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Chapter 3

Selestina

T he interior of the palace is a masterpiece of architecture, like all the palaces. There’s a blend of volcanic stone and intricate metalwork that glimmers in the warm light from thousands of candles. There are tall, arched windows that frame views of the surrounding deserts. The grand ballroom is dominated by a massive chandelier with crystals catching the light and casting a thousand tiny rainbows across the room.

The guests are cloaked in elaborate costumes and masks, moving like phantoms through the room, their identities hidden behind feathers, jewels, and expensive masks.

I have attended these balls for five years now, each time blending into the background or by Alexander's side.

Alexander stands across from me, every inch of him exuding control. His black hair, sleek and perfectly in place, seems untouched by time, as though not a single strand dares to defy him. His blue eyes are the sharpest thing about him against his tanned skin—a cruel contrast to the fire he wields so effortlessly.

He’s handsome, objectively speaking. The kind of face that could charm entire courts if he ever bothered to try. Strong jawline, high cheekbones, a body that moves with the precision of someone who knows how to weaponize their appearance. I don’t see beauty when I look at him, though. I see a cage.

He looks no older than his mid-thirties, his agelessness a testament to the centuries of power coursing through his veins. Yet his true age lingers in the way he carries himself—every step calculated, every glance a reminder of how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of his plans.

The man who I used to look at with such fondness, to grow up and realize he’s not my hero. His attractiveness is meaningless, a hollow facade, because behind it lies nothing but control, cruelty, and a man who will always see me as his property, never as a person. I don’t know the exact moment I stopped looking at him with love.

Alexander is, as usual, the center of attention. His mask, a fierce creation of gold and black. He moves through the crowd with ease, engaging in conversations with every royal in attendance. This year I am to stand in the shadows and remain unseen. The princes from each kingdom are here, except for Príncipe Nazriel from Atlacoya. His absence is a common occurrence, a mystery that no one seems eager to solve. Except me.

My focus remains fixed on four figures who also command the room without even trying. Each of them—Los Príncipes de Tonalli—radiates an energy that’s impossible to ignore, and no matter how much I try to blend into the shadows, I find myself drawn to them. It’s an ache I can’t explain, a pull that returns every year, each time leaving me more intrigued, more unsettled.

My gaze settles first on Príncipe Matheus, towering and intense. His height alone makes him stand out, over six and a half feet tall, and his presence radiates a heat that seems almost tangible. His fiery red hair falls in wild waves, alive with the energy of the very volcanoes that dominate his homeland of Tepetl. His mask, adorned with red and gold flames, shimmers with each movement. Though his mask hides much of his face, his eyes, deep and brooding. He doesn’t speak; he never does.

In stark contrast is Príncipe Tomas, a beacon of light and liveliness who moves through the crowd with a grace that’s almost ethereal. His pale skin catches the light, making him appear ghostly, especially when paired with his silver curls that gleam under the chandeliers. His mask, a delicate creation of silver encrusted with diamonds, catches and reflects every glint of light, casting tiny stars that seem to follow him as he moves. He laughs freely, wrapping around everyone he meets as if he’s known them forever. His red eyes are sharp, vibrant, and sparkle with mischief. Every so often, I notice him absently run his tongue over his fangs, leaving a trail of red that only adds to his charm.

Then my eyes drift to Príncipe Kaelion, and the room seems to darken around him. Where Tomas is inviting, Kaelion is distant, his presence cloaked in disdain for everyone around him. His sleek black hair falls perfectly around his face, framing features so sharp and flawless they seem carved from stone. His mask is dark, its black horns blending seamlessly with his own... His tattoos wind across his neck and hands, marks of his demonio heritage that pulse with power.

Then there’s Príncipe Rhyker, the only one who dares to look back at me, unflinching and bold. His shaggy brown hair frames his face while his bright green eyes glow with an inner fire that feels almost feral. His mask is adorned with vines and leaves, and appears to grow from his skin, as if he himself were part of the earth, embodying the wild, untamed spirit of his home, Xochitlalpan. His ears taper into a sharp point, a subtle yet unmistakable marker of his Fae lineage. His green tattoos snake along his neck, down his arms, and across his hands. Rhyker doesn’t hesitate to hold my gaze, as if daring me to look away first. There’s an unrestrained wildness to him and I can’t shake the feeling that he knows the effect he has on me, that he relishes.

Men don’t intimidate me. Not anymore. I’ve had some experience with men, but not enough to claim any sort of expertise. My experience has always been… complicated. Alexander made it very clear, etched it into me that I am under no circumstances allowed to let another man touch me. My body, like my skills, belongs to him, a tool for his purposes and nothing more.

Of course, rules like that are made to be broken, even if breaking them comes with consequences. Diego was the first. He was barely older than me at the time, and before his loyalty to Alexander solidified into something unshakable, we ended up in bed together one drunken night. I’ve always suspected that lapse in judgment is why Diego relishes punishing me now, why there’s always an extra edge of satisfaction in his voice when he delivers Alexander’s discipline. Maybe he’s trying to make up for his own failure, to erase the memory of that night by forcing me to suffer for it.

Still, I think Diego is the one who covers for me. When I slip into the night, searching for fleeting moments of peace in the arms of unlikely men—Tonolacas and humans alike—it’s him who ensures Alexander never finds out.

