CHAPTER 210: FALL OF VALTAIR [6]

Alaric and Delphine walked through the pathway.

The interior opened up before them. Columns rising to support an elaborate ceiling.

Chandeliers hung everywhere. Hundreds of candles burning. Casting warm golden light across the sea of masked faces below.

Tables lined the walls. Food and drink arranged in excessive abundance. Servants circulating with trays. Wine flowing freely.

And people. Everywhere.

Nobles in fine clothes. Wealthy merchants dressed to impress. All wearing masks of varying styles. Each one hiding identity while somehow broadcasting status.

Alaric and Delphine entered. Her arm still linked through his. Playing the part perfectly.

They moved deeper into the crowd. Not rushing. Just drifting like everyone else.

"Stay close." Alaric’s voice came quiet. The mask’s enchantment making it sound different. "Act natural. We’re here to network. Make connections."

"Right." Delphine’s grip tightened slightly. Nervousness bleeding through her.

A nobleman passed. Older. Wearing a silver mask. He nodded politely at them.

Alaric returned it. "Beautiful event."

"Indeed. The Five Houses outdid themselves this year." The nobleman’s voice carried the lazy confidence of established wealth. "First time attending?"

"Yes. We’re from the eastern provinces. Looking to establish trade relationships."

"Ah. Well chosen venue for that." The nobleman gestured vaguely at the crowd. "Everyone who matters is here. Good luck."

He moved on. Disappeared into the sea of masks.

Delphine exhaled slowly. "That wasn’t so bad."

"That was easy." Alaric’s eyes scanned the crowd. "The real work comes later."

They continued moving. Stopping occasionally to exchange pleasantries with other guests.

Behind them Teryn followed at a respectful distance.

Alaric caught his eye briefly. Made a subtle gesture. A specific target across the room. Middle-aged man. Wearing blue mask. Talking with two others near the wine tables.

Teryn nodded and moved away

Approached the target. Said something Alaric couldn’t hear from this distance. The man nodded. Gestured for Teryn to follow.

They disappeared through a side door. Probably toward servants’ areas or private meeting rooms.

Good. He’ll coordinate with the others.

Alaric refocused on the crowd around him.

So many masks. So many hidden faces.

For anyone else, it would be impossible to know who was who. That was the point.

But for him—

[Scanner!]

His vision shifted.

No matter who they’re, they couldn’t conceal themselves from him.

[Baron Corven - Blue Mask]

[Merchant Aldrik - Silver Mask]

[Count Harren - Gold Mask]

[Marquess Elsworth - Black and Red Mask]

Alaric’s eyes tracked across the crowd. Searching. Looking for specific names.

[Baron Tormund - Grey Mask]

Not his target.

[Lady Cassandra - White Mask]

Not relevant.

[Count Carl - Purple Mask]

There.

His attention sharpened. Locked onto that name.

Valtair’s ally.

The purple mask man stood near the center of the room. Tall. Broad-shouldered.

This was the target.

Alaric adjusted his trajectory. Started moving that direction. Delphine following his lead without question.

They wove through clusters of guests. Avoided getting trapped in lengthy conversations. Just polite nods and brief exchanges.

Getting closer.

Carl’s conversation seemed to be winding down. One of the nobles bowed. Moved away. The other lingered but looked distracted.

Alaric opened his mouth. Prepared to introduce himself. To start the careful dance of manipulation.

But then—

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

The sound rang out. Sharp. Commanding attention.

Conversation died. Heads turned.

A figure stood at the podium on the raised platform at the hall’s far end. Older man wearing elaborate gold mask.

One of the Five Houses’ representatives probably.

"Honored guests!" His voice carried across the suddenly quiet hall.

"Welcome. Welcome to this year’s Autumn Fellowship!"

Polite applause rippled through the crowd.

Alaric’s jaw tightened beneath his mask.

Fucking timing.

He was ten feet from Casten. Right there. And now forced to stop and listen to a speech.

"We gather here tonight, as we have for generations to celebrate prosperity. To forge connections. To strengthen the bonds that make our region thrive!"

More applause. Louder this time.

Carl had turned toward the podium like everyone else. His attention fully on the speaker.

Alaric exhaled slowly. Forced his frustration down.

