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It was a quarter of an hour to midnight, and Agent Twilight had not been assassinated yet, making for a very dull evening.
In actuality, it was not he who was to be killed - it was the fictionalized Lord Loid Forger of Westalis, whom Twilight was acting as that evening.
Ever since making the necessary greetings and introductions and Lord Forger, he’d been scanning the ballroom from the side of the dance floor for any sign of his potential killer. As of yet, he or she had not made an appearance, and the window of opportunity was gradually dwindling. By his estimations, the orchestra only had a few more pieces before the guests would be herded out and the ballroom’s door would close.
If it were going to happen, it would happen soon.
He turned his head, and something flashed in the corner of his vision.
A woman, moving close behind him, so silently that he had not detected her at all.
She was stunning.
Her dress was black, like the underbelly of a black widow, and although it was short, it flowed around her like a ball gown when she glided across the floor. Her raven hair was held back by a snowy headband with crinkly white flowers, and her eyes-
Underneath her glittering mask, they were as red as royal velvet, a brilliant sunset, a pure ruby.
They were kind and as hard as a diamond.
They were appraising him, puzzlement written in them.
Who was she?
Mentally, he ran through a list of the invitees and came up with Yor Forger, an employee of the government. She had only been invited because of her tendency to work hard and because of some connection with her younger brother. Twenty-seven years old and unmarried, a characteristic some might have considered unusual.
She spoke first. “You’ve been staring at me. May I help you?”
Although her steps and her moves were confident, her words were not. Her eyes flashed around the room as though she did not think she belonged there, and she crossed her arms as though she was not sure what to do with them.
Loid stuttered. “I - I was just admiring how pretty you are.” As he spoke, he let a touch of embarrassment and awkwardness leak into his tone.
Underneath the rim of her mask, her cheeks flushed, and she let out a small oh. For a moment, she looked down at her boots.
He gestured at the mass of twisting and twirling people in front of them. “Would you give me the honor of this dance?” Although he had participated early on that evening, he had remained by himself for the rest of it. It would be good for the sake of the mission to move about the room, he reasoned.
When she nodded, he offered her his hand, and she accepted it.
Compared to his, her hand was small, but her fingers gripped firmly as she interlaced them with his. He placed his other hand on her shoulder, and they walked out into the crowd.
At first, their steps together were awkward, but as the music went on, they found their rhythm. It was an old song, one Loid knew well, so he allowed himself to pay less attention to it and more to the attendees of the ball around them.
As they passed each couple, he found their names on his mental roster.
In the middle of the song, Yor stumbled for a moment, drawing his attention, and he righted her by grasping her elbow lightly.
Her face flushed again. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he assured her with a smile.
The music continued.
By the time the song began to wind down, the two of them had passed around the entire ballroom two times, and Twilight had been unable to identify the individual.
Five minutes until midnight.
The orchestra played the last chord and released their bows from the strings. Stepping back from each other, the dancers applauded and murmured, creating a sound like gentle, muffled rain across the ballroom.
“Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested, and she nodded her agreement.
The cool air on the balcony was a welcome change compared to the stuffy ballroom, which was packed with yawning people tired enough to go home but too stubborn to let the moment of luxury become a memory.
Twilight was not one of them.
His head was alert, running a thousand miles a minute, taking in everything and processing it in less than a second.
“It’s a lovely evening,” he commented, stepping forward to lean against the railing.
The balcony overlooked the royal family’s garden. If he sniffed, he could detect a trace of roses that were older than the building itself.
The hedges would provide excellent cover in an appropriate situation, he noted. They were thick and full of thorns.
Yor said nothing, but he did not turn around as he waited.
Inside the ballroom, a slow, winding waltz - the last for the night - began.
“Loid Forger,” she whispered above the sound of the violins and cellos, her voice polite but carrying a sudden deadliness. “May I have the honor of-”
He did not let her finish.
At once, with the synchronicity of a clock, both of them moved, Twilight to defend himself, and the Thorn Princess to kill.
It was their last dance of the evening.
Both of them were quick, soundless, and brutal in their actions, and when the waltz ended, one of her needles was in her hand, pointed at her heart, and the other was in hers, kissing his throat.
One downward motion from him, and she would be dead.
One horizontal movement from her, and he would be dead.
In the twisting, their masks had slipped partially off their faces, leaving them bare to each other.
She breathed heavily, not from exertion, as they stared at one another.
Somewhere, a clock chimed twelve.
Midnight.
The twelfth hour.
The Thorn Princess bolted, leaving Twilight alone on the balcony, a strange feeling in his chest and golden needle grasped in a white-knuckled hand.