"Who are you?" she asked.
His voice stirred something in her—familiar, like a whisper from a forgotten place. But behind the mask, his eyes were the color of sunburnt gold , and his hair gleamed white as snow. Had she ever met someone like that before?
He bowed low, then offered his gloved hand just as the waltz began. Catherine had no choice but to take it.
But the moment her fingers touched his, a jolt shot through her—sharp, electric, like lightning in her veins. She pulled her hand back with a gasp.
"What is it, Princess?" he asked, his voice smooth but alert.
"Uhm... nothing. I'm sorry."
It felt just like that dream—the one that haunted her nights like a shadow. But she wouldn't tell him that. He'd call her mad. They all would. That's why she had never told anyone. Not even Ellory.
"Let us dance," he said.
Carefully, she took his hand.
He squeezed it gently and led her to the dance floor. All the while, she held her breath.
A crystal chandelier spilled warm light over the center of the hall, where he guided her. Around them, nobles moved with practiced grace, dressed in tailored suits, flowing gowns, and delicate gloves.
He was dressed like the rest, elegant and polished—but Catherine knew she had never seen him before. And yet, somehow, she felt him. Not just his touch, but something deeper, something haunting. Something she had never even felt with George.
"We haven't met," Catherine said as he swayed her gently to the music.
They turned in rhythm, and he replied, "Not in this lifetime."
Her breath caught.
She cleared her throat and kept dancing, though her heart was no longer steady. His hand circled her waist, and he leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her skin.
"Strange," she murmured, frowning. "You speak like you've loved me before."
She didn't know why she said it—love—but the word had slipped out before she could stop it. There was something about him. Something she couldn't explain.
They circled slowly now. His eyes burned into hers.
"I did," he said.
Catherine gasped.
"Enough to burn an empire."
The waltz came to an end. He stepped back, bowed, and melted into the crowd.
But she followed him.
He must be the one from her dreams... the one who came to torment her.
While the ballroom buzzed with laughter and fresh anticipation for the next piece of music, Catherine slipped away—chasing him beyond the noise, past the gold-trimmed doors, and into the hallway.
A dim, shadowed hallway.
"Wait."
He halted, but didn't turn.
She froze too, her feet rooted in place. Fear prickled down her spine.
"You're that man, aren't you?" Her voice barely reached him. "The one who read my letters."
Silence answered her—heavy, eerie. The kind that made her want to turn around and run. But she didn't.
"Please," she whispered, taking a step forward. "Talk to me. I need to know I'm not crazy."
Maybe it was just grief. Maybe George's death was warping everything inside her.
"Perhaps I'm only feeling this way because I mourn him," she said. "And you... you're just a nightmare. You're not real, are you?"
He turned then and reached her in two strides.
She sucked in a breath—he was too close.
He reached for her, his hand brushing her dark mask. Gently, he pulled it away. Then his thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, slowly.
"There," he said. "Do you feel me now?"
Catherine inhaled sharply.
"Elias?"
It was the only thing she knew—his name.
He nodded.
"What are you to me?" she asked. "I don't remember loving you."
"You will remember," he whispered.
"This is madness," she murmured. "George is the only man I've ever known."
He let go of her then, pulling his hands away slowly. His voice dropped, low and certain.
"I will come to you."
He stepped back. His eyes swept over her—hungry, lingering—before he turned. As he walked away, those sunburnt eyes flared crimson.
"Wait—" Her hand reached out, but he was gone.
Silence folded over the hallway, thick and lonely.
She hadn't even seen his face.
"Perhaps I am mad after all," she whispered.
Turning back, Catherine walked into the ballroom. Her face now bare, her mask forgotten. Only then did she realize:
Everyone else had already taken theirs off.
"Who was that man Princess Catherine was dancing with?" someone whispered.
She turned to see the woman beside Meredith speaking. Meredith shot the lady a sharp glare, then quickly looked away.
Catherine sighed. She didn't know how much longer she could endure this place. Maybe it was time to leave for good.
"Princess Catherine," a voice called, smooth and cool.
She turned. A man stood before her—blond hair neatly combed, sharp blue eyes fixed on her. He bowed.
"Lord Edward," she said, returning the bow.
A waiter passed between them, and he caught two glasses from the tray, offering one to her.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He took a sip. Catherine only circled her fingers around the glass, the cool stem grounding her. He cleared his throat, and she turned to him again.
"My condolences," he said. "George was a strong comrade."
Her eyes lit up. "You knew George?"
"Hmm," he murmured, taking a sip and staring ahead. "Met in the military. We used to play around as boys."
She nodded. George had served in the military years ago but resigned—to be with her.
"You know, Princess," his voice dropped lower as he gently took one of her gloved hands.
Catherine stiffened.
"George would have wanted someone to care for you. Especially now, with everything going on."
"What do you mean?" Her brows furrowed as she glanced down at their joined hands, frowning.
He chuckled. "I know I could never replace him, Princess. I only wish to be… a new beginning."
She pulled her hand away. "Excuse me."
But before she could step back, he caught her hand again. "Princess, I hope I haven't startled you."
Catherine drew a deep breath, then turned to him with a small smile. "No offense, of course."
"Then…" He took her untouched glass and placed it on a passing waiter's tray, along with his own. "May I have this dance?"
Just then, the violin began to play—a slow ballet.
Perfect timing.
"I'm rather tired tonight," Catherine said.
But his grip on her hand tightened slightly.
"You're here for a reason, Princess. Don't let my words ruin the mood," he said with a charming smile, then led her to the center of the floor.
Catherine's entire body stayed stiff, but she let him. Just one dance. After this, she'd be gone from here.
As Lord Edward guided her in a slow sway, her eyes met Meredith's across the ballroom. Her sister's mouth hung open, eyes wide in shock.
Catherine frowned. What had she done this time?