strong...I will always love and be with you."
Before she could even reply, they lowered him in.
The scream that tore from his throat was so inhuman—it was the sound of a soul being ripped apart. His skin blistered and the smoke rose furiously from the boiling cauldron, filling Elena's lungs with the stench of burning flesh. She tried to shut her eyes, but the guards held her face forward, forcing her to witness every moment of torment.
Tears blinded her. Her nails drew blood from her palms. She wanted to throw herself into the flames, to drag him out, to do anything but stand and watch. But she was powerless, helpless and forced to witness a life wrenching moment.
When it was over, the chains rattled against silence as his body was brought out from the oil. His body was nothing but ruin; now black with soot and looking like a dried up tree .
Elena collapsed to the ground, her sobs echoing louder than the silence of the crowd. The tears had long dried from her eyes and her throat had gone sore from the cries and screams.
The guards released her only long enough to throw her at Sir Voss's feet.
"Your father has paid," he said coldly. "But loyalty runs in the blood, does it not? The daughter of a thief cannot be trusted."
The punishment offered to her now was cruel in its choice: exile but without slavery branded with the mark of shame since her father had died for her to be free from it, or remain within the household under Sir Voss's watch, forever bound to his will and control.
Elena, broken and bloodstained, chose survival. She reasoned it wrong to go on exile and be killed by the wild animals when her father had sacrificed himself for her. And so she became a shadow within the Voss estate, the daughter of a traitorous peasant. The memory of boiling oil followed her into every dream and had haunted her ever since...
Back at the Masquerade...
The music inside the Nocturne Tower shifted, dragging her from the past with a violent pull. Elena blinked hard and her heart raced within her chest as if threatening to burst out. The chandeliers shimmered above, but for a moment, all she saw was pure darkness.
Breathe, she told herself after watching her painful past flash before her eyes.
But then he appeared.
The stranger in a violet mask stepped out from the crowd and began to approach her. The mask hid most of his face, but his dark, blood like eyes was visible to her, enchanting her like a witch's spell.
Elena's heart stuttered.
Without a word, he stood right in front of her, staring down before extending his hand. His brows remained calm and smoothened as he calmly waited for her hand. Lost within the depths of his eyes, Elena took his hand without a second chance and allowed him to pull her softly towards the dance floor.
......
He led her onto the dance floor like a gentleman. The now hypnotized crowd parted, leaving a circle of space lit by golden candelabras. His touch settled at her waist gently yet guiding her into the rhythm of the music.
The violins wailed a mournful tune, and their bodies swayed as though bound to it.
The masked man moved with precision and the aura of a royal blood, so much so that she began to wonder if he really was of royal blood.
"Your first masquerade?" he asked in a tone barely above a whisper.
"Yes," Elena had managed to stutter out, trying to snap out of her supposed spell like trance.
"Mm." was all he had replied to her before focusing on the dance
Their steps matched perfectly wiyh his hand warm against her waist, his gaze unwavering. The dance was so perfect that she began to wonder how she was so good at it. She had been denied dancing lessons that every girl should be accustomed to. Although she was given a pretty room and good food, she knew her life was nothing higher than that of a dung maid.
Elena tried to look away from those blood shot eyes, but every time she did, her eyes snapped back to him, as though gravity itself had shifted.
The masked man leaned in close enough for her to feel the brush of his breath. His woody scent of rain on trees covered her nostrils and she began to feel dizzy. It was like an incense that could kill insomnia under minutes and she was already intoxicated with it
The music quickened soon enough and the guests began to move with quicker precision. The music sounded exactly like the name of the dance, Spirity. It was like a mix of demonic upbeat melody and stringed ballads.
Around them, the guests continued to dance with so much fervour with their faces hidden behind masks and eyes reflecting a lighter shade of the masked man's. Yet she didn't feel the weirdness of the whole situation instead, she only felt the intoxicating pull that made her forget her own name.
When the final note rang out, silence fell and overshadowed the entire hall.
Elena blinked.
Every guest stood frozen; masks tilted forward and hands still mid-gesture, as if time itself had fractured. The ballroom resembled a painting, and she and the masked man were the only ones still alive within it.
After the music ended, she finally regained control over her mind. That was when the realization of what had happened dawned on her.
Her breath caught and she quickly covered her mouth with her palm before sinking to the floor."What...what's happening?"
Slowly, she turned back to him for answers.
But he was gone.
In his place stood a woman in a silver mask in a gown shimmering like liquid moonlight. Her lips curved into a knowing smile, and her eyes glowed faintly red beneath her mask.
"Elena Beaufort," she whispered in a voice shrouded with chilling melody. "Congratulations on your initiation, chosen one. Welcome to the pledge."