✧ Chapter Nine ✧
When Threads Are Pulled, Before the Masks Fall
fromHave You Someone to Protect?
By ©Amer
Morning arrived with a hush of golden light over the town. Today was Alen's birthday.
The whole place buzzed—not frantic, but an excited, infectious kind of energy. Everything had been prepared days ahead: dresses chosen, masquerade masks crafted, gifts wrapped with careful hands. Even the question of who would arrive with whom had been settled in secretive laughter.
In a small house near the square, Lhady Amer woke to the soft scent of linen and lavender.
She sat up, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
By her bedside, draped neatly over a chair, was the violet gown she had chosen—a delicate piece that shimmered like dusk—and resting atop it, her mask: a taro-violet shade kissed by a single golden gem at the forehead.
A smile found her lips.
She rose, padding barefoot to the window. Outside, she caught sight of Caelum Virelian.
He was by the well, filling a pail with the smooth ease of someone long accustomed to quiet, necessary tasks. The early light caught in his dark hair, making him look almost too vivid for this quiet world.
Lhady chuckled under her breath.
"Fetching water at this hour? Good timing, then," she whispered, as she turned toward the kitchen.
It was an ordinary morning—the kind she cherished most.
She brewed tea, kneaded dough, stirred the broth. When Caelum returned, they shared a simple breakfast by the window, their laughter blending with the birdsong outside.
Far beyond their small, peaceful world, a shadow lingered at the edge of the lane.
Silas.
Hidden by instinct, wrapped in sorrow.
He watched them—watched her—with a longing that burned deeper than he dared admit.
The way Lhady laughed so freely, how Caelum leaned closer to listen—it struck something hollow inside him.
Painful. Beautiful. Inevitable.
"As long as she's safe... and happy," Silas muttered under his breath, voice roughened by regret.
He pressed a hand to his chest, as if to hold his heart still.
"That's what matters. That's all that matters."
He knew this was his doing.
It was he who had left—without a word, without a promise to return.
It was he who had forfeited the right to stand at her side.
In his mind, the story was simple: Lhady and Caelum had found something he could no longer claim.
He convinced himself of it, even as something deep inside refused to believe.
Still, he forced a tight smile, the kind that cracked at the edges.
After one last, lingering glance at Lhady—tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she laughed—Silas turned and walked away, footsteps swallowed by the earth.
He made his way back to the inn where he and his companion, Corren, had taken lodging for the celebration.
Corren
(n.) an old word for steadfast companion, one who guards your back without being asked.
Corren was already at their corner table, chewing lazily on a roll, his feet kicked up.
He arched an eyebrow as Silas entered, boots dusted and sleeves damp with dew.
"Where've you been?" Corren asked casually, setting down his mug.
Silas, ever the quick thinker, held up a plump, very confused chicken he had somehow acquired along the way.
"Early lunch," he said with a lazy grin, setting the bird onto the table.
"Forest gifted it. Figured we'd feast before the long day begins."
Corren snorted, clapping him on the back.
"You're ridiculous," he said, grinning.
"You're a high-ranking Commander now, Silas. You could be dining at the best place in town... and yet here you are, bartering with chickens."
Silas only laughed, the sound easy, almost boyish.
"Simple tastes," he said, shrugging.
"Besides, this one's fresher."
Corren shook his head in mock disbelief, still chuckling.
Inside, Silas's mind was somewhere else entirely—lost to violet eyes and soft laughter, to the unspoken truth that he would attend Alen's grand celebration tonight not as a friend, not even as an old flame—
but as a silent guest among a hundred masked faces.
Just before evening, as the orange glow of sunset melted into purple, Lhady, Sian, and Mira gathered at Mira's house—a cozy place much closer to Alen's Manor.
It had become their agreed meeting spot before the ball.
The air was thick with excitement and the faint scent of fresh pastries cooling by the window.
By tradition, even though everyone knew their partners ahead of time, they would not enter the ball together. It was part of the custom: to meet by fate's hand on the dance floor, beneath layers of silk and mystery.
"So," Sian began, lounging dramatically against Mira's bed, "how exactly did you break up with Sir Caelum? I mean—" she wiggled her eyebrows teasingly, "—you're not entering together, after all. Heartbreaking, really."
Lhady tossed a cushion.
Laughter rippled through the room.
"It's part of the magic, remember? No names. No easy finds. Just... whoever's heart you recognize first."
Mira clapped her hands excitedly.
"It's Alen's brilliant idea. Mischievous little thing," she said fondly.
"She wanted tonight to be unforgettable... and impossible."
"Honestly," Sian sighed, throwing herself back onto the bed, "how are we supposed to find our partners? Half the town will be wearing the same three colors—and masked faces!"
"A good challenge for little Alen's last mischief before coming of age," Mira said with a smile.
They all laughed again, but under the mirth, a flutter of nerves began to build.
Excitement. Fear. Anticipation.
Something was different tonight—it thrummed in the air like a distant melody, or a secret too big to stay hidden.
Meanwhile, across the cobbled lanes, Caelum Virelian made his way toward the old tailor shop where his attire waited.
He had meant to arrive earlier—to earn a generous discount, he had agreed to be dressed by the old woman herself.
A small price to pay, he thought.
But as he passed the edge of the woods, something caught his eye—a flash of movement, low and deliberate.
His hand instinctively brushed the hilt at his side as he surveyed the trees, his gaze sharp and patient.
At first, it seemed no more than a fox, weaving between the shadows.
And yet... something else stirred behind it.
Something unseen.
A force that prickled the back of his neck, urging caution.
He lingered a moment longer before finally stepping into the warm, cluttered shop.
The old woman huffed at him.
"Late, boy. Late!" she grumbled, bustling around him with measuring tape and sharp pins.
But despite her words, her eyes gleamed with fondness.
Caelum offered an apologetic half-smile, bowing his head slightly in respect. "I'm sorry, madam. The fault is mine." Shrugging as he allowed himself to be measured and pinned into layers of dark velvet and silver thread.
At Elowen's Manor, Silas had already arrived hours before.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored coat, his presence was both commanding and quietly lethal.
He hadn't seen Alen yet—only her parents, bustling and fretting over final touches.
When Alen finally darted into the room, her curls bouncing and her cheeks flushed, her parents immediately scolded her.
"You must be a surprise!" her mother exclaimed. "What are you doing here before the guests?"
Alen ducked her head sheepishly, clutching a mask behind her back.
She crossed the room quickly to Silas, pressing the mask into his hands.
"Sorry," she whispered, her eyes wide with guilt.
She had forgotten to have his mask made properly in the chaos of preparations.
The one she now offered—ornate, deep-hued, and adorned with a golden-yellow gem—had once been intended for another.
Still, she straightened her shoulders and recited with surprising dignity:
"Thank you, Sir Silas, for accepting my invitation... and for becoming my partner tonight."
Then, cheeks ablaze, she fled.
Silas watched her go, a slow smile tugging at his mouth.
His heart, heavy earlier that day, lifted slightly.
He had known Alen as a child—the same child he and Lhady had once watched over during long afternoons of playing make-believe in the fields.
Sometimes, it had almost felt as though they were a small family—he, Lhady, and the bright, mischievous little girl who had trusted them so completely.
The memory warmed him, bittersweet.
At the stroke of eight o'clock, the grand hall of Elowen's manor gleamed with lantern light and swirling colors.
Behind every mask, excitement danced in every glance.
The musicians tuned their instruments.
The heavy velvet curtains shivered with expectation.
And in that electric moment, as the great doors prepared to open, every heart in the room seemed to whisper the same silent breath—
Let the celebration begin.