thick fog
Once we leave the alcove, the music from the ballroom floods back in, the sound of harps and laughter filling the corridors. Jude walks beside me, her steps sharp, her fingers twitching like she wants to grab her sword even though she doesn’t have it.
"Explain" she demands.
I exhale, frustrated.
"Explain what?”
She narrows her eyes.
“You want to tell me that Cardan’s name wrote itself on your card?"
"No" I sigh.
"I wrote the most absurd name that came to mind. His. And yet, somehow, mine ended up on his too."
Jude’s scowl deepens, her dark eyes flashing.
"That sounds exactly like something he’d do."
"Except he didn’t know either" I say.
"He seemed just as surprised. He thinks it was his friends playing a joke on him."
Jude makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat.
"Great. So now, thanks to their pranks, and your smart move, you’re stuck with him."
The thought is nauseating. I don’t want to be stuck with him any more than I want to drink poison.
We step into the main ballroom, and the warmth of candlelight and bodies presses against me. Taryn flits toward us, eyes shining.
"Lili!" she breathes, clasping my hands.
"That was so romantic. The moment after the announcement, when Cardan took you away—"
"Romantic?" I echo, incredulous. "That’s what you got from all of this?"
"Well, yes" she insists.
"It’s like fate. Two names, entwined. And he took you aside, away from everyone—"
"To mock me, Taryn. Not because of some grand destiny."
"Leave her alone" Jude cuts in.
Then she rounds on me.
"So why did you actually put him on your card?"
I rub my temple, willing away the headache forming.
"I had to write something, and his name somehow came to mind. We’d just spoken before so.. I handed it in."
Taryn hums thoughtfully, tilting her head.
"It’s strange, though, isn’t it? Even if it wasn’t your main choice, your names still ended up together. Like some unseen force—"
"Stop romanticizing this" Jude growls.
Then she looks at me again, and her expression darkens.
"You know what this means, don’t you? Now, none of them will leave you alone. You’ll be an easy target."
My stomach clenches.
"I know."
And I do. I know all too well.
I glance around the ballroom, searching for my parents once again. If I can find them, I can leave before this night spirals even further out of my control. But before I can take a step, a sharp voice behind us cuts through the din.
"Well, well. Look at our little princess wannabe" the voice sneers.
We turn.
Valerian stands there, blonde hair dusted with silver glitter, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. He moves with the lazy grace of a predator, his eyes locked on me.
"So, little human, you think you’ve moved up in the world? Setting your sights on a prince now?"
he laughs.
"How ambitious. But let me remind you since you never get it: humans like you don’t belong here. The best you can hope for is polishing our goblets."
Jude steps forward, bristling with rage. “Back off, Valerian.”
His smirk widens.
“Or what, Duarte? You’ll fight me? In the middle of the ballroom?”
Jude clenches her fists, but I step between them, heart pounding.
"Enough"
I say, forcing steel into my voice.
Valerian may enjoy baiting us, but I know his kind. He’s unpredictable. Impulsive. He would hurt us if given the chance.
Taryn stands still, eyes darting between us, unwilling to intervene.
Then, from the crowd, another presence emerges—graceful, composed, dangerous.
Nicasia.
She is resplendent in deep blue, the fabric shimmering like the ocean beneath the moon. Her aquamarine hair is swept up, pearls woven through the strands. She places a delicate hand on Valerian’s shoulder, a touch of silent command. He stills immediately.
"Don’t waste your energy"
she tells him, voice smooth and laced with contempt. Then she turns her gaze to me, cool and assessing.
"It’s pointless to even acknowledge them."
Jude tenses beside me, her entire body humming with restrained anger. Her jaw is tight, her eyes locked on Nicasia with an intensity that surprises me. There’s something in her expression—anger, yes, but also something else.
I force myself to hold Nicasia’s gaze.
"We weren’t bothering anyone" I say evenly.
"And we have no interest in causing trouble."
Her lips curl in disdain.
"Your mere presence here is an insult." her voice like a blade.
“We're here just to let you remember your place, mortal.”
The words are like ice down my spine.
The air between us crackles like a struck match, and for a moment, the ballroom, the music, the golden glow of the fae world, all of it fades into the background. The only thing that exists is the sharp-edged conversation hanging between us, poised like a dagger waiting to draw blood.