It’s my one act of rebellion. My small and selfish defiance. A way to remind myself that I’m still human beneath the layers of blood and control. I know it’s a risk, a dangerous game where the stakes are my very life. Alexander has eyes everywhere. Yet somehow, I’ve never been caught.

But I know the truth. It’s only a matter of time. When Alexander finds out, and he will find out, it’ll be disastrous. His wrath is slow and methodical, a storm that builds until it crushes everything in its path. And when it comes for me, I know there won’t be anywhere to hide.

I shake my head to get back into focus. I think of the princes. Even with all four of them here, my mind drifts to the one prince who isn’t. The one who has never been here. Príncipe Nazriel. The whispers have reached even me, that the Príncipe de Atlacoya refuses to attend the masquerade every year. His absence is as notable yet no one ever comments on it. He remains a mystery, but always present in my thoughts, especially at events like this. I imagine him, wonder what he might look like, wonder if he’s as striking and magnetic as the other princes.

Perhaps he, too, would possess that unearthly beauty. In my mind, his skin would be smooth and cool, tan from the sun that shines down on the Water Kingdom. I imagine his eyes, deep blue, the color of the ocean at midnight, holding secrets no one could ever uncover. His hair, perhaps blue like his father’s, falling in curls down to his shoulders. He’d wear a mask like all others attending, but his would be made of liquid silver, flowing with each movement, blending with his face like it’s part of him. Nazriel, I think, would move with a quiet grace, his steps light, his presence commanding without trying, like the silence.

As the night wears on, I find myself moving through the crowd, my senses heightened. I sometimes wish I could be in attendance to one of these, even though I hate it how they all flaunt their wealth. I wonder how it would be to dance freely, with no expectations weighing me down.

I had just slipped into a quiet alcove when a sudden noise caught my attention.

Before I can react, a man lunges at me from behind a woman in an elaborate dress, a blade glinting in his hand. Instinct takes over, and I parry his attack with my dagger, the clash of metal ringing in the air. We struggle for a moment, our movements a deadly dance of strength and skill. He is strong, but I am faster. With a swift movement, I disarmed him, knocking his blade to the ground.

I pin him to the floor, my knee digging into his chest as I hold my dagger to his throat. He snarls up at me, his eyes filled with hatred but also defeat. It’s as if he knew this was going to happen. I glance up and see Alexander watching, a cold smile on his lips. He gives me a sharp nod, a silent command.

Without hesitation, I press the blade to the man's throat and draw it across in a swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays, warm and sticky, covering my mask and leathers that I just cleaned, as his body goes limp beneath me. I stand up, wiping the blade on his cloak before slipping it back into its sheath.

The room had gone silent, every eye on me. I can feel their gazes, a mix of horror and fascination. I let out a deep sigh, but keep my shoulders squared.

This was what Alexander wanted, a display of his power, a reminder of what I am to the people of Tonalli. I am his weapon, and tonight, I showed the kingdom a firsthand view of what I am capable of. What Alexander’s assassin is capable of. What they have only ever heard about.

Diego steps beside me and looks at me, his disgust on full display. He places his hand on the man's chest before he shadow walks them away. Like my sin never even happened.

As the music resumes and the guests murmur among themselves, I slip back into the shadows. The night is far from over, and there are still many eyes to watch, many secrets to uncover. But for now, I have done my part. The princes, the nobles, and even the kings themselves have seen the lengths Alexander would go to maintain his control.

My gaze flicks upward, almost involuntarily, drawn to where the princes stand. I don't know why I care to see their reactions, but something about them pulls me in, a gravity I can't entirely ignore.

Kaelion is the first I spot, leaning casually as he talks to the general of Metztli. His expression is unreadable, a mask of practiced indifference, though the way his eyes lazily scan the room screams boredom. The entire night might as well be beneath him.

Tomas is anything but bored. Women drape themselves over each of his shoulders, their hands possessive as they cling to him. He takes turns nipping at their necks, his lips brushing against their skin with an intimacy that feels too deliberate, too public. It’s a performance, no doubt, one meant to draw eyes and keep up whatever persona he is trying to portray. His laughter echoes gently but even I can tell it’s fake. His smile never reaches his eyes.

Matheus is different. His gaze finds me, but the moment our eyes meet, he looks away quickly, as though my attention burns him. There’s something almost endearing in his discomfort, though I can’t decide if it’s guilt, shyness, or something else entirely that makes him retreat.

Then there’s Rhyker. When I look at him, he’s already staring right at me. His lips curve into a slight smirk, the kind that knows too much, that teases and taunts without saying a word. My pulse quickens despite myself. Slowly, I dip my head in acknowledgment, a small gesture, but enough to test the waters.

Rhyker mirrors the motion, his smirk deepening ever so slightly. The silent exchange hangs between us, a connection I don’t fully understand but can’t seem to break.

I tear my gaze away, the connection snapping like a taut string, and force myself to refocus. My attention shifts back to my post, my senses sharpening as I scan the ballroom. The glittering crowd moves like a restless tide. I catalog every detail, the sway of gowns, the glint of jewelry, the subtle shifts in body language. I need to know who is friends with whom, who hates who, and hear as much gossip as I can, to report back to Alexander.

My awareness stretches outward, encompassing every corner of the room. I cannot afford distractions. As I move through the crowd, invisible once more, I can’t help but wonder how much longer I can keep this darkness at bay. It’s going to be a long night.