ARTIZEA
"GODSDAMNIT—" Artizea panted.
She stood before the mirror once more, struggling to slip into the chosen gown; many of every hue lay discarded across the room, along with polished shoes. She refused to get another maid. When she finally succeeded, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. The gown fit like a second skin, its ruby fabric shimmering in the candlelight. She wore a mesmerizing off-the-shoulder gown, the fabric a deep, molten blend of crimson and ember gold, like fire caught in slow motion. It clung around her corset in delicate folds before pooling in waves at her feet. Holding it together was a single golden chain around her neck. Her hair was in her signature bob, loose and free, yet stilled with A single crimson feather adorned it.
Tonight was not just about beauty or grace, but sharing the spotlight with her future people, a night of dreams. Beneath the masks could be anyone, and that was the point. The rules were simple: anyone could guess who you were, but if they guessed wrong… they would be unmasked and no longer dance for the rest of the night, designed to prevent an advantage.
This was also her first event without Madeline. She remembered when Madeline used to be her spy, and they would secretly figure out the identities together, and whoever had the most right would win their little game, but they never unmasked them, because where was the fun in that. Her reflection stared back; she had looked regal and composed, yet all she wanted to do was relax and enjoy the night.
"In the meantime, maybe try practicing in the mirror,"
Her chest tightened with unease. "On your knees," She closed her eyes for a moment, determined to erase the moment of weakness. She took a breath, finally she snatched her golden mask from the chest, carefully easing it on her face, feeling the soft pressure against her skin. When she opened them again, the mask gleamed in her reflection.
Artizea was ready, but she also looked like a chicken. and he felt like one in more ways than one.
Guests mingled in elaborate masks, their laughter and voices blending with the music. Each mask was a masterpiece, designed to conceal identities but hint at status and personality. Some were tall and fancy, some were simple and classy, and most were outright atrocious.
Good thing free will exists.
The grand hall was transformed into a glittering opulence. The Chandeliers dripped with crystals, their light casting shimmering patterns across the polished marble floor. Ornate tapestries and garlands adorned the walls, and a beautiful melody floated through the air, played by a collection of musicians in plain sight. Whispers of political intrigue and clandestine meetings drifted through the court. At the head of the room, the king and queen entered on a raised dais.
Arthuria wore a flowing gown of white, her silver swan mask adorned with intricate patterns resembling stars. "This is… excessive…" she murmured. The masquerade ball had been her idea, a way to honor her subjects regardless of their class.
Gilgamesh smirked, his attire matching his wife's, and his mask? non-existent. For who would dare ask their king to conceal his face? "Leave it to your son to make everything a challenge."
Artizea finally entered behind them, glancing around once more, her gaze landing on Arthur. His mask was a lion made out of Silver, dancing with a lucky lady. He stood out in any crowd, not just because he is a lady killer, but because of his aura. What would life have been like if he had been born first? she would ask herself.
Upon making her descent to the center of the hall, Arthur wove his way through the attendees.
"All of a sudden, those caves seem far more fascinating than all this brightness," he muttered.
"You looked like you were enjoying yourself, Brother."
"Did I now?" Arthur sighed. "Must've been the mask. Remind me why we dress up like animals annually," he muttered while dodging yet another courtier trying to engage him in another dance.
"Because Father said we must," Artizea replied, "And… because it is the perfect opportunity to gather information without bloodshed."
"Ah, yes, and here I thought it was just an excuse to dress like a chicken—" He grinned while making a mocking hen sound before grunting upon the connection of her elbow catching him square in the ribs."Just so you know," he wheezed while slowly straightening. "A chicken would do that."
"Laugh all you want," she said dryly. "I will still win in unmasking everyone present."
"Good thing with or without the spell, no one would laugh at you anyway… except me, of course," he replied with a smirk.
Artizea shot her brother a withering look. As much as his humor annoyed her, it lightened the tension of the evening.
"I spy… Madam Natalia is in teal on your left," Arthur said.
Artizea's gaze flicked, and she indeed saw the maid manager giggling next to an old gentleman.
"A match made in Celestia." Arthur chuckled."Your turn."
"Hmm…" She instantly recognized some subjects, some nobles. She even giggled when she saw a known rank flirting with a kitchen maid, something Madeline would have noticed.
Though she outwardly embraced the ritual, she carried a secret. She did not truly wish to be alone. Being champion for so long meant she had no equals. She longed to be seen beyond her strength, beyond her title, but still embrace that part of her. Someone who would recognize her not just as the Crown Princess or the undefeated warrior, but as a woman with dreams and desires as well. The men who entered the rite never looked at her that way. They saw her as a challenge, a prize, a symbol of power. And so, she fought to remind herself of her chosen path. In that moment, she noticed a tall figure slipping through the sea of masks. The stranger who moved with uncanny grace, she felt a pull she could not explain, as if something familiar in the way he moved. "I am winning…" Arthur's droning voice faded as she was tempted to follow the stranger, but before she could, her father's voice rang out.
