Chapter Text
In Search of the Weakest Link
After the dance, he vanished into the motley crowd.
He listened.
The hall was bathed in golden light from chandeliers, where the glow danced across glasses, silks, and gemstones. Conversations swirled in the air like the aroma of fine wine. They melded into a murmur — soft but dense, like velvet: about new fashions from Amalthon, about the duke’s secret visits to the dowager marquise, about how a royal decree might already tomorrow change the fate of an entire regiment. People laughed, whispered, glanced about, and even the air seemed heavy with graceful lies.
Theodor moved slowly, almost lazily, as though searching for a familiar face or a random glass of wine. But in truth, he was tense, alert — his ear caught every word, every tone, every echo of unease, the whisper of truth beneath ornate phrases.
And then he heard it.
In a far corner beneath a vaulted arch, where a tapestry of a battle had long since faded, two people spoke more quietly than the rest. Their voices made no effort to be heard — on the contrary, they were barely perceptible, like the dry rustle of paper in silence.
“…if the king finds out…”
“He won’t. It’ll all pass for that pitiful conspiracy.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. The documents are already on their way.”
The words were no louder than the flutter of petals, but in Theodor’s mind, they flared like a spark in the dark. He froze. Pretended to study a painting — a still life in a heavy gilded frame, with a pomegranate split in half. Juicy seeds, dark flesh, a drop of juice seeming still to trickle off the edge of the table.
But he didn’t see the painting. He listened. Listened hard.
The words were like needles: conspiracy — a distraction, documents — already en route. Which meant that behind the scenes of the ball, where powder and masks hid faces, something far more dangerous was unfolding.
He slowly turned, letting his gaze glide over the crowd. Not too fast — so as not to draw attention. Two men. One in a dark livery, neat and austere — likely a steward. Hands behind his back, posture straight, like a man used to obedience and silence. The other — in a lavish doublet gleaming with silver. His movements confident, shoulders squared, his step bearing the quiet fatigue of someone who has commanded for too long.
Silver.
A flash of memory. He had seen it already today — on the parquet floor, in the shimmer of candles, that figure gliding across the hall, leading the minuet not as a dance but as a declaration. Effortless, fluid, almost predatory.
Not just a guest. A player. Perhaps — a puppeteer.
Later, on the terrace, where the chill bit to the bone, Theodor stood by the balustrade. The stone was damp with dew, his breath coiled in white mist, and even the marble statue of Aphrodite near the entrance looked wrapped in a veil of frost. The cypress shadows in the garden stood frozen, and the lanterns cast long streaks of light across the gravel paths.
He stood, shoulder against a column, silent. The same phrases ran through his mind. If the king finds out. It’ll all pass for a conspiracy. Documents. What exactly was in them? Who was involved? He felt a faint tension pulsing at the base of his neck — like the moment before a shot, still unspoken but poised to burst from silence.
Footsteps.
Not loud, not heavy. Soft, like silk brushing skin. But Theodor heard them. Turned even before the voice shattered the night’s fragile stillness.
“I thought you were enjoying the ball, Count,” said the stranger.
Before him stood a man in a silver mask. That one. The one that glittered during the dance. The same doublet — silver threads shimmering like frost in the moonlight. Confident stance, direct gaze — even through the mask, power radiated from him: cold and calm, like steel.
“And I thought you preferred to remain in the shadows,” Theodor replied, holding his gaze. His voice was steady, but a wave was rising inside him. Not fear — rather, the sense that everything was starting to align.
“From time to time, it’s useful to step into the light,” the man said with a half-smile, as if they were old acquaintances, not potential enemies.
“Even if it’s dangerous?”
“Danger is a matter of perception.”
He stepped closer. The wind played with the edge of his cloak, and somewhere behind them, the waltz resumed. The strings trembled, like nerves.
“As are conspiracies?” Theodor asked.
The man tilted his head slightly, as if weighing not the question, but the man who asked it.
“You are observant, Count. But remember: those who stare too deeply into the masquerade may forget they, too, are part of it.”
He spoke softly, his words dissolving into the rustling leaves.
“Sometimes the mask grows into the skin. And then you can no longer tell — where the game ends and the truth begins. Where duty lies, and where betrayal. Where the king is… and where his shadow.”
He looked at Theodor, and Theodor felt as if a diagnosis had just been given.
Before he could reply, the man stepped back and melted into the stream of guests who had stepped out for fresh air. His cloak flickered among others, merged with shadow, vanished.
Only a faint trace remained — of tobacco and musk. And silver — the aftertaste of a glance, a gleam of truth that could not be proved.
Theodor stood motionless, staring at the spot where the man had been. The night around him seemed to grow quieter. Even the wind held its breath, as if waiting for what came next.
He now knew more. More than he had wished. And less than he needed.
Answers had come — but they brought a chain of new questions.
The most important thing — was not to forget that he, too, was part of the masquerade. And his mask held not by glue, but by choice.
And with each passing night, that choice grew heavier.