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The people press against the great doors of the palace, excited chatter flowing over the masses. Lucio listens to the sound of them outside and shivers with excitement. “Listen to them, Nika!” he says with a spin in the decorated main hall, fur-lined cape billowing. “They’re celebrating my birth and chanting my name!” He laughs joyously, reminding Nika of times past. She smiles and taps a finger on her cheek.
“They’re celebrating alright,” she concedes, then teases, “I don’t think I quite hear your name though.” She’s not wearing her gown, yet, Lucio notes with suspicion and he raises a well-manicured brow at her. He grasps her shoulders from behind and leans to whisper in her ear.
“Don’t you hear them?” he asks. He’s silent, letting the sound of the people outside trickle into the hall—listening to them chant his name—and laughs again. He spins her around by the shoulders and looks at her earnestly. “You are staying, aren’t you? Celebrate my birthday with me,” he pleads, genuinely asking. Nika laughs, her dark eyes crinkling with mirth. Awed or maybe already drunk on the attention, Lucio swears he sees all the nighttime stars in her eyes.
“Of course I’m going to celebrate with you,” she says. Her lips twist with mischief as she reaches up, leaning up onto her toes to bring her face closer to his. She adjusts how the hem of his cape falls across his shoulders, her breath a feather-light touch on his lips. Lucio stands stock-still and watches her intently, half afraid that if he moves, she’ll disappear before his eyes. Her eyes flick from his to his lips and back, her own rose-petal lips parted deliciously. With a soft groan, he grabs her by the waist and swoops in, pressing his lips against hers. They kiss and after a moment—a moment too soon, Lucio thinks—Nika pulls away just slightly.
“I propose a game, dear Count,” she tells him.
“Oh? What kind?”
“A hunt,” she says and he sees that mischief return. “Find me amongst the crowd, Lucio, and receive your present.” She pulls away fully with a grin.
“And just how,” Lucio says, a little breathlessly, “Will I know it’s you?”
“That’s part of the game. I haven’t seen your costume and neither have you seen mine. You must find me using your wits.” Lucio laughs.
“Very well, Nika. I accept your challenge.” Nika smiles blindingly.
“Good. When you think you’ve found me, ask, ‘For whom is a funeral pyre a cradle?’” Lucio blinks in confusion and, in that mere fraction of a second, Nika disappears. Only her voice, a ghostly whisper, remains: “Go greet the citizens of Vesuvia, Count.” Lucio shakes his head and throws his shoulders back as he glides to the doors.
With more strength than he knows he has, he throws the hall doors open revealing the beginning of the party to the citizens beyond. “Citizens of Vesuvia!” he calls, momentarily startled by how his voice reverberates above the din of the crowd. Nika, you sly little thing, he thinks. “Your Count welcomes you!” The citizens cheer and Lucio notes with pleasure that his Masquerade has begun. With a swing of his arm, he turns back into the palace and slips down a side corridor.
Nika mills around with the other citizens in the dining hall, enjoying her time of anonymity. She’d taken extra pains this Masquerade—even removing her special gold feather earring—knowing she’d wanted to make this one special. The fiery blue feathers of her mask and dress tickle her ears and neck, but she is more than happy with the way her outfit turned out. Her blue dress swirls up her body like living blue fire and a single long slit reveals her leg all the way from the hip. The feeling of unrestrained freedom is heady, knowing a bird-like mask obscures her face.
She swirls her champagne flute, plucking little snacks from a long platter to chew on while she waits for Lucio. She wanders from the dining hall to the garden, following the strains of the sinfonietta. It’s there that she finds him without a single doubt in her mind.
Dressed in glittering gold and white by the fountain, where the servants marked the dance floor earlier that day, a tall man wearing a wolf mask with gold fur twirls a woman in an iridescent red dress, reminiscent of a butterfly. The song ends and he lets the girl go only to be swarmed by a gaggle of other women dressed in dainty dresses with dainty themes. Nika leans against a nearby railing and watches with a grin as he sweeps another woman off her feet.
“May I have this dance?” Nika startles, unaware anyone had even approached as she’d watched the man with the wolf mask struggle with his group of girls. Holding his hand out to her, a man in an ornate snake mask offers a dance. Nika knocks back the last of her champagne and sets the glass down on the railing for the servants to collect.
“You may,” she says with a smile and extends her own hand. Together they glide to the dance floor, attracting the attention of onlookers around the dance floor. Their dance is invigorating—the man leads well and holds her close, but also far enough that her style shines—and the effect it has on the dance floor is electric. Onlookers and other dancers gather around the dance floor, pressing close as the song comes to an end. Cheers, whistling, and clapping arise as the song comes to an end. People press closer; each begs for a dance and blocks the way to her, but still, the man in the wolf mask manages to whisk her away into another dance. Nika laughs as the man in the wolf mask holds her as close as he possibly can. She recognizes Lucio’s silver eyes through the mask now that she is close enough to see him.
“For whom is a funeral pyre a cradle?” he whispers into her ear.
“For the phoenix, my dear Lucio,” she answers quietly. “It certainly took you long enough to find me.” Lucio groans exasperatedly.
“I’ve been looking for hours,” he whines, “but every time I thought I’d caught you, you’d disappear.” He tightens his grip on her waist, making an already intimate dance erotic. She feels every tug of his muscles against her stomach and with his hand low across her back their hips move as one.
“What can I say? I wanted to make you work for it,” she demurs, rolling against his body. Lucio’s breath leaves him in a huff, his hand tightening on hers almost painfully.
“Oh, I am,” he agrees. The sinfonietta’s song changes and Lucio leads her into a fast-paced, dramatic dance. They dance in the way only two people who are very close can, pushing and pulling, until, at the very end, they part like an explosion. Together, they heave for breath in more ways than one, but Lucio’s reason is most obvious. The people around them titter and cheer at the conclusion of their dance, more than a few noticing the bulge between Lucio’s legs. A few people whistle lewdly, prompting Lucio to pull her close again. Nika laughs and wraps an arm around his waist.
“Needy, are you, my dear?” she asks. Lucio’s eyes almost roll back when she presses against him and he growls an agreement. He kisses her, forcing his tongue into her mouth, dominating her in front of the crowd, likely as a little form of payback. He pulls away roughly, lips stained red with her lipstick, looking almost like blood, and drags her through the crowd. He slips into a side corridor and slams the door shut behind them.
“You and I,” he says against her neck, “are going to fix this.”