It was 10 PM, and the festival was in full swing. Ermengarlda, daughter of Kamu of Eostre and King Savoia of Polarstern, stood at the center of Le Vau's grand palace, poised to marry Barras, son of Le Bonaparte Celtille and Le Josephine Claudie of Couesnon. Nobles from both Couesnon and distant Polarstern filled the vast halls, their laughter and whispered conversations weaving through corridors draped with winter roses and glowing lanterns. The scent of frost-kissed blossoms mingled with the faint, sweet burn of spiced wine.
Everyone—except the bride, groom, and King Celtille—wore masks: intricately crafted filigree veils, slender beaked shapes, and feathered, jewel-encrusted visages that shimmered beneath the chandeliers. King Savoia had declared the masks a sacred tradition, honoring ancient pacts between the kingdoms. Yet whispers threaded through the crowd, hinting at darker truths. Some said the masks were a reminder of their dominion over Nahewunder, a remote land whose loyalty flickered like the lantern flames.
From a raised gallery, masked musicians played haunting violin melodies, their notes curling through the air like smoke. In the shadows, a lone painter captured fleeting expressions—the tightening of jaws, glances cast sideways—on a canvas that would preserve the night's secrets long after the last guest had gone.
Amid the revelry stood the Oureans—Polarstern's elite guard—clad in ash-gray uniforms, the black crowned eagle insignia gleaming on their coats. Tonight, they were charged with guarding Ermengarlda from any threat, seen or unseen, their silent presence a vow of protection.
"So, why don't you talk to her, Ludovico?" Yong-ho, an Ourean from Gaenyomjui, nudged his friend with a grin. His eyes sparkled mischievously behind a sleek raven-beaked mask.
"We're on duty," Ludovico muttered, cheeks reddening beneath his own mask. "I don't know what you mean."
"You've been staring at that blonde maid in the red mask all night. Just talk to her. Besides, you have a Terranova. Not everyone's lucky enough to be Bloombound."
Ludovico stiffened, tugging his coat tighter around him. "Bloombounds aren't trophies. They're sacred—gifts from the Kami, given only to the worthy. Mine is still a Bud, not an Ancient Grove like the Heralds of Savoia."
Yong-ho shrugged, unconvinced but amused. "Fine. I'll talk to her for you."
With practiced ease, he slipped through the crowd. Ludovico's gaze returned to the wedding couple. Ermengarlda's white hair shimmered like moonlight, her emerald eyes glowing under the chandeliers. Barras stood beside her—dark-haired, solemn, a pillar of calm amid the swirling court. They moved like swans—graceful, timeless—dancing along the edge of fragile peace and hope.
Minutes later, Yong-ho returned, two glasses of ruby-red wine in hand.
"She's busy," he said with a teasing grin. "But she'll meet you tomorrow."
"You—" Ludovico began, but Yong-ho pressed a glass into his hand.
"Drink and enjoy life you idiot."
Ludovico took a hesitant sip. The wine burned—sharp, bitter, almost cruel.
"Poison?" he choked, eyes wide.
Yong-ho laughed softly. "No. The finest from Couesnon's hidden cellars. Rare, old, and powerful. Just takes getting used to."
The music swelled again, casting an enchantment over the guests. Even the stiffest courtiers loosened, laughter bubbling as shadows danced across gilded faces.
An hour passed—joyful, radiant—until a scream shattered the night.
A noblewoman collapsed, clutching her stomach, blood pooling beneath her. Her mask had fallen, revealing a pale, contorted face frozen in agony.
"It's poison! The wine is poisoned!" a young man shouted.
Chaos erupted. Guests fled in every direction—some panicked, others rushing to help. Lanterns swayed, casting warped shadows that twisted with fear.
The Oureans snapped to action, forming a wall around Ermengarlda. She trembled, hands clutching her gown.
"Barras, please, for Eostre—say you're okay!" King Celtille cried, kneeling beside his son, who had turned pale, blood tracing the corners of his lips.
"Please… hold on. Oh my Kamu...why?"
Barras clung weakly to his father's beard, his grip trembling with the weight of death. Tears streamed down the faces of Celtille and Claudie as they held him close.
"Barras…" Ermengarlda whispered, frozen in place, unable to look away from her dying beloved.
"Princess, we need to go." Ludovico and the Oureans moved in, escorting her from the ballroom. But as they reached the threshold, Yong-ho faltered—blood dribbling from his lips.
"Yong-ho!" Ludovico tried to reach him, but his friend shoved him back.
"Ludovico… bring her… to the capital," Yong-ho gasped, his voice wet and broken.
"But…" The word caught in Ludovico's throat—whether from grief or the poison seeping into his blood, he didn't know.
"Do it." With his last breath, Yong-ho slumped forward.
Staggering from pain, but bolstered by his Bloombound's protection, Ludovico pressed on with the surviving Oureans, leading Ermengarlda to the castle's rear exits.
"Where is the royal chariot? Who did this? Why?" Ludovico's mind raced, blaming the only suspects he could think of: the rioters. Only they would dare strike both noble houses without mercy.
"You take the other horses," the sergeant barked. "Ludovico and I will get the princess out of this cursed country."
Without hesitation, Ludovico helped Ermengarlda into the royal carriage, the pain of the poison gnawing at him with every heartbeat.
Meanwhile, the remaining Oureans rushed to the stables.
They opened the doors—and froze.
The scene was a slaughterhouse. Servants lay dead, throats slit, blood pooling beneath them. The horses had been butchered—blunt-force trauma to their heads, deliberate and merciless.
The Oureans rushed back to warn the sergeant.
Too late.
The castle gate was already open.
And the carriage—its path free, its way clear—had rolled directly into the trap.