Chapter 3: The Masquerade

The Moonlit Masquerade was tradition—once a century, every fae court in the realm gathered for a night of politics disguised as revelry. Lydia wore a gown of silver spider-silk and a mask of woven thorns that Aldric had sent to her chambers without a word. She moved through the crowd like a blade in silk, learning names, alliances, the fractures beneath the surface of the fae realm. Then Aldric appeared beside her, his hand settling on the small of her back with a possessiveness that silenced the room. ‘Dance with me,’ he murmured, and it was not a request. She hated how her heart raced.