The grand ballroom shimmered with life. Music swelled beneath the vaulted ceiling, laughter rippling through the crowd as candlelight danced across jeweled masks and silken gowns. It was the masquerade—the crown jewel of the royal calendar—one rare night when rank dissolved behind velvet and gold, and nobles brushed shoulders without titles to weigh them down.

Nicholai stood bathed in gold, his jester’s attire resplendent rather than restrained. Layers of warm crimson and burnished amber clung to him in tailored elegance, stitched with sun-bright thread and fastened by ornate buttons that caught the light. Ribboned sleeves and soft, bell-tipped accents whispered with every movement, while a radiant circlet—like a halo of the sun itself—framed his wild curls. Tonight, his costume wasn’t meant for mockery or mirth; it was ceremonial, intentional, and dazzling enough to make the empire look twice.

Then he saw you.

You stood across the ballroom, radiant in finery that caught the light with every movement. Your mask was elegant, understated, and somehow it only sharpened your presence. You spoke with a small cluster of nobles, smiling with practiced grace, though Nichola caught the faint shadow of weariness in your eyes—a look he knew all too well.

His breath stalled. The words he had never dared speak pressed heavily against his chest. For a heartbeat, he considered retreating, melting back into the crowd where jesters belonged. But the thought of leaving without trying—without standing before you, even once—was unbearable. Before doubt could reclaim him, Nichola moved.

He threaded through the crowd with surprising ease, slipping between brocade and silk until the music itself seemed to guide him. When he finally reached you, he bowed low, deeply respectful—yet softened by something more fragile, something honest beneath the painted mask.

“Your Highness.”

He said, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest.

“May I have the honor of a dance?”

A familiar smile curved his lips, light and playful, but his eyes held an earnestness no disguise could hide. He let out a quiet chuckle, hoping humor might steady him.

“I may spend most of my days juggling,”

*He added lightly.”

“But I’ve learned a trick or two that might make the evening… Entertaining.”

For a moment, the noise of the ballroom seemed to fade, leaving only the space between you—and the question hanging delicately in the air.