The Marchioness Weina’s masquerade ball was as extravagant as its reputation suggested. It boasted an array of desserts and the royal-exclusive ‘Antore’ wine, a rarity outside palace banquets. A renowned orchestra from the capital performed continuously, filling the air with melodious tunes. The ballroom buzzed with people donning masks adorned with elaborate feathers and small gemstones.

The masquerade ball’s essence was bringing together young men and women who knew nothing about one another. The masquerade offered a rare escape in a society where nobles constantly surveilled one another, acting on their status. It was a space where anonymity allowed for freedom; neither party knew the other’s identity, enabling them to indulge in behavior they would usually never consider.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

“With pleasure.”

Young men serenaded women, clasping hands and exchanging bold, intimate touches that often culminated in passionate encounters by night’s end. Some couples attend together, but it is more common for lovers to arrive separately, promising to find each other in a romantic game of hide-and-seek. Unfortunately, these promises often led to mistaken proposals or failed meetings that strained relationships. Even so, participants were undeterred, swearing each time that they would find their beloved. For the young, it was an enchanting midsummer night’s dream.

Amid this romantic setting, Ruben stood silently, wearing a plain black mask. Though his striking yet dignified figure drew occasional glances, he was used to such attention and quickly ignored it. The masquerade’s overwhelming splendor meant few focused on him for long, which suited Ruben just fine. In truth, he would have preferred not to attend at all.

“My lord.”

A quiet voice addressed him. It was Enoch. Given his usual aversion to such events, Enoch must have had a significant reason to attend, even wearing a mask. Aware of the masquerade’s setting, he had altered his usual mode of address.

Ruben inclined his head slightly, listening. Fortunately, the bustling atmosphere ensured no one paid them any mind.

“The letter you’ve been waiting for has just arrived.”

Ruben nodded calmly. He had suspected as much.

It was another anonymous letter reporting on the palace’s corruption. Initially skeptical, he had someone investigate, but the information proved accurate and thorough—often more so than their intelligence. The mystery sender intrigued the entire revolution, yet they refrained from probing too deeply, fearing exposure might endanger the informant. They had thus far accepted the one-sided flow of information.

This time, however, was different. Ikael had sent a direct request seeking specific details, and now the response had arrived.

Ruben’s request concerned Helia Bailey’s activities. Reports on her existed but were largely surface-level, as she hadn’t been deemed significant. Predictably, she was a thorn in the current king’s side, but now, as Ruben’s fiancée, she had become the revolution’s common enemy. Fearing the harm she might cause Ruben, everyone, particularly Ikael, remained on high alert. Understanding their concerns, Ruben had allowed Ikael to investigate Helia further. After all, her misdeeds could potentially weaken the monarchy, offering an advantage.

Ikael had pushed further. He believed that they might uncover clues about the informant’s identity by requesting information of a different nature.

For the past year, the anonymous reports had arrived regularly. Despite multiple invitations for a meeting, the sender consistently declined. While their tips were accurate, their identity and intentions remained a mystery. Though the revolution appreciated the assistance, they couldn’t help but question the informant’s motives. It felt ungrateful to doubt someone offering help without seeking gain, but from a strategic perspective, clarity was essential.

If the anonymous informant agreed to meet, Ikael intended to offer them a place within the revolutionary army and promise the best treatment. However, if they felt uncomfortable, Ikael would be content with their continued role as an information provider. Either way, he wished to extend the offer. By now, the informant had become a crucial figure within the organization.

“Shall we head back?”

Enoch quietly suggested their return. He was just as eager to uncover the contents of the letter.

Ruben hesitated for a moment. There was no reason to stay in this dull environment any longer. After all, if Helia hadn’t insisted on sending him the invitation, he wouldn’t have attended the masquerade. Besides, she had mentioned she’d arrive separately. It was unlikely they’d even recognize each other in this setting, and she might not even notice whether he was present.

