Work Text:
Chapter one - The Masquerade
The cold stone walls held damp like a secret, leeching warmth from the room until even the candles burned low. Shelves of dark oak loomed overhead, crowded with manuscripts whose spines had faded into a uniform of lifeless browns.
Prince Esmond drew his dark navy-blue cloak tighter around his shoulders, though it did little to keep the chill from settling beneath his skin. He had never liked this room. It felt less like a library and more like something waiting to be remembered.
“You should not linger here, sir.” The voice came from behind him, soft, measured, and far too close.
Esmond had not heard the door open. He turned slowly to find the butler already at his side, pale-gloved hands folded, his expression as composed as ever. And yet, in the wavering candlelight, there was something in his shadow that did not quite follow the shape of a man.
Esmond let out a breath that could be seen for the room was chilled.
“Perhaps you're right but I can’t help myself but to want to know more than what my father tells me”
He walked, having his footsteps click with each step towards the books searching for one that was not yet destroyed. His fingers skimmed the spines, cracked, leather, brittle cloth, something softer that felt disturbingly like skin. He paused.
The book beneath his hand seemed warmer than the others, faintly pulsing, as though it resented being touched. He pulled it free. Dust did not fall from it. Nothing in this room ever truly seemed to decay, only to quiet itself. The cover bore no title. Only an indentation, a shallow oval, as if something had been pressed there repeatedly over many years. A thumb, perhaps. Or an eye.
“You will not find what you seek in that book sir,” Léopold said gently. Esmond did not look at him.
“Then why is it here? "A pause followed which was not long, but long enough to feel deliberate.
“All things misplaced must go somewhere else.”
Esmond opened the book anyway. The pages were not written in ink but impressed, the text revealed only when the candlelight struck at an angle. Lines surfaced and vanished as he tilted the page, sentences that refused to be read twice the same way. He couldn’t quite make out the pages on the fragile smooth browned paper.
“Satisfied yet sir?” Léopold spoke with tease laced in his voice.
“Hush. It’s bad enough you are not willing to tell me anything either,”
Esmond closed the book but did not yet put it back. He turned to look at Léopold who stood by the wooden door with the ghost of a smile.
“I want you to locate the best decipherer and book restorer in Albion. I’d like to have tea with him.” He walks through the door which Léopold holds open for him.
“Very well sir,” the man bowed as Esmond went up the stairs and closed the door to the small library.
Dawn broke, pale light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Footsteps echoed through the hall as Léopold made his way to Esmond’s study, carrying a navy velvet cushion upon which rested a fragile mask of porcelain and ivory, its left eye veined with gold where it had once been broken.
Léopold knocked on the door to the study, no answer was given. Léopold knocked on the door again,
“Sir, are you in?”
He knocked. No answer.
“Sir?” Still nothing.
Léopold opened the door slowly to find Esmond at his desk, writing reports.
“Why didn’t you answer me, sir?”
He set the cushion with the ivory mask on a small table near the door and approached. Esmond looked up slowly, his expression lined with fatigue and irritation.
“Don’t tell me you’re in a foul mood, sir,” Léopold teased, pouring him a glass of water.
“I don’t want to wear the stupid mask,” Esmond muttered, setting the inked quill back into its jar.
Léopold chuckled, placing the glass on the desk, which Esmond took and drank.
“Trust me, sir, I dislike them just as much as you do. They’re just so…” He hesitated, searching for a word that wouldn’t offend.
“A waste of material? Unnecessary? Ridiculous?” Esmond interrupted, grumbling. Léopold snickered and nodded.
“Your words, not mine, sir… but yes.” “I can’t believe people still buy into that story. And even if it’s true, we have technology now to defend ourselves.” Irritation edged his voice.
Their conversation was cut short when the door opened without warning. A man stepped in, wearing a dark blue three-quarter moon mask dusted with gold. The King, Esmond’s father.
“Why are you two not wearing your masks? The event is starting.” His voice was deep, heavy as the ocean. Esmond glared, but Léopold spoke first.
“Now? I believed we had more time, sir. My apologies.”
The King scoffed, waving him off.
