Tanya leads me deeper into the mansion. Marble floor takes me from the foyer into a hall with high ceiling, mezzanines lining each side where servants play drifting music. Glass chandeliers hang overhead, scattering a golden glow that washes across the room.
All eyes turn toward us—or perhaps only toward Tanya—as we step in. Men wear frock coats cut close to the body, while women glide in long, elaborately decorated gowns. The hall hums with color, perfume, and whispered conversation, a living spectacle that feels almost like a circus in motion.
Guests who were drinking wine moments ago instinctively make way. A clear path opens before us, leading to a cluster of people gathered around a single figure.
The man at the center wears a mask unlike the others—dark, imposing. White hair frames it, and wrinkles trace his neck. He is about my height, a presence that commands attention without a word.
Tanya releases her hook from my arm and steps into his embrace.
"Darling," she calls.
"Where were you, my little child?" His voice is coarse, like waves crashing against a jagged beach, pulling the room's energy into its rhythm.
"I found someone interesting. He brought you this." She lifts the box of tea toward him.
The man takes the box carefully, lifting the lid to inhale the scent.
"Tea from the continent… I love this. Where is the man who brought me this?"
Tanya steps back, motioning toward me with a subtle gesture of her finger. The crowd parts slightly as he turns to face me. Their eyes follow, measuring, curious, aware of the shift in focus.
His eyes linger a fraction too long, as if weighing me for a game I don't yet know I'm in.
He walks toward me, deliberate, the circle of guests tightening around the moment. When he reaches me, he extends his hand.
I accept his shake. His grip is firm.
"My name is Thadeo Owright," I say.
"I am Xandar Valazam," he replies, voice steady, eyes sharp beneath the mask.
"I have never met a man who brings a gift to a party someone else hosts," he adds, a trace of amusement in the cadence.
"Manners maketh Monsieur," I counter smoothly.
We both laugh, a low, controlled sound that carries across the circle. It seems to loosen the tension.
"Monsieur Thadeo, is it manner to outdo the host?" a woman asks from the edge of the circle.
Everyone—especially Xandar—falls silent. All eyes turn to me, waiting for my answer.
"Outdo the host? I merely follow his example—providing a gift as he provides for us. Surely, aren't you following his example as well?"
A ripple of approval sweeps through the guests. "Oooooh," they murmur, fingers clapping softly in admiration.
"Why wear the same dark coat as Monsieur Xandar if you have no intent to outshine him?" a man challenges, his tone sharp.
"Refined taste favors the company of equals," I reply smoothly, letting my eyes meet Xandar's.
"Equal? That's not something one says to their superior," Xandar responds, a smirk playing at the edge of his words.
"Perhaps, but even diamonds are noticeable among the mud," I counter.
Xandar chuckles, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"Who are you calling muds, Monsieur Thadeo?" the woman asks, curiosity laced through her tone.
Xandar inclines his head slightly, lips twitching. "Let's just say the less interesting are best left unremarked."
A few guests murmur approval. The woman tilts her head, eyes glinting. "So… Monsieur Thadeo, are you bold, or merely foolish?"
"Boldness and foolishness are relative. A dragon knows enough to tell the difference without asking," I reply evenly, letting the words linger.
Xandar turns to her once, calm and measured. "That's enough from you."
The woman lowers her head once then steps back and blends in with other guests.
Then his gaze returns to me. His eyes narrow through the mask's eyeholes, sharp and deliberate, measuring intent.
"Monsieur Thadeo, how bold are you really?"
"Bold? I prefer adventurous," I answer.
"Are you adventurous enough to share the tea with me?"
"I'd be delighted, Monsieur Xandar."
He leads me up the winding stairs to a circular table tucked into a secluded corner on the mezzanine. The table sits between the railing overlooking the hall and a tall window framing the courtyard garden below.
Around us, the masquerade hums. Guests lounge in clusters, some flirting openly, stolen kisses hidden behind jeweled masks. Others play cards or dice, gambling stakes that could pay a laborer's wages for two whole months. Conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses fill the air, a tapestry of indulgence and quiet intrigue.
Xandar waves his hand. A servant appears instantly, carrying an ornate tea set and the box of tea I brought.
"Prepare this," he commands.
The servant opens the lid, cuts a square from the block, and places it into a teapot already filled with warm water. Steam rises, carrying the subtle fragrance of the continent. Always at the ready, the servant's movements are exact, keeping our cups full without a sound.
We sip. Conversation drifts lazily—a gentle current of words rather than a river. The tea warms our hands, steam rising between us, softening the hall below.
"Do you enjoy women, Monsieur Thadeo?" Xandar asks casually.
"They're like tea," I answer.
"How so?"
"Each has its own warmth, its own aroma… but only one flavor truly suits each man."
He chuckles. "For me, they're like flowers."
"Flowers?"
"Yes. Some are sweet, some poisonous… but all fade in their own time."
"What happens when they wither?"
He chuckles, eyes flicking toward the courtyard. "You already know."
Guests leave in trickles, the clink of glasses fading. Time stretches, measured not in hours but in sips, glances, and words that float between us.
"It's time," Xandar finally says, glancing toward the hall.
I rise with him, following him down.
"The main event is about to start, Monsieurs!" a voice calls.
The crowd cheers, lifting glasses.
"Finally! My son wants a new one already!" someone shouts.
"Mine is broken," another adds.
"My friends!" Xandar calls, voice carrying across the hall. "Fresh batch this week!"
The hall erupts in applause and laughter.
Xandar moves toward a door, gesturing for everyone to follow. I step behind him, weaving through the thinning crowd, close enough to sense the excitement in the air.
The room beyond is dark, wide, and amphitheater-like. Guests move with practiced ease, taking their seats as though guided by invisible lines. I find my place beside Xandar in the front row, near the podium.
Once the last masked guest settles, the liquid lanterns overhead ignite, spilling a warm, wavering light across the space.
A crier steps forward from behind the silk drape covering the podium, and the room quiets slightly, all eyes drawn to him.
The crowd erupts again as he raises his hands. "I know you—we are all excited tonight… because we bring forth something to match the summer season."
Cheers swell louder, anticipation thrumming in the air.
"Without further ado… the first item on the list."
Two servants appear from behind the drape, dragging something into the open.
A blonde woman, her neck adorned with a delicate leash, emerges, the center of every gaze.