The Moon's Chosen

Chapter 8– The Masquerade

The palace of Selthorne shimmered as if dipped in liquid moonlight. From the moment Aeloria stepped onto the marble steps that led into the Grand Hall, she felt the weight of every gaze — some curious, some dismissive, and too many sharp enough to cut.

Kaelen, standing tall beside her in his obsidian cloak trimmed with silver, had insisted she attend. “If you hide away,” he’d said earlier, fastening the mask that shadowed half his striking face, “they will write their own stories about you. Tonight, you show them you are no one’s pawn.”

Easier said than done.

The Grand Hall opened like a vision from a dream. Crystal chandeliers caught the moonlight and scattered it into a thousand glittering stars that danced across polished silver floors. Tapestries embroidered with constellations lined the walls, and above, an enchanted ceiling mirrored the night sky, each star winking with real light from the heavens.

The air smelled of moonblossom wine, spiced honey, and perfume too rich for her senses. Music floated in the air — violins, harps, and a haunting flute weaving melodies that twined like silver threads.

And everywhere…masks.

Elegant masks of feather, velvet, and gems adorned every courtier. Behind them, eyes glittered — watchful, assessing, hungry. Aeloria knew their whispers even before they began.

The girl from the village.

The healer who caught the prince’s attention.

The Moon’s Bride… or the Moon’s curse.

Kaelen’s hand brushed lightly against the small of her back, steadying her as if he could feel her pulse racing. The warmth lingered longer than necessary, and she hated — no, feared — the way her heart responded.

“Breathe,” he murmured low enough that only she could hear. His voice was like velvet drawn over steel. “They are jackals. Never show them blood.”

She swallowed and lifted her chin. If he thought she was some trembling girl, he was wrong. She had faced shadow beasts. She had pulled life back into his fading body with hands that burned with a power she barely understood. She would not falter before silken smiles and poisoned words.

“Good,” Kaelen said, almost approvingly, as if he could read her resolve.

They moved deeper into the hall. Servants in shimmering silver livery carried trays of crystal goblets. Aeloria accepted one but barely sipped — she needed her head clear, not dulled by moonwine.

Everywhere, conversations ebbed and swelled around them. Nobles bowed to Kaelen but their eyes lingered on her, measuring, weighing. She forced herself not to shrink beneath their scrutiny.

And then came Queen Maeryn.

The stepmother glided toward them in a gown of midnight silk, a crescent-shaped diadem gleaming in her dark hair. Her mask was gossamer-thin, barely concealing her calculating gaze. She looked every inch the regal queen — and every inch the spider weaving her web.

“My dear Kaelen,” she purred, voice dripping honey. “And the guest we’ve all heard whispers about.” Her eyes swept over Aeloria like a blade. “How…charming.”

Charming. The word felt like a veiled insult.

Aeloria bowed politely. “Your Majesty.”

Maeryn’s lips curved. “Do enjoy yourself, child. This night is one of celebration. And who knows? The Moon has a way of revealing truths when we least expect them.”

The queen drifted away, leaving behind a trail of perfume and unspoken threat.

Kaelen’s jaw had tightened. “Stay close to me,” he muttered.

“I thought you wanted me to be seen,” Aeloria countered softly.

“I did. I do. But Maeryn’s interest is never harmless.” His eyes flicked over the crowd, scanning like a soldier on patrol. “And tonight, danger wears silk.”

Before she could reply, the music swelled into a waltz. Pairs began to move onto the floor, gowns spinning, masks glinting. It was a world of elegance she did not belong to.

Then Kaelen turned to her, holding out a hand. “Dance with me.”

Aeloria froze. “I—I don’t—”

“You’ll learn.” His lips twitched in the barest ghost of a smile. “Trust me.”

Trust. The word again. A dangerous one between them. But his hand waited, steady, offering.

Against her better judgment, she placed her hand in his.

Kaelen led her onto the floor, and suddenly the world shifted. His hand at her waist, the other clasping hers, his steps strong and sure. She stumbled once, but his grip steadied her, guiding, almost protective.

“You’re terrible at this,” he said, though his tone was amused, not cruel.

