The invitation
1164 Words
Lucien.
I stood by the window, taking slow sips from my juice when my door creaked open. I didn't need to turn to know it was silas.
He just had this aura that came with him.
I turned.
The scent of old parchment and dark magic clung to the envelope Silas placed on the obsidian desk.
I didn’t look up at first. “More pointless letters?” I muttered, swirling the juice in my goblet.
Silas gave a small shrug. “Not exactly. It's an invitation... to a peace gala.”
That caught my attention. I set the goblet down with a soft clink and slowly picked up the sealed envelope.
My eyes scanned the wax insignia—neutral. Old Council. “A masquerade gala,” I murmured, lips curving slightly. “How ironic.”
Silas tilted his head. “They say it’s to promote unity among the supernaturals. After what happened with the Ironfang Pack, the council thinks it’s time to mend old scars.”
I scoffed. “They call it a gala for peace... but the masks won’t hide the sharpened knives underneath. They want proof I’ve returned. And they want the witch who dared to wake me.”
Silas nodded once. “You’re not wrong. Both your allies and your enemies will be there.”
I sat and leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled under my chin, a faint glint of amusement in my eyes. “Then we’ll give them a show.”
“You’re going?”
“Of course I’m going,” I said, standing. “Let them look. Let them whisper. Let them tremble. Let them see who walks the realm again.”
Silas hesitated. “And Anara?”
My lips curved into something darker. “She’s coming with me.”
A pause.
“She might not realize it yet,” I added, “but they need to see her. The witch with Nyxborn blood. The key that woke the storm.”
Silas raised a brow. “You’re not worried?”
“They’d be fools to try anything with her. She’s under my protection.”
I turned toward the window, gaze stretching to the grey skies. “Prepare the masks. I want them to see the beginning of their reckoning… dressed in gold and blood.”
Anara.
The walls were too quiet.
I sat curled up by the window, my knees drawn to my chest, eyes fixed on the darkening sky. I had spent the entire day tucked away in my chambers, trying—and failing—to rest.
No visions. No training. No magic experiments.
Just... silence.
I hated it.
My fingers toyed with the hem of my sleeve, mind drifting toward the conversation with Darius, then to Lucien—his touch when he’d wiped the blood from my face, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. Before i could answer, the door creaked open.
Lucien.
Of course.
He stepped in, his presence immediately filling the room like gravity itself had entered. “You didn’t come down for lunch,” he said.
“I wasn’t hungry,” I replied quietly, not meeting his eyes.
Lucien frowned. He walked over to me, crouched down beside the window seat, and reached out—his hand gently pressing against my forehead.
My breath caught.
“I’m fine,” i muttered, cheeks warming.
His palm lingered a second longer than necessary before pulling away. “Good,” he said, standing. “You looked bored.”
I lifted a brow. “And you came to entertain me?”
Lucien gave a faint smirk. “Hardly. I came to tell you we’re going out.”
That caught my attention. “Out?”
“There’s a masquerade gala in two days.” I sigh. He got me excited for nothing, I thought we were like going out now.
“Masquerade?”I asked
“Yes,” he replied smoothly, already pulling a small black box from inside his coat. “Hosted by the Conclave—supernatural leaders who love to dress up, drink wine, and pretend peace is easy to maintain.”
I raised a brow. “Sounds... thrilling.”
“They want to see you,” he continued, placing the box in my lap. “They don’t know it’s you specifically—but they felt the power. Whispers of a witch waking me. You’ve stirred curiosity, Anara.”
“And you want me to go?”I asked, looking down at the box.
Lucien’s tone shifted—cooler, firmer. “You’re coming with me. I’m not hiding you away like a secret.”
My heart beat a little faster at that.
I opened the box slowly. Inside, a stunning silver and black feathered mask rested on deep velvet. Intricate carvings shimmered across its surface, ancient runes flickering softly in the light.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“It matches you.”
I looked up at him.
Lucien’s expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. Pride? Possessiveness?
Or something else entirely.
“You have two nights,” he said, backing toward the door. “Let Eira help you with the dress. And get some sleep—you’ll need it.”
Then he was gone, leaving the mask gleaming in my hands,my mind spinning with questions and my stomach fluttering for reasons I refused to admit.
*********
The night of the gala.
Eira took a step back, giving me a slow once-over. “You look… breathtaking,” she whispered.
I turned to the mirror and almost didn’t recognize myself.
The gown hugged my frame like it had been stitched by magic. Midnight blue silk clung to my curves. The bodice was structured, with a sweetheart neckline edged in delicate black lace that barely kissed the tops of my shoulders. Subtle embroidery — ancient symbols laced in silver thread — was sewn along the sides, symbols Eira said were protective sigils from old Ashveil.
My back was mostly bare, save for the crisscross of dark blue straps that held everything in place. A slit ran high up one leg, revealing just enough with each step to remind me i was not a child anymore — not tonight.
Eira adjusted the dark mask that now framed my eyes. It was shaped like a butterfly with obsidian filigree, subtle enough not to steal attention from the dress but ornate enough to suggest mystery.
My curls had been pinned up loosely, with soft strands falling around my face, and a single silver comb with a sapphire nestled in my hair — a final touch from Eira.
“You look like a Nyxborn queen,” Eira murmured.
I blinked at her reflection. I didn’t look like the scared girl who had first arrived here. I looked like someone else — someone powerful.
Isn't that who they expect to see?
“Come on,” Eira said, holding out her hand. “He’s waiting.”
- Writer