"My people—" he began, voice carrying over the hall from above the inner balcony, "Tonight we celebrate not only the strength of our realm, but the unity of its people. Let it also be remembered—though this is the one night when deception is permitted, I know every lie that will be told… as well as every tongue they belong to." The room shivered briefly at his words and menacing smile. "Commence…" he commanded while settling into his seat, prompting the queen to roll her eyes.
"Arthur! Artizea! How do I look?" Elaine called out. She was dressed in baby blue and an owl mask.
"How in six realms did you convince Father to let you attend?" Artizea asked in bewilderment.
"I simply asked Nicely…" she purred while beating her eyelashes. To hide the fact that she had insisted to their father on attending the masquerade, enamored by the idea of dressing up and dancing under the chandeliers, and he had relented, thinking there would be no harm in it, and because their mother said she could.
"You are not leaving my side all night!" Arthur exclaimed sternly. "So you can forget about dancing with anyone—"
Elaine groaned, her head drooping back dramatically as Arthur listed off rules and regulations.
Artizea moved away slightly, feeling a neglected pull. She found herself swept into the dance. Partner after partner approached her, each eager for her favor. But though their steps were flawless, she felt no spark, no intrigue. That changed when a man stepped forward from the shadows. His mask was that of a reven, its silver edges obscuring most of his face. His eyes were not visible, at least to her, but beneath the mask, but she could tell they were fixed on hers with quiet confidence.
"May I have this dance?" he asked.
Artizea sighed inwardly, "I am afraid I have to decline—"
"Just one, My lady," he said, his eyes glinting. "Who knows, you may even enjoy it."
"You think yourself that good?"
"I promise I am that good."
Artizea hesitated for only a moment before placing her hand in his.
The music swelled, and they moved together as if they had been dancing for years. He guided her with ease. Spinning her across the floor, his steps perfectly matched hers.
"Who are you?" she asked at last, her tone curious.
"Is it not cheating to ask outright?" His mused.
"It is not if the goal is to discern one's…" she replied, allowing him to spin her into a graceful turn before returning to his hold, "… deceptive appearance."
He tilted his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Deceptive appearance, you say? And you approve of such a thing?"
"Indeed," she said, "It can be a formidable tool, if wielded for the right reasons."
His smile deepened, "Mm. Interesting," he murmured, tilting his head as though considering her words. "So, I can be, let us say, a Prince?"
"Correct," she said smoothly. Her eyes, sharp even behind the mask, held his. "And I might be a maid."
"Ah—very well then," he teased. "My name is William."
Artizea snorted, bringing a gloved hand to her mouth.
"Treason…" he mocked,
"You know, technically, I could have you unmasked for wasting your attempt."
"And how would you prove I was lying?"
Her lips curved. "Because I know every eligible Prince in this realm, and not one of them is named William."
"Ah… so you are a Princess," he said lightly, watching her reaction.
"Or a maiden—" she countered quickly.
"Eligible Princes… sounds like you speak from a position of high standing."
Artizea stilled, her steps faltering.
"Relax," he chuckled, leaning just close enough that only she could hear. "Your secret is safe with me… Crown Princess." He gave a slow, considering nod.
The title landed between them, but his demeanor had not budged.
"You could claim your prize…" she quired.
"I could," he agreed, his eyes locked on hers, "but I will not. Now the scales are balanced."
Artizea frowned. Her curiosity grew with every turn of the room, "If you know who I am," she breathed out, "Would you unmask yourself if I commanded it?"
A small, secretive smile tugged at his lips, one that made her certain he was enjoying this far too much. "And what," he said, his voice low and warm, "Would be the fun in that?" In that moment, the music swelled, filling the great hall with an intoxicating rhythm. "Let's give your court a dream to remember, Your Highness."
"Try to keep up, you're Grace—" she giggled.
They glided across the polished floor, the mysterious stranger leading her to the dance center of the ballroom in a flawless waltz. The crowd parted automatically, forming a wide circle around them. Every step, every twirl seemed to send gasps and murmurs rippling through the hall. Their movement was so precise it felt choreographed by the gods themselves. Yet, even amidst the temporary joy Artizea felt at present, she felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck—the unmistakable weight of being watched. It was not just anyone. It was her Father. From above the hall, the king sat at the high table, his left eye twitching ever so slightly.
Her steps faltered briefly, "I'm sorry—" she stuttered.
The stranger noticed why, then leaned closer, his voice a low murmur against the music. "Your father does not seem pleased."
She glanced at the high table. Her father's jaw was set in unmistakable disapproval.
"He's always like this," she replied, attempting to mask her unease with a smile.
The stranger chuckled softly, his hand tightening on hers just enough to anchor her back into the moment. "I should be honored to have my head still while dancing with the Crown Princess."