She glared at him. “Maybe I’ve never had a reason to practice twirling around like a peacock.”

His laugh — rare, warm, genuine — startled her. “Fair enough.” He spun her lightly, and though she almost tripped, somehow she landed back in his arms. His chest was solid against her, his breath brushing her temple.

Too close. Far too close.

“You’re doing fine,” he murmured, voice low enough that it curled through her like heat.

Her cheeks flamed. She tried to focus on the music, the steps, anything but the way his thumb brushed lightly against her hand as they turned.

Around them, nobles whispered behind masks, their gazes sharp. But for a moment, it didn’t matter. For a moment, it felt like the dance belonged only to them.

The music softened into a slower rhythm. Kaelen’s grip gentled, pulling her closer. His eyes — storm-gray with flecks of silver — locked on hers.

“Aeloria,” he said softly, as though her name itself was fragile.

Her breath caught. The world blurred, the music fading until it was only the two of them, bound in a moment that teetered on the edge of something f*******n. His face lowered, hers tilted instinctively upward.

The distance between them thinned, thinned—

And then—

A crash shattered the air.

Screams followed, sharp and shrill.

A masked figure burst from the crowd, blade glinting, rushing straight for Kaelen.

The masked intruder’s blade flashed like liquid silver beneath the chandeliers. For a heartbeat, the Grand Hall seemed frozen — music cut off mid-note, courtiers gasping behind jeweled masks, the air sharp with the metallic tang of imminent violence.

Kaelen reacted first.

With a movement born of instinct rather than thought, he shoved Aeloria behind him and drew his own curved blade, its steel etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Steel met steel with a ringing clash that reverberated through the hall. Sparks scattered as the assassin pressed forward, strength unnatural, movements too fluid for any common mercenary.

Gasps echoed through the ballroom. Nobles shrank back, silken gowns rustling like frightened birds taking flight. Yet none moved to help — this was not their fight. Not when Kaelen, the exile prince, stood between danger and them.

Aeloria’s heart pounded. Her hands clenched the folds of her gown, eyes wide as she watched the deadly dance of steel. Kaelen fought with brutal elegance — each strike, each parry flowing like water. But the assassin was relentless, driving him back step by step across the glittering floor.

And then she saw it.

A second figure in the shadows, moving toward Kaelen’s unguarded side. A second blade.

“Kaelen!” she cried.

He turned just in time. But too late to fully evade. The second assassin’s strike glanced off his arm — crimson blooming against silver fabric. He staggered, jaw tightening against the pain.

The crowd gasped louder now, fear rippling like wildfire.

Something inside Aeloria snapped.

She couldn’t stand idle. Not again. Not while Kaelen bled, not while death drew so near.

The air itself seemed to thrum, responding to the wild thundering of her heart. Her vision blurred with light — not the golden warmth of the sun she’d known all her life, but cold, radiant silver, searing through her veins.

The chandelier overhead flickered. Every candle in the hall wavered as if bowing to her breath. The assassins faltered, eyes widening as shadows peeled back from their forms.

And Aeloria raised her hands.

Moonlight erupted.

It burst from her like a tidal wave, a shimmering shield that flared between Kaelen and his attackers. The assassins’ blades struck the silver barrier with a hiss — and shattered, fragments dissolving into dust that glittered before vanishing.

Silence crashed over the hall.

Every eye turned to her.

Aeloria stood trembling, silver light still coiling around her fingers like fire made of ice. The air hummed, heavy with power. She felt it pulsing through her — wild, endless, terrifying.

And then it was gone, the light extinguishing as suddenly as it had come. Her knees buckled, and Kaelen caught her before she collapsed, his wounded arm pulling her close against him.

For a moment, all she heard was his heartbeat — fierce, steady, alive. Relief washed through her so strong it nearly stole her breath.

But then the whispers began.

Did you see—?

She wielded the Moon’s light.

The prophecy… the Moon’s Bride…

Masks leaned toward one another, whispers cutting sharper than blades. Some eyes shone with awe. Others with fear. And more still with thinly veiled hatred.