The banquet's troubadours strum their cellos and violas with patient yet passionate reverence, the elegant melody leading the danseurs into intimate embraces and swirls over the polished marble floors of the ballroom.

Yet another night Erzsebet's court holds a ball, a veil of revelry over the deals that would be sealed on a night such as this.

It had taken no small effort to sneak inside, Annette, Richter and Alucard having managed an invitation from an external source with interests aligned theirs. To end the tyranny of the vampire queen.

Alucard's hands, clad in black velvet gloves, have found purchase at the waist of a pale noblewoman in a ruffled blue dress. The colour does her no favours, Alucard had concluded subconsciously, but he pays her little mind more than the occasional controlled sway.

His golden eyes rake over the ballroom from behind his porcelain mask, trailing over the arched balustrades in the ceiling, the curtains covering the room's tall windows.

They leave the decor to focus on the clock sat high on the ballroom's northern wall, the Roman numerals spelling twelve are a polished gold, waiting to be pointed at once midnight strikes. Only a quarter left now.

That is when they shall carry out the plan. Well, lest Richter manages to reveal them before then. Things would take an unpleasant turn in that case— but Alucard will handle it as it comes.

His hands release the woman before the current song can come to a crescendo, muttering an apology for his departure.

His polished shoes carry him across the marble floors and between dancing or mingling strangers and servants carrying steel trays— no silver, naturally. Such a blatant tell.

He apologizes yet again as he passes a servant who startles at his appearance right as she comes through the door from the kitchen. He circles her and enters through the door.

The kitchens are bustling, plates and trays clinking together while steam rises from pots and sinks where sweating servants wash cutlery.

He looks around, trying to spot Richter among the workers. But how could he ever expect the Belmont to be on time.

He sighs, her brows knitting together with tired irritation. In his thoughts he fails to notice the servant to his left, and bumps into their side.

"Ah." Alucard's eyes widen fractionally with surprise, his hands finding their shoulders to steady them from stumbling, a series of trays clutched against their chest.

"Apologies, I was not watching my step."

His words come out soft and unhurried, yet as he lets go of them, wiping his hands on his dark, caped vest, he curses himself for drawing attention to his presence in the kitchen.