Chapter Text
Lucette stared at herself in the gilded mirror and frowned. The black and white dress wasn't as complimentary as she remembered and, while beautiful, the mask just made her sad. She traced over the black lace that ran along the winged edges of her mask and imagined Kurt doing the same when he had found the beautiful craft. Lucette tossed the mask onto her bed and glared at it. Why had he even bothered? What did he care what mask she did or didn't wear when he wasn't even going to be there? A fit of pique overtook her and she began to pull and tug at the slightly too-tight tunic that tucked into the baile and skirt. A heart-stopping rrrrrrp froze her hands, her fingers still clenched tightly around the fabric.
She knew the garment was useless without inspecting the sudden and gaping tear in the tunic. Thoughts racing, she yanked open her wardrobe, each white shirt raising her hopes before a wrong neckline, wrong hem, or wrong fabric dashed them like waves beating against the rocky shore. She felt the unmistakable pain of unwanted tears prickling their way to the surface.
A knock interrupted her before she succumbed to the swell of emotion. She yanked on her floral dressing gown before answering.
"Oh, Constantin."
"Expecting someone else?" Constantin asked with a sharp edge to his voice, before instantly softening as his eyes tracked the tears on her cheeks. “Oh, fair cousin, what’s wrong?” He rushed toward her, brushing a curl out of her eyes. “Must I send Kurt to murder someone for you?” His brow crinkled almost imperceptibly. “Must I send someone to murder Kurt for you?”
“What? No, of course not. Don’t be absurd.” Her shoulders heaved as she took a deep breath before opening the dressing gown and exposing the ripped garment, the soft pink fabric of her corsetted middle visible between the damage. “What am I going to do? It took days to pick this out and a week on top of that to have it fitted properly.” She barreled on, unconcerned with any solution Constantin might offer. “I’ll just stay home,” she said, stubborn resolution etched into her thin frown.
“You can’t stay home!” Constantin wailed.
“Why not?”
“Well, for starters, the ball is being hosted in your home.” He waggled an eyebrow.
“Har har, that’s quite amusing, Constantin.” She hunched over and leaned heavily on her hands, her clenched fists disappearing into the plushness of her feather-stuffed mattress. “I’m serious, there’s nothing else suitable for a masquerade.”
Constantin’s lips puckered, frustration emanating out of his every feature. “You are a princess!” He squawked. “If you need a last-minute gown, you shall have a last-minute gown. Stay right here,” he pushed her backward, her knees buckling against the bed. "Right there!" He instructed as he ran out the door.
Constantin was gone long enough that Lucette had firmly decided she would stay in her room and not even attempt to go to the soiree downstairs. She'd angrily kicked off her skirt and petticoat, tossing the ripped fabric of her tunic into the corner where she glared at it. She'd crawled into bed snuggling deep under the blankets in nothing but her slip and corset when her door burst open. Constantin entered her room, confused when he thought it was empty. But when his eyes lit on her tucked into bed, he dropped the package he'd been carrying and rushed toward her.
"Oh, no!" He said and ripped the blankets down, exposing her small frame under the gauzy fabric.
"Constantin!" She chided and reached for the blanket to cover herself, but he simply rolled his eyes.
"Oh, please, cousin. If we were to be a match, it would've happened long before now."
"Constantin!" She chided again, this time a fit of giggles winning out over her irritation as they wrestled over her bedsheets.
Winning most resolutely, he threw the blankets onto the floor, and without so much as a second look at her, he tossed the parchment-wrapped package onto the foot of her bed. "Get dressed, my dear, we're already pressed for time. Soon our fashionably late arrival will turn to a much-too-late arrival and will send a whole array of gossipmongers chattering.
Lucette's eyes burned as she ripped open the parchment and exposed a beautiful black gown, a unique fabric she'd never seen before. As the light touched it, jeweled tones of green and blue and purple shimmered across the black. Her voice was soft as she turned to her cousin to ask, "Where--"
"It was to be a birthday present before you left for the islands. I found it when I was at university. You should see the fashions they have in the city!"
