The Masked Wolf
1086 Words
The Midnight Prince
Ashen
“Now, children,” I said, “this is where the little cinder boy made his second mistake.”
My daughter lifted her head from my lap. “What was his first mistake?”
“Going to the ball.”
My son frowned. “That does not sound like a mistake. Balls have food.”
“A fair point,” I said. “But food is not always worth destiny noticing you.”
“What was the second mistake?” my daughter asked.
I looked into the fire and smiled.
“He made the princess laugh.”
My son blinked. “That is dangerous?”
“Very,” I said. “Especially when the princess has spent her whole life being smiled at by men who want her crown, not her heart.”
My daughter’s eyes widened. “Did he love her?”
“Not yet.” I turned the old ring on my finger. “At first, he was only trying not to trip over his own feet.”
Princess Moona PentNova stood in the east courtyard with one shoe on, one shoe in her hand, and frosting on her thumb.
I had seen noblewomen before.
From a distance.
Usually while carrying trays, cleaning fireplaces, or lowering my gaze before anyone remembered I was there. They were graceful creatures in silk and jewels, raised to glide through rooms and smile like nothing in the world ever hurt.
Princess Moona did not glide.
She stood near the fountain with her moon-silk gown gathered slightly above one ankle, looking at me as if I were the strange one.
I suppose, in fairness, I was the one wearing a magical mask and wandering lost through a royal palace.
“You are not supposed to be here,” she said.
Her voice was smooth, but not soft.
There was command in it.
Not the heavy-handed kind my father used. Not the sharp, poisonous kind Lady Seraphine favored. The princess’s command felt like a door opening and expecting you to have the good sense to walk through properly.
I bowed.
Deep enough to respect her.
Not so deep that I looked guilty.
“My apologies, Your Highness. I was following the music.”
Her gaze moved toward the open archway behind me. Beyond it, the sound of the orchestra drifted from somewhere very much not in this direction.
“You followed it away from the music.”
“Yes.” I straightened slowly. “I have discovered that.”
Her mouth twitched.
It was small.
Barely there.
But I saw it.
And because I had apparently decided to ruin my own life, I smiled back.
The princess looked at my mouth.
Only for a heartbeat.
Then her gaze lifted to my mask.
The mask sat cool against my skin, light as frost, strong as a secret. Veyra had said it would hide my face, my scent, and my magic.
For two hours.
Three attempts a day.
Never past midnight.
I should have been counting the minutes.
Instead, I was standing in a moonlit courtyard, trying not to stare at a princess who ate cake like she had personally defeated it in battle.
“You are lost,” she said.
“I am beginning to accept that.”
“Do you have a name?”
My first instinct was to give it.
Ashen.
The name rose too quickly, too honestly.
I swallowed it.
Names had power. My mother taught me that before she died. Veyra had reminded me of it at least seven times while shoving me through a servants’ passage and telling me to “walk like a tragic nobleman with cheekbones.”
“Tonight?” I said carefully. “I am only a lost guest.”
The princess tilted her head. “That is a terrible name.”
“My parents were very tired.”
This time, she laughed.
Not the polished laugh noblewomen used in court. Not the kind meant to flatter a man or soothe a room.
A real laugh.
Quick.
Bright.
Startling.
It hit me somewhere under the ribs.
I looked away before I made the third mistake of the night.
“I mean no disrespect,” I said. “Forgive me, Princess. This is my first time in a situation like this.”
“A situation like what?” she asked, lifting one brow. “An empty east courtyard with a princess who takes off her shoes and eats cake like it is going out of fashion?”
I glanced at the cake on the fountain ledge.
Then her shoe.
Then her face.
“I was going to be more diplomatic.”
“Please do not.”
The corner of my mouth lifted despite myself.
“No, Princess. I meant a society event where I am expected to act the part.” I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly aware of how foolish that sounded. “When I would rather see a true connection of the old ways. The way the Moon Goddess intended before courts turned fate into paperwork and dancing into a negotiation.”
The princess went still.
Not stiff.
Still.
Her eyes locked on mine through the mask as if I had said something in a language she had forgotten she knew.
I shifted. “Is there something on my face?”
Her gaze flicked to the silver frostwork hiding half of it.
“A mask.”
“Besides that.”
“Possibly trouble.”
I breathed out a laugh before I could stop it.
The sound felt strange coming from me.
Easy.
Unarmed.
Her eyes softened at the edges.
I rubbed the back of my neck again. “Forgive me, Princess. I ramble when I am nervous.”
“You are nervous?”
“I am lost in a royal palace after accidentally interrupting the Luna Princess during…” I glanced at the cake again. “Meditation.”
Her lips pressed together.
I looked down.
Too late.
She laughed again.
If Veyra had been watching, she would have called that destiny getting smug.
The princess slipped her shoe back on, though she did so with the disappointed air of someone losing an argument with duty.
“Come,” she said. “I will take you to the ballroom before you wander into the council chambers and start a war.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“In this palace, it is usually paperwork first, then war.”
She offered me her hand.
I stared at it.
- Writer