Ruben was about to casually reply, “Let’s leave,“ when he caught sight of a young lady hovering behind Enoch. She seemed out of place in the extravagant surroundings, a clear sign of someone newly debuted into society. Judging by her hesitant demeanor, she must have been thoroughly trained in the nuances of noble etiquette, only to find herself lost in this peculiar world. Too nervous to approach the man she fancied directly, she could only stand back and watch.

Ruben nudged Enoch’s shoulder.

“It seems a lady is waiting for you.“

“Pardon? What do you mean—?”

“Behind you.”

Following Ruben’s gaze, Enoch finally noticed the young lady’s timid stare. He was excellent at handling administrative tasks but clueless regarding physical or social interaction matters. No wonder he failed to pick up on the girl’s apparent interest. Though Enoch’s face was hidden by his mask, Ruben could tell by the reddening of his ears.

With his delicate features and slim build, Enoch wasn’t a man who exuded rugged charm. Instead, he had an air of youthful innocence, making him an ideal first crush for many young ladies. Yet, his oblivious nature rendered him unable to capitalize on his natural allure. His current expression, silently pleading for Ruben to rescue him, would make anyone sigh in exasperation.

“My lord…“ Enoch muttered helplessly.

Feigning indifference, Ruben deliberately looked away. Left with no choice, Enoch turned awkwardly to face the young lady, who had already closed the distance between them. Extending his hand stiffly, he was met with her enthusiastic acceptance. Together, they made their way to the dance floor, and Ruben watched their retreating figures with quiet detachment.

The music flowed on without pause. Now alone, Ruben accepted a glass of champagne from a passing servant. The ballroom was packed, and it wasn’t long before the crowd obscured Enoch from his view—not that it mattered. Sipping his drink, Ruben paid no attention to the lingering gazes that sought his.

Despite its reputation as a romantic affair, some derided the masquerade as a place where people shed their civility and succumbed to base instincts. It was a space where decorum and tradition were discarded in favor of unrestrained indulgence. In that sense, such criticism wasn’t entirely unjustified.

Ruben could feel the weight of countless eyes lingering on him, only to shift away reluctantly. He endured the attention with his usual stoicism. It was a minor annoyance for someone like him who was used to such scrutiny. Compared to Enoch, who was inexperienced in these situations, Ruben had long mastered the art of ignoring unwanted attention. What truly grated on him, however, was the sheer tedium of the event.

Ruben had never been one to enjoy parties or festivals. He routinely dismissed most invitations, only attending royal banquets a handful of times each year out of obligation. Even when present, he would stand silently with a stony expression, radiating an aura that discouraged approach. The women who admired him could only sigh from afar. On rare occasions, he would take to the dance floor, usually with Lette or Lady Cleta, but even then, it was a perfunctory affair—one or two dances at most. Unsurprisingly, rumors of an impending engagement between him and Lette had started to circulate.

“Brother, are you truly considering an engagement with me?”

Ruben couldn’t recall which ball it was, but Lette had once posed the question after a dance. It was a straightforward query, yet there was no reason to avoid answering. Looking down at her impassively, Ruben replied in a flat tone.

“If necessary.”

At that, Lette had stared at him in disbelief before breaking into soft laughter. When Ruben silently questioned her amusement with a glance, she readily offered an explanation.

“That’s such a typical answer from you, brother.”

There were no further words, but Ruben didn’t press for clarification. He quickly understood it as one of the remarks Lette often used to chide him.

“You’re such a consistently boring person, brother.”

Since it wasn’t a false statement, Ruben silently acknowledged it. If this was what others considered entertainment, then it was confirmed he couldn’t enjoy it. Crowded spaces, loud music pounding against his ears, and dazzling displays were far from his preferences.

Standing there, looking detached as though he were alone, Ruben unknowingly became a magnet for the attention of numerous women. Despite this, he always wore the same disinterested expression. The sheer volume of gazes he drew made him more exhausted upon returning home. The aching stiffness that enveloped his body after such nights was always unpleasant. He much preferred grueling training sessions, which left him sweaty and physically drained.

‘I should head back soon.’