“This is not your fault. My foolish son is wasting both our time, and our guests’.”
His gaze hardened.
“This will not be tolerated. Put on your mask and get downstairs. I will not repeat myself.”
Before either could respond, he turned and slammed the door behind him. Esmond rose sharply, snatching his glass and hurling it against the wall. It shattered, fragments scattering across the carpet as water trickled downward. Léopold remained still, long accustomed to such outbursts.
“Better, sir?”
Esmond breathed heavily, then nodded.
“Perfect”
Esmond walked towards the table picking up his mask, brushing his hair back, and fastened it into place.
“Clean this up, then come find me. I’d hate to make another mess.”
-
The study was now silent with Esmond gone leaving Léopold to clean up the glass. The event buzzed with classical music and hushed conversations. Guests whispered as Prince Esmond entered through the red curtains with a splendid gold rope tying them back. His mask was the subject of the endless whispering. No one truly knew how it was broken except the royal family.
Esmond fiddled with his hair, having his bangs fall over the mask. The banquet room had colored glass windows stretching floor to ceiling, each panel a mosaic of deep sapphire blues. Ruby reds, and golden ambers that caught the light and scattered it in jewel toned patterns across the room. When sunlight filtered through them, it painted the marble floor shifting ribbons of color, giving the entire space an almost dreamlike glow. Intricate leadwork traced delicate patterns through the glass, depicting winding vines and faint, storybook like scenes that seemed to change depending on where you stood.
Dark oak circular tables that seated six were spread around the room; adoring them were a creamy white cloth topped with clean white plates, polished silverware and silver candle holders that had candle wax dripping down the sides. Along the walls between the windows hung grand tapestries rich in texture and color, scenes of feasts. Forests and distant castles. Their woven threads of crimson, gold, and depth, softening the glow from the glass and giving the room a sense of history and quiet grandeur. A crystal chandelier hung above it all, illuminating a light that made the atmosphere warm and cozy. Esmond had barely made a few steps in before Nobleman Harold approached him. He had blonde silk hair and blue eyes.
“Good evening my friend! I see you still have that old thing?” Harold nodded at his mask. Esmond straightened his attire and sighed, biting back a response.
“Ah… Yes, I find it unreasonable to have another when this one is still perfectly intact.” Harold scoffed, clapping him on his shoulder.
“Humble as always. But truly, someone of your stature deserves better, don’t you think?” He pressed a card into Esmond’s hand.
He was always so sycophantic it was almost pathetic, Esmond thought to himself.
“Well, if I needed a new mask, I would have gotten one already,” Esmond’s eye twitched a sign he was already done with this conversation.
“True… True… But there's always time to get a new one! And if you got one, think of all the people who would follow your lead?” A smile crept onto Harold's face as he tried his best to get him to agree.
“So, you want to use my status as a way for publicity?” Esmond crossed his arms and he swore he saw a flash of horror in Harold's expression.
“Of course not! Don’t take it that way! I just mean- I- Look!” Harold stumbled over his words looking for an escape.
“Sir?” A voice behind him, unheard before it had spoken. Harold let out a breath of relief and took this moment to slip away.
Esmond turned to find Léopold, now masked as well. A black-and-gold Colombian adorned with dark feathers.
“Yes bird?” Esmond muttered as he handed Léopold the business card.
“John is here. Shall this go in the box with the other ones?” His grace nodded absently. “Yes, store it in the box” There was a pause before realization struck Esmond. “Pardon- Who’s John?” He gave him a look like Léopold had just grown a seconded head. A smile crept onto his face.
“The man you told me to find. Remember?” His grace blinked a few times before it had clicked.
“Oh. Then where is he?”
Before Léopold could answer, a scream tore through the hall from outside. Everything stopped, then erupted into chaos. Guests fled, voices rising in panic.
“Her mask! It’s broken!”
“The beast! it’s coming! Run!”
Esmond’s pulse surged. Without thinking, he pushed forward, weaving through the crowd toward the source. A hand seized his arm.
“Sir! This is unwise! you must-” Esmond tore free.
“No. I need to know if this ‘beast’ is real.” And with that, he ran toward the chaos beyond the doors.