Evren
The Hunter’s Masque has always brought out the worst in people.
In some courts, that means blood. Here, it usually means bad decisions.
Masks. Antlers. Glamour woven over old grudges and new desires. Everyone hiding. Everyone hunting.
Useful, if you are a king with too many eyes on him. Less useful when the one person you cannot stop watching is the one you are supposed to stay away from.
The Fates had outdone themselves with the hall.
Branches—half real, half illusion—arched overhead, hung with star-bright lanterns. Antlers twined with evergreen wrapped the pillars. Glamoured hounds ran ghostlike along the walls, teeth bared in silent song.
Snow drifted beneath the ceiling in time with the music.
I stood near the base of the stair, mask in place. Bone-white, covering the upp
