Dreams of the past clung to his thoughts like mist.

He rose from bed, the tension returning to his shoulders as he slipped on his black embroidered robe. War loomed ahead, and today, masks would shatter.

Meanwhile,

-The Brighton Estate-

Evelyn sat before her vanity as Lily wove silver threads through her hair, securing delicate pearl pins in place. Her gown today was a cascade of deep crimson silk and sheer golden layers, elegant yet defiant – just like her.

But her heart twisted painfully.

-Evening-

-The Palace, Ballroom-

Evelyn stood near the entrance, her gloved hands trembling around her fruit punch glass. Her eyes darted unconsciously, searching each face, each tall figure with dark hair.

The music shifted to a grandiose march. The guards slammed their spear butts onto the marble floor with a thunderous crack.

“Announcing His Excellency, the Marquis of Ashenbert – Lord Kayden Valtier Ashenbert!”

Silence dropped over the ballroom like a guillotine.

Heads turned as he entered – tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black formal robes with silver embroidery that glinted like moonlit steel. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his emerald eyes scanned the room with cold precision. Every step radiated lethal grace, like a blade sliding from its sheath.

A flurry of gasps rose from noblewomen:

“My god… look at him…” “He’s beautiful… like a dark angel…” “I heard he’s the Marquis’ illegitimate child, raised in secret… such scandalous blood…” “Who cares about his blood with that face…” "He barely even shows his face in the high society!" "I know right! But he is too handsome..." 

Evelyn’s heart slammed against her ribs. 

Pieces clicked together in her mind – the cloaked saviour at the ball, the teasing theif under the moonlight, the shadow she fell onto from the window… and now, the infamous Marquis of Ashenbert, son of her father’s old friend, the man whispered to have no true lineage but the sharpest sword in the Empire.

Kayden felt the weight of every eye upon him, but he moved unfazed, his mind already analysing infiltration routes and guard placements.

Mercenaries disguised in palace guard uniforms at the outer halls… nobles of Cassian’s faction positioned near exits…

Until, Kayden’s gaze swept the crowd and locked onto hers. Their eyes met across the ballroom. The noise around them dimmed. For a heartbeat, there was only him – his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile that sent shivers down her spine.

At the far end, Sylvia entered gracefully, her gown a pale lilac embroidered with silver flowers. Her husband held her arm tightly, his smile hiding the bruises blooming along her wrist under her gloves.

Leon stood near the pillar, his expression hardening as their eyes met briefly. The unspoken ache between them glimmered like frost under moonlight before she lowered her gaze, masking her sorrow behind polite elegance.

------

The soft strains of waltz music drifted faintly down the gilded hallway as Sylvia stepped out from the powder room, adjusting her silk gloves with trembling fingers. Her pale lilac gown shimmered under the crystal wall lamps, but her face was pale and her eyes distant.

She froze when she saw him.

Leon.

He stood a few paces ahead, half-hidden behind a marble pillar, his dark formal coat blending into the dim corridor as he observed the guards stationed nearby. His mission focus faltered when he turned and met her gaze.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was louder than any music outside. Her heart squeezed painfully at the sight of him – his strong frame, his earnest eyes that once looked at her like she was his entire world.

She quickly lowered her gaze, stepping sideways to pass him without a word.

But his hand reached out, catching her wrist gently.

“...Sylvia.”

His voice was low, rough, filled with emotions he could no longer hide.

She tried to pull away but his grip tightened slightly – not in force, but in desperation. That’s when he noticed it.

A faint bruise, peeking out from under her pearl-studded choker.

Leon’s eyes darkened with rage and anguish. “Who did this…?”

Sylvia turned her face away, her shoulders trembling as she forced a brittle smile. “Don’t… please.”

“Sylvia—”

“It’s nothing.” Her voice cracked. “Please… don’t look at me like that.”

He swallowed hard, pain surging through him as he loosened his grip. His thumb brushed gently over her wrist before letting go.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she stepped back, bowing slightly. “Forgive me. I… I have to return.”

She turned and walked swiftly down the hall, her trembling figure swallowed by the ballroom’s golden light. Leon remained rooted to the marble floor, his fists clenched at his sides, his heart screaming words he could never say aloud.

Beyond the glowing palace, dark clouds gathered. Lightning flashed silently in the distance as shadows moved through hidden passages. Mercenaries tightened their grips on concealed blades. Carriages arrived under secret orders. The coup had begun its silent prologue.