"Do not test him—" she warned "—or my brother, lest you wish to keep your head."
"Dully Noted," he said, guiding her into a spin that made her gown flare like a blooming rose.
Before she could glance back to he balcony, the music swelled, and for a split second, she imagined Rhyssand guiding her into a graceful dip. For a moment, their faces were mere inches apart, and her breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze. Then came reality, as the waltz ended with applause. The stranger guided her back to her feet, and they instantly turned their back on each other.
"Thank you for the dance, Your Highness," he mused. "What is your judgment?"
"You danced well…" she breathed out. "…And yours?"
"The stars above pale in comparison to your light, Princess," he replied.
Before Artizea could turn, a voice shifted her attention from his side profile. "May I have…'
"I'm sorry, I —…" she said quickly. By the time she turned back, the stranger was gone. Her eyes darted through the sea of masks and faces, searching for him, though he was nowhere to be found. Her fingers brushed against her mask. It could not be, she thought. Coming off the dance floor, she turned, instinctively looking toward the high table. Her father was no longer seated. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew what was coming. She felt the heavy presence before she saw him. He appeared at her side, and she started slightly, secretly praying to the gods that the trait of such sneakiness ends with Arthur.
"Who was that?" he asked, his voice low
"A guest, Father," she replied, her tone measured. "It is a masquerade? Identities are meant to remain a mystery?"
Tsk, Her father's eyes narrowed, scanning the gathering.
"Do you truly expect to interrogate every dance partner before they take my hand?" she challenged, folding her arms. "It was just a dance, I was having fun…"
The king's gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained stern. "Fun?"
"Father. I know that promise I made. I just—"
"I found the Princess!" someone pointed. "I win!"
Everyone clapped.
Artizea growled. Then tore off her mask, heading for the ground balcony.
Her father tried to follow her. Arthuria appeared at his side, placing a calming hand on his arm for a swift rescue, "Gil," she said gently. "Let her cool off."
Gilgamesh hesitated but finally gave in with a reluctant huff, shooting a final glance toward the parted space before him. In that moment, the clock struck midnight, and the music stopped upon the rise of his hand. "As tradition dictates," he declared, "you may now remove your masks."
Gasps and murmurs rippled as identities were revealed.
Artizea rolled her eyes at the reactions. That was when she heard the thunder of hurried footsteps. She sighed. No doubt another lecture.
"Artizea," Arthur said, his breath coming fast.
She turned, startled by her brother's presence and his tone, along with his pale expression.
"Arthur? What is it?" she asked.
He hesitated, as though the words were too heavy to speak aloud. Then, with a deep breath, he said, "All life as we know it is over."
Artizea gave him a flat face, "What are you talking about?"
"Elaine—is missing," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "I cannot find her anywhere."
Artizea's stomach twisted; their sister was far too slippery for her good. "What do you mean you cannot find her?" She demanded, her voice rising. "She was supposed to be with you!"
"She was! and then she was not." Arthur snapped, running a hand through his hair. "She must have slipped out of the ball; she's swifter than the rat catchers in the lower districts. I cannot keep up with her!" he froze mid-pace at the mention of the word rat, his head snapping to the side as if he expected something to scuttle out of the shadows. His face paled slightly. "Why did I say Rat…" he muttered, visibly shuddering.
She raised an eyebrow. "Focus, Arthur. Elaine is missing. When did you last see her?"
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Before the last dance."
She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to suppress the mounting irritation. "Why did you not tell me sooner?"
"What would you have me do, sister, drag you from the dance floor with everyone watching, including…him!" Arthur exclaimed, darting around to search for their father. "And what was worse, it is all Uncle Alexander's fault. He's the one who gave her that damn horse, and now she's faster than anything on four legs or two!" he whispered loudly. Just then, he got a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Oh my gods, he whispered, inspecting a new Grey strand with disgust. He was only twenty-one.
Artizea sighed heavily. "Did anyone see her leave?" she asked, her voice sharp with urgency.
He shook his head. "No one, not even her new maid… It is as if she vanished into thin air."
Elaine was one to disappear without reason; this could not have been a coincidence.
"We have to find her before Father suspects anything, nor can we jump to conclusions, but we must act quickly." She glimpsed from the balcony on the north a familiar presence, then disappeared. She frowned; it must have been the wind.Her heart pounded when she imagined the worst. The masquerade had been filled with strangers, some with motives far darker than simple gossip and negotiation. "Where is Eugene?"
"That dusty ass library as per usual?" he murmured. "Why?"
"He can track her."
"He can?" Arthur genuinely asked.
"Maybe if you listen to his interests more, it would not come as such a surprise," she said, turning to leave. "Come on."
He sighed again, returning to the mirror. He gripped his jaw and tilted it side to side, inspecting his overall person.
"Arthur!" Artizea hissed.
"I'm coming—Shit—"