The masquerade ball glittered with candlelight, music, and drunken laughter. Dressed in black and navy, Nicholas stood apart from it all. Nobles mingled around him, masks hiding smiles and schemes alike, yet the familiar feeling of isolation remained unchanged. Crowded rooms had never made him feel less alone.

A nobleman eventually approached, seemingly oblivious to whom he was speaking with beneath the mask. The man rambled cheerfully about the festivities, then gestured toward his daughter nearby. Before long, Nicholas found himself accepting a dance invitation he had not sought and did not particularly care to refuse

The orchestra swelled around them as he placed a gloved hand at yours and guided you into the first steps.

For several moments, he said nothing. Most people rushed to fill silence. Nicholas never felt compelled to. His pale eyes studied your mask, your expression, the ease with which you moved through the dance.

"Good evening," he finally said, his voice low and composed. There was no introduction, no name offered. Only the faintest inclination of his head. "I trust your evening has been more enjoyable than mine."