Page 16

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

L ucius paced back and forth, the anticipation of the night fraying on his nerves.

Tavia was getting dressed, and the longer she took to get ready, the more he questioned going through with this plan.

“Do you need some help in there?” Lucius called from the living room, his voice calm but tinged with impatience.

“I'm fine. Just give me a few more minutes,” Tavia replied from inside the bedroom.

The faint creak of the newly fixed hinges as the door swung shut earlier reminded him of his work that day. He had replaced the old, rusted ones, ensuring the door’s safety .

They had meticulously reviewed the plan, dissecting every possible outcome. Both were confident that if anything happened, they would escape swiftly, leaving nothing but a whisper of their presence.

Lucius paced the living room, his boots making faint clicks against the wooden floor, his anticipation building.

He couldn’t wait to see his pretty dove in the outfit he had chosen for her.

The soft rustle of his own cloak accompanied him as he moved, the fabric whispering against his legs.

He had already adorned his silver fox mask, its cool metal grazing his cheek, and his formal clothes felt almost foreign after so long away from high society.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting deep indigos and purples across the sky.

A faint chill seeped into the room despite the crackling hearth.

The two golden tickets lay on the table, their embossed designs gleaming faintly in the firelight.

In his pocket were the potions, two glass vials, cool and smooth against his fingers, along with the transporter rod, its metallic surface humming faintly with latent magic.

“All right,” she called out. “I think I have everything.”

Lucius smiled, rocking back on his heels, his heart quickening.

The bedroom door opened, and she stepped out.

His breath caught in his throat, an unnecessary action, and yet the sensation burned as if his lungs suddenly demanded air.

The floor-length gown hugged her waist, the sweetheart neckline drawing his attention to the delicate curve of her collarbones. The sparkling fabric shimmered like starlight with every step, the soft, pale green bringing out the faint gold flecks in her turquoise eyes.

The translucent, glittering sleeves hung loosely past her hands, each movement casting subtle, speckled reflections on the walls.

At the back of the gown, two delicate butterfly-shaped wings shimmered with an almost ethereal glow.

They weren’t too large, but they framed her shoulders perfectly, creating the illusion of otherworldly grace.

Her hair tumbled freely to her shoulders, catching the light as if strands of silk had been woven into it.

Her lips were painted a striking red, the color standing out vibrantly against her skin.

The butterfly mask she wore, a mix of gold and green, hugged her cheekbones and highlighted her wide, curious eyes.

Lucius didn’t know what to say. She was more beautiful than he could have imagined .

She walked forward, gripping the front of her dress. The faint rustle of fabric and the soft glint of her silver slippers peeking out from beneath the hem caught his eye.

“Is it too much?” she asked, looking up at him. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant.

He shook his head.

“It’s breathtaking,” he said, his voice low and reverent. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her, and suddenly, the whole heist seemed irrelevant.

He stepped forward, his hand reaching for hers. “Maybe we should forget the heist,” he said, tilting her chin gently with his fingers.

“But we’re so magnificently dressed,” she teased, her lips curving into a small smile.

“Exactly.”

His voice had deepened, the rich tone betraying his unease at the thought of her surrounded by other males. Their plan required him to feign cruelty toward her, even allowing another man to comfort her.

“I don’t like this plan anymore,” he admitted, his jaw tightening.

“Lucius,” she said softly.

His mind warred with itself. The plan no longer felt right. He wanted to throw it out entirely, to hold her close and dance the night away.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, shaking his head. His hand moved to her shoulders, his touch warm and steady.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe,” he replied, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “But it’s going to be extremely hard to pick a fight with you tonight when you’re looking so ravishing.”

“I’ll find a way to aggravate you,” she countered, patting his chest and stepping past him.

But he caught her arm, his grip gentle yet firm, and pulled her back toward him. He leaned in close, his breath brushing her ear.

“I want one dance with you,” he whispered, his voice velvet-soft.

She shivered under his words, the tremor traveling through her body and into his. Her head tilted slightly, inviting him closer.

“One dance before we fight,” he added, his lips grazing her ear .

Her scent enveloped him—roses, sweet and fresh, with a hint of warm vanilla. He inhaled deeply, savoring it, his nose brushing against her skin. A soft sound escaped her lips, and he felt his control slipping.

“We should go,” she said, her voice breathy, but she made no effort to pull away.

Lucius reluctantly stepped back, forcing a much-needed space between them.

“Stay here,” she said to Wiley. The squirrel chirped happily, settling near a small pile of nuts Lucius had left for him.

Lucius grabbed the two tickets, tucking them into the pocket inside his lapel. He opened the door with a flourish, allowing Tavia to step through.

They left the cozy home and stepped onto the cobblestone street. The evening air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and smoke from distant chimneys. Lucius hailed a carriage, his voice cutting through the quiet night.

When the driver stopped, Lucius gave their destination and opened the door for her.

The gown's train rustled softly as she stepped in, the butterfly wings trailing behind her like a dream. Her dress spread around her in the small space, the glittering fabric catching the faint lamplight.

She gathered the folds of her dress to make room for him, but he moved her hands gently aside, letting the fabric fall across his lap.

Without thinking, he took her hand. Her skin was warm and soft, her fingers delicate in his grasp.

She smiled, her cheeks faintly flushed, and didn’t pull away.

The carriage swayed gently as it rolled down the cobblestone streets, the faint clip-clop of the horse's hooves creating a rhythmic backdrop. Lucius’s hand remained clasped around hers, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns on her skin.

