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In the heart of the city, the town square had become centerstage for the autumn harvest festival. Tonight, the square was already alive with the sounds of music and laughter. A boisterous band played spirited tunes upon a stage covered with wreaths of leaves and ribbons while pairs of dancers in vibrant costumes swished and twirled on the wooden dance floor in front.

Slender towers swathed in trailing bright-red ivy and vibrant orange blooms stood along the shores of the lake, its surface shimmering with the reflections of the brilliant foliage. Along cobbled streets, market stalls overflowed with seasonal produce and spiced beverages. Carved, white stone bridges spanned the waterways that flowed through the city, adorned with garlands of colorful leaves, leading revelers from one district to the next.

Alongside the terrace, brightly-painted gondolas floated past me, draped with cozy blankets and hanging lanterns as they carried chattering, laughing passengers over the lake.

I leaned against the railing and looked back towards the town square, watching as a tall slender woman in a red jerkin whirled her companion, a petite curvy woman in blue, until both were breathless and laughing. Across from them, two dark-haired women danced to a slower beat, their arms wrapped around each other tightly.

“I fear the stars themselves will envy your radiance tonight, my silver one,” a husky voice said from behind me.

I turned, already feeling my cheeks heating up.

Kairos Draven Venator stood at the edge of the terrace, his hands clasped idly in front of him. He looked very handsome and very charming and very, very dangerous.

He wore a high-necked black jacket with a crisp, white shirt beneath, its fabric pristine and immaculate against his bronzed skin. The sleeves were gathered at the wrists with black velvet cuffs, embroidered with subtle silver accents that caught the light. The shirt was unbuttoned, giving a glimpse of part of the tattoo he’d recently had emblazoned on his chest.

A bursting star surrounded by a pair of wings. For Medra and for Nightclaw. Unseen beneath the shirt and jacket, on his back, I knew a broken chalice atop a pair of criss-crossed swords marked a spot of remembrance for Gawain, Rychel, and Odessa.

“A man could lose himself in eyes like yours, Morgan.” Then he whistled, his eyes moving over my body until my skin felt as hot as an oven. “And that gown...”

I glanced down at myself. The gold gown was molded to my figure and cut so low, my breasts seemed to threaten to spill from the bodice. The skirt of brilliant oranges, reds, and golds billowed slightly in the breeze off the lake, pooling around my feet in a cascade of silk, like liquid flames.

He gestured over his shoulder. “You didn’t want to join the rest of the group? Taina is begging to go bobbing for apples.”

I looked to see where he was indicating. At a large round wooden table bordering the dance floor sat Crescent, Taina, Hawl, Sir Ector, and Dame Halyna. Galahad stood nearby, idly clapping his hands to the music as he watched the dancers. I watched as the song finished and Lancelet dragged a laughing Guinevere towards the table with Lyrastra and Laverna following a little ways behind.

“I thought we were supposed to be opening the masquerade ball. That’s the reason I’m dressed... like this.”

Draven grinned. “We are. Don’t worry.” He opened his jacket and fished out two objects. “But I thought we could mingle first. With a little anonymity?”

He held one of the objects out to me, and I took it.

A mask of gold and silver filigree. Delicate swirls and flourishes mimicked an owl’s plumage, every feather meticulously crafted.

Draven lifted his own mask to his face, and an exmoor’s sleek silver whiskers extended outwards. “Would you care to attend incognito, my lady?”

He lowered the mask, examined my face more closely, then frowned at whatever he saw there. “Or perhaps skip the ball entirely?”

“Can we?” I asked dubiously. “I thought it was tradition.”

“Screw tradition. We can go or we can not go. Or we can go late. It’s all up to you, empress of my heart.” He stepped towards me and placed his hands on my hips. “You look tired.”

I tried to smile. “Just a little.”

“We could use some time alone. Just the two of us. Away from everything.”

“That would be nice.” I closed my eyes, listening to the strains of the music. The tempo had slowed. I could hear the lapping of the lake against the terrace. “Somewhere with water just like this. Far away from it all.”

I nestled in against him. How strange, the sense of safety I now felt, nestled in the arms of this dangerous man.

Draven touched his hand gently to the small of my back and wordlessly began guiding me in the steps of the song.

In an instant, the world around us faded away.

“I’ve never said sorry,” he said suddenly as we moved to the music.

“For what?” I asked.

“Back in your father’s court. With... Vela.”