A Touch of Thorns

Chapter 3- Who are you?

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As the grand ball approached, the city buzzed with anticipation, an event that graced the populace once every two years. Despite the commoners' admiration, they were destined to be mere spectators.

While Claire meticulously adjusted my dress, curiosity got the better of me. "Who will be in attendance, Claire?"

Her hands paused for a moment as she considered the guest list. "Well," she mused, "the nobles from Aveloria, representatives from the Buford Empire, and delegates from the Kingdom of Vesperia..."

A glimmer of opportunity seized me. "And what about the crown prince?" I inquired, hopeful.

Claire's tone shifted, "Oh, you needn't concern yourself with him. He rarely graces such events with his presence."

~~~

"Disgusting bastards," I muttered under my breath, my words a venomous whisper that barely escaped my lips. The grand masquerade had become a charade of deceit, and the nobles around me, with their hidden agendas and false pleasantries, seemed more repulsive than ever.

"Ah, well, that's one way to say it," a voice interrupted my trance. I quickly snapped my head around, searching for the source of the unexpected commentary. The voice carried an air of nonchalance,

"My lady, that's not very nice, now is it?" The speaker revealed himself—a man, impeccably dressed, his mask an enigma that concealed his identity. His eyes, however, gleamed with a knowing spark, as if he saw through the layers of deception that draped the aristocracy.

I regarded him with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Ladylike or not, it's the truth," I retorted, a hint of defiance in my tone.

He chuckled, the sound a melodic counterpoint to the orchestra's elegant notes. "Truth is a rare gem in these halls, my lady. Many here prefer the glitter of falsehoods to its harsh brilliance."

As the dance continued around us, I found myself engaged in an unexpected conversation with this mysterious figure. The pulsating rhythm of the waltz provided a backdrop to our verbal exchange, creating a surreal ambiance.

"Are you not partaking in the dance, sir?" I inquired, noting his detachment from the swirling couples. His presence seemed to linger on the fringe of the masquerade, observing the intricate steps of the high society ballet.

He offered a gallant bow, a gesture both charming and ironic. "Some dances are better enjoyed from the sidelines, my lady. The masquerade, I find, is far more revealing when viewed from a distance."

As he spoke, the grand ballroom stretched before us, a vision of opulence and extravagance. Crystal chandeliers hung from the lofty ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the dance floor. Intricate masks adorned the faces of the attendees, each a work of art in itself.

I took a sideways glance at him. He was quite tall, his presence commanding attention on the dance floor. The polished marble beneath our feet echoed with the symphony of the waltz, the sound merging with the soft rustle of silk and the occasional murmur of the gathered nobility.

"Why do you want to dance with me?" he teasingly asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"No," I said deadpanned, a casual rejection slipping from my lips. The mysterious man let out a deep laugh, resonating through the air, and my eyes widened. I stood there in shock.

That laugh. I've heard it from somewhere. A memory teased the edges of my consciousness, like a whisper in the wind, but its origin eluded me.

"Just one dance, love," he winked at me while I stared back, the twinkle of the chandeliers reflecting in his eyes.