He glanced out the window, watching the flickering streetlamps pass by, their golden glow casting fleeting shadows inside the carriage. The faint scent of wood smoke mingled with the lavender sachets tucked discreetly in the carriage corners, meant to freshen the air.

Lucius’s mind drifted to the night ahead, momentarily clouded by unease. He had been out of society for so long—banished to shadows and solitude—that the thought of mingling among fae, and humans unsettled him. Yet, looking at Tavia, her presence grounded him.

She had a way of pulling him from the darkest parts of himself, of making him feel whole again. Spending time with her had softened the sharp edges of his memories—of captivity, betrayal, and pain. But as his mind touched on her name, a sharp pang of awareness cut through him.

Hacinda would surely be at the masquerade tonight.

Lucius’s grip on Tavia’s hand tightened involuntarily. Would their plan put her in danger? Had he grown too comfortable, too focused on her, and forgotten the risks?

The carriage jolted slightly, bringing him back to the present. He glanced down at Tavia, who was now watching him, her eyes soft and concerned.

“Lucius,” she murmured, her voice pulling him from his spiraling thoughts.

He exhaled slowly, forcing a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing,” he said, though the tightness in his chest betrayed him.

The carriage slowed, and Lucius hesitated as the driver climbed down to open the door. The distant hum of music and laughter beckoned them forward.

Lucius helped Tavia down from the carriage, his hand lingering on hers. The gown’s bustle shifted as she moved, the butterfly wings glimmering under the light of the mansion’s lanterns. She looked otherworldly, an enchantress stepping out of a fairytale.

They approached the grand entrance, where guests of all shapes and sizes streamed in. Fae with iridescent wings, humans in glittering gowns and sharp suits, even orcs clad in intricately woven costumes—it was a convergence of worlds, all united under the spell of the masquerade.

At the gate, a butler in a crisp black uniform took their tickets, bowing slightly as he welcomed them. Lucius arm remained looped around Tavia’s, his presence protective and commanding.

Inside, the air was rich with scents—roses from the floral arrangements mingled with the savory aroma of roasted meats and delicate pastries carried by bustling servants.

An orchestra played in the distance, the melody soft and inviting yet carrying a lively undertone that hinted at the revelry to come.

Lucius plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, the chilled crystal cool against his fingertips.

He handed one to Tavia, who accepted it with a small smile and promptly took a long sip.

The effervescent bubbles danced on her tongue, and she laughed quietly as she set the empty flute on another tray.

Lucius led her deeper into the ballroom, the gleaming marble floor reflecting the glittering chandeliers above. Every detail of the space was opulent, from the gilded columns to the delicate floral arrangements cascading down from the ceiling.

He caught the awe in Tavia’s expression as her gaze flitted from costume to costume, taking in the vibrant array of colors and textures. Her smile was radiant, a beacon among the crowd, and he wanted to be the source of her joy.

“Shall we dance?” he asked, his voice low as he extended his hand to her.

She nodded, and he guided her onto the dance floor, weaving through the throng of masked guests.

The music swelled around them, a waltz with sweeping strings and a steady rhythm that seemed to resonate in his chest. He placed one hand gently on her waist, feeling the subtle warmth of her through the soft silk of her gown.

His other hand clasped hers, her skin cool and delicate against his palm .

They began to move, their steps in perfect sync with the music and each other as if they were made to dance together.

Tavia’s gown shimmered with every turn, the fabric catching the golden glow of the room.

Her laughter rang out as he spun her, a sound so pure and joyful it sent a strange ache through him. He couldn’t take his gaze off her, the way her lips curved in delight, the way her eyes sparkled behind her butterfly mask.

Around them, other dancers blurred into a swirl of color, but his world narrowed to just the two of them.

As the tempo quickened, their steps followed suit, moving with an effortless grace that defied explanation.

The folds of her gown flared out as she twirled, the glittering fabric catching and scattering the light like a thousand tiny stars.

Lucius’s grip on her waist tightened slightly, guiding her through the faster movements, his fingers brushing the intricate embroidery of her dress.

Tavia’s head tilted back as she laughed again, her voice harmonizing with the lively notes of the orchestra. He could feel the subtle vibration of her delight through their clasped hands, the connection between them electric and unspoken.

When the music slowed, so did they, their movements turning into a gentle sway. Lucius pulled her closer, the warmth of her body filling the space between them. His heart was a steady drumbeat, louder than the fading melody, louder than the soft hum of voices around them.

Her smile softened as she gazed up at him, her eyes shining through the delicate filigree of her mask. The moment stretched, fragile and infinite, as if the world had held its breath just for them.

Lucius leaned down, their foreheads brushing as his breath mingled with hers. The faint scent of roses and vanilla enveloped him, pulling him further under her spell.

Tavia’s hand tightened in his, her touch grounding him.

“Tell, me pretty dove. Why did you choose to rob that caravan?” He wanted to kiss her, to close the final gap between them, but he hesitated.

Her lips parted slightly, her breathing soft and unsteady. “I told you why.”

“Mmmm, but is that the real reason?” He could feel the faint tremor that passed through her .

Their bodies swayed together, heat blazing between them, their breaths mingled and tinged with anticipation and ecstasy.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “It was just . . . a feeling.”

Lucius’s fingers gripped her waist, the need to know her more intimately clouding every rational thought, but he had promised not to kiss her.

Yet, he wished for all the stars in the sky that she would break that promise.

And then, as though drawn by an invisible force, Tavia stepped up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.