Beside him, Delphine had also turned to watch. Her arm still linked with his. Warm through his sleeve.

"To the Five Houses who make this possible!" The speaker continued. Gesturing grandly. "To the merchants and nobles who honor us with their presence! And to the deals and friendships forged tonight that will shape our future!"

The crowd cheered. Raised glasses. The energy in the room building.

The speech rolled on. Platitudes about unity and prosperity and tradition.

Then the applause gone louder as five figures stepped onto the podium. Each wearing elaborate masks. Each representing one of the Houses that organized these gatherings.

Gold. Silver. Crimson. Sapphire. Emerald.

They stood in a line. United front.

The gold-masked one, who’d given the opening speech, stepped forward again.

"Before we continue with tonight’s festivities, a brief announcement." His hands clasped behind his back. "Several exclusive opportunities have become available. High-value contracts. Strategic partnerships."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Interest piqued.

"Those holding VIP credentials will be invited to a private session in the eastern wing. One hour from now. Details will be provided to eligible parties."

More murmurs. Louder this time. Guests checking their credentials. Some satisfied. Others disappointed.

Alaric felt Delphine shift beside him.

"Do we—"

"No." His voice came quiet. Dismissive. "And we don’t need it."

His eyes scanned the crowd again. Looking past the podium. Past the five representatives making their carefully vague promises.

Looking for one specific mask.

[Count Carl - Purple Mask]

Still there. Still surrounded by people seeking his attention. His presence commanding even in a room full of nobility.

The representatives finished their announcement. Then descended from the podium.

Immediately, the string ensemble began playing. Louder now. More energetic.

The crowd’s energy shifted. From formal attention to flowing movement.

Alaric guided Delphine toward one of the wine stalls.

They stopped near a table. A servant offered them wine. Alaric accepted two glasses. Handed one to Delphine.

She took it. Her fingers trembling slightly.

He glanced at her.

"Wait here, I’ll take it from here."

Her grip on his arm tightened. "My lord—"

"Trust me." He pulled free gently. "Just stay visible. Play the patient wife. I’ll be back."

Then he stepped away.

Moved into the crowd before she could protest.

Delphine stood there. Wine glass in hand. Suddenly alone in a sea of masked strangers.

Her chest tightened. Just slightly.

It’s fine. He’s working. This is the plan.

She watched him move the crowd.

He stopped near a group of merchants. Said something that made them laugh. Exchanged pleasantries. Moved on before the conversation could trap him.

Then approached another cluster. They talked.

Then he moved again.

He’s good at this. Delphine thought. Really good.

She took a sip of wine. Tried to look natural. Like waiting for her husband was completely normal. Not nerve-wracking at all.

Alaric had reached the dance floor’s edge now. The music swelled. Couples spinning and swaying in coordinated moves.

He spoke to someone.

A woman. She wore a silver mask. Her dress was elaborate. Expensive. Deep blue fabric with white lace.

Delphine couldn’t hear what he said. But the woman laughed. Her hand came up to touch her throat. Flattered.

Then Alaric offered his hand.

The woman took it without hesitation.

He led her onto the dance floor.

Delphine’s grip on her wine glass tightened.

It’s fake. Just an act. He’s gathering information. Making connections.

She repeated it like a mantra.

But watching him—

His hand on the woman’s waist. Her hand on his shoulder. Moving together in perfect rhythm with the music.

He leaned closer. Said something near her ear. The woman smiled. Laughed again.

They spun. His movements confident. Practiced. Like dancing came as naturally as breathing.

The woman responded. Leaned into him. Closer than protocol allowed.

But he didn’t pull back. Just adjusted. Kept the dance flowing. Kept her engaged.

They moved across the floor.

Delphine’s chest tightened more. Her breathing felt slightly off.

It’s an act. Just. An. Act.

But the way he smiled at the woman. The way his hand shifted slightly on her waist—secure, possessive in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

The way the woman looked at him. Captivated. Hanging on whatever he was saying.

Stop it. Focus. This is work. He’s working.

Delphine tore her eyes away. Looked at her wine instead.

Took another sip.

We’re not actually married. This doesn’t matter.

He can dance with whoever he wants.

It’s. Fake.