Lucette stood and hugged him before he could continue to gush about all the great things he'd seen and done at university. "It's perfect!" The dress truly was perfect. It matched the beautiful mask that Kurt had found for her. The sheer coincidence that the two men in her life could look at such similar pieces of art and think of her filled her heart to bursting with joy. She opened her mouth to speak, but Constantin put his fingers over her mouth. "No speaking. Get dressed!" And with the final command, he left.
Giddiness propelled her actions as she quickly donned her petticoat, and stockings before throwing the beautiful, surprisingly lightweight gown over her corset. Her excitement only dimmed as Constantin opened the door to the throne room, exposing festive decorations, and beautiful displays of food, drink, and art.
It never ceased to amaze Lucette how quickly the prince's entourage was able to get things done. She'd walked through this very room only hours ago and the only suggestion of the impending party was a long wooden table draped in white silk cloth. But now? She felt as though she'd walked into another realm. Countless chandeliers twinkled in the candlelight. Thick velvet of navy and gold twined its way through the room, drawing her eyes up and down with the swathes that draped from the windows and cascaded from the rafters. But most impressive was the food she'd never seen before. Brightly colored fruits and vegetables were precariously stacked in decorative glass bowls, strange breads that appeared burnt but smelled so divine she knew the darkness of the bake was intentional, and a fountain of yellow juice that smelled like molten sugar.
It was a picture-perfect evening, but a picture-perfect evening without her captain.
She smiled sheepishly when Constantin dragged her away from the food, hastily brushing the crumbs sticking to her painted lips, as he explained that these delicacies all came from Teer Fradee and she would have her fill of them in just a few short months.
He introduced her to friends of her mother and uncle, some sort of foreign council she hadn't been forced to attend in her training. Constantin bragged that she would be the best legate that Gacane had seen and that included his great Uncle Frederic who was responsible for ensuring the Congregation maintained their neutrality, despite Theleme's insistence that refusing to pick a side would bring war to the doorsteps if they had to bring it there themselves.
Her eyes slid behind the ambassador who was chuckling into his drink and staring slightly too far south of her face. A man in a dark suit, heavy cloak, and a full face mask leaned nonchalantly against a pillar, his arms crossed against his chest.
She was pulled from her inspection of the stranger by a raucous laugh from the ambassador. "I say, Your Highness, you do have a knack for mischief."
Constantin winked at her, as though he'd pulled one over on the ambassador without him knowing. But despite her best efforts, her attention drifted away as she skimmed the crowd for familiar stubble, set jaw, and piercing blue eyes.
After a few more minutes of stepping backward each time the ambassador leaned forward, ignoring his lecherous implications, Constantin extricated them from the conversation. They'd barely made it to the edge of the dance floor before Constantin's university friends all came by to wish her the best.
"Dear cousin, this is Marquis Astor Musgrave. I never would've survived my examinations had it not been for his ever-present help."
The way Constantin smiled coyly at the broad-shouldered man dressed in expensive silks and an easy smile, Lucette was fairly certain that the type of help he'd offered her cousin had not been academic in the slightest. "Not many people make a point to look out for my Constantin. In fact, many seem to be waiting on his failure so they can swoop in and take his place at my uncle's side." She eyed him shrewdly, but the marquis didn't flinch at her insinuation. "Thankfully, that doesn't seem to be the case with you."
She places a hand on Constantin's arm with a gentle squeeze. "I'm happy for you, Costya."
Once the couple started conversing with inside jokes and bright eyes, she excused herself to find another drink. Unfortunately, she was waylaid halfway to the champagne fountain.
"Miss de Sardet?"
Lucette's years of training kick in as she fights against her shoulders' desire to sag with the weight of disappointment. So close, yet so far. Her need for champagne would need to wait until she could extricate herself from Duke Beaumont, a man known for his exceedingly boring stories. Although, Lucette and Constantin often argued if his stories were truly boring or if his staggering pedantry drained his stories of all color.
"Duke Beaumont, what a pleasant surprise." She used the dip of her curtsy to hide a sigh.
"I couldn't help noticing," the Duke appeared to be chewing on his sentence, filtering all life out of his words. "Your beautiful mask."
She opened her mouth to thank him, but she was cut off. A surprising feat, given his painfully slow cadence.
"Did you know--" he groomed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger before continuing, "--that the feathers in your mask are most likely from our good friend the great-tailed grackle."
The Duke continued to spout information about the grackle and birds in general, before going into detail about light refraction and how it affects the color we perceive. Lucette couldn't help but feel she was back in the schoolroom with Sir De Courcillon. The hands on the nearby grandfather clock seemed to have stopped moving, but her cheeks ached from the false smiles she'd plastered onto her face just as she'd been taught.
"Excuse me, Duke Beaumont. I need to--"
The Duke's mustache quivered in agitation that she had interrupted his well-researched speech on the many pigments of some bird she was likely to come across once she reached Teer Fradee.
"Care to dance?" The question came from behind her. Or maybe his agitation had been the approach of a new suitor. Again, she held in a sigh and turned.
"I'm afraid I must dec--" The denial died on her lips. She'd know that intense blue stare anywhere; the stare that had dogged her daydreams since she was a schoolgirl with a crush.
"No quip today?" Kurt teased as he wrapped her hand in his and pulled her onto the floor, the gentle whisper of her dress sweeping across the floor matching the blood rushing in her ears.
No quip indeed. She stared at him, entirely incapable of speech. Surely if her mother were to see, she'd chastise her for gaping like a fish out of water. In place of the captain's scratched metal plate and worn leather, he wore an all-black suit with polished brass buttons and a heavy velvet cloak draped across one shoulder.
She finally found her tongue. "You were watching me, weren't you?" She was equal parts giddy that she should enrapture him so and indignant that he watched her suffer the whole peerage of Serene without swooping in to rescue her.
He laughed and his rare freeness sent a warmth blooming in her middle, which was only stoked when he stooped and whispered in her ear, his lips raising goosebumps along her neck. "I know you are cross, Lucy. But what would you have me do? Explain to the Duke that I scheduled a training session during a ball held in your honor?"
"My honor, indeed. My uncle has simply used this ball as an excuse to parade me to the men on his council, hoping that one of them would take me off his hands." He still had two weeks of hope to cling to before he would ship her off to the islands. Either way, she'd be out of his hair.
He pulled her closer with the hand on her back, spinning her in time with the music. "Perhaps if you weren't such a spitfire, he'd be more inclined to keep you here."
"Then I suppose he'll have to ship me off." She lifted her chin desperate to show her determination against the King's meddling and not the flood of emotions that consumed her each time she remembered that, while she was getting away from courtly machinations, Kurt would be stuck here with the majority of the guard. She may never see him again.
They danced in heavy silence. Lucette only allowed her mask to slip when she was spun into another dancer's hands and away from Kurt's curious gaze. Her lips thinned, desperate to hold in the bittersweetness of their dancing inside, as his firm grasp pulled her back into his space. But the band's fast-paced waltz melted into something slow and quiet, a signal that the dancing was concluded while the band prepared for a short intermission.
They stood together on the thinning dance floor, toe to toe. Kurt released her hand, only to remove both their masks, which he let drop to the floor with a soft snick. His head dipped to hers, forehead to forehead. The breath caught in her throat. Her heart beat wildly against her ribcage. She was certain she would die from the speedy rhythm. But the gallop of her heart refused to wane, only hastening when his nose dragged against the silken skin of her cheek, stopping only when he could nestle against her own.
"People will be staring, Captain." Her words were breathless, but she dared not step away from the warmth of him.
His fingers dragged from her wrist to her elbow. "Then let us escape to somewhere more private."
She'd never hated a piece of clothing more than the disdain she held for the dark, shimmering fabric of her dress. If he didn't take her out of this throne room, the entire court of Serene would be witness to the theft of her maidenhood. Any reply caught against the dryness of her mouth. She could only nod and follow the man who'd taught her so much out the double doors for one final lesson.