"And what would that be? Nic?"
Talia's voice slices through the tension, smooth as silk but edged with steel. She steps forward, slipping into the fray with effortless grace.
"It's not like you to give advices."
Nicasia does not even flinch at Talia's arrival. The two of them are like two storms meeting, violent and unyielding. This is not the first time Talia has stepped between me and them, even if they usually manage to get along. Not with Valerian, though. She despises him.
"You know it well"
Nicasia replies, her voice dripping with condescension.
Valerian chuckles beside her, his blonde hair shimmering with silver dust as he leans in.
"What a pity it must be" he muses, his smirk deepening,
"to have a pet as a sister."
I feel Talia tense beside me, a sharp inhale barely audible over the surrounding laughter and conversation. But she doesn't lash out—not yet. She is controlled, precise, a blade held steady before the killing stroke.
"The real pity," she says coolly, "is actually acting like a puppy who wags his tail at every scrap of attention they throw your way. You sit when she tells you to sit, don’t you, Valerian? Do you even have a shred of personality outside the validation others give you?"
Her voice is calm, but there's an edge there, a quiet fury wrapped in silk. She takes a step closer, the movement almost imperceptible, yet Valerian stiffens as if sensing a threat.
He opens his mouth to retort, but Nicasia lifts a hand, stopping him with the ease of someone who has done it a hundred times before.
“This is what happens when you grow up with one of them in your house”
she says, her ocean-blue gaze settling on Talia.
“You start thinking even the servants are part of the family. And then you begin to hate your own kind.”
Talia lets out a soft, breathy laugh, but there’s no humor in it.
“Hate you?” she echoes.
"You think so highly of yourself. You live your gilded little lives with nothing better to do than obsess over ones who don’t even spare you a thought. Always watching, always sneering, always preoccupied with those you claim to be beneath you. Doesn’t that exhaust you?"
Nicasia’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.
“Now I understand” she says smoothly, shifting her attention to me.
"With this arrogance, even the ugliest of orghs might believe they are faeries."
I meet her gaze, refusing to let my expression betray me. I will not give her the satisfaction of a flinch or a retort that reveals anything useful. I let her words settle, absorbing them like a blade pressed against my skin, memorizing the way they cut.
Let her believe I am nothing, I don't care.
I feel my cheeks burn, but Talia doesn’t miss a beat.
She steps closer to Nicasia, her smile never wavering.
“And yet” she says, her voice soft but laced with venom,
“you're still here wasting your breath. Tell me, Nicasia, who’s really the ugly one here?”
Nicasia’s smile falters, just for a moment, but it’s enough.
Talia turns to me, her expression softening.
“Let’s go” she says, her voice firm.
I nod, my heart still racing, and follow her as she leads us away from the group. Jude and Taryn fall into step beside us, their expressions tense. I glance over my shoulder once, just in time to see Nicasia and Valerian watching us go.
I glance at Talia as we walk, then murmur,
"Thank you."
She glances at me.
"You're my sister. It's my duty to defend you."
Her words are easy, natural. But I wonder if she does it out of duty rather than affection. If I were not her sister, would she still stand beside me?
Finally, we reach our parents. Both Joaalk and Kiki look thrilled to see me, their bodies leaning into each other, barely holding one another up—but always in that affectionate way of theirs. Kiki’s glass is nearly empty.
"Honey, Lili, how are you feeling?" she asks, taking another sip.
"Extremely elated, as you can see" I reply dryly.
Joaalk, with his purple fingers, taps between my brows.
"I sense some hatred."
I hadn't realized my face was twisted into a scowl.
"I'd like to leave" I say.
"Why? Are you sick?"
Joaalk asks, unbuttoning the cuff of his python-print shirt.
Kiki’s eyes widen, her voice suddenly much louder than necessary.
"Did you eat something? Did you drink something? Oh no, let me see your eyes—don’t start dancing!"
I sigh.
"I’m just tired. I want to go home. Jude and Taryn will accompany me."
I gesture to them behind me.
"Hi girls" Joaalk greets them.
"Hi, Mr. Doerve" they answer.
"I don’t know" Joaalk muses, tapping his chin.
"I don’t like you going alone. The party isn’t over yet."
"I’ll go with them" Talia says.
"Most of my friends left already because of the gathering at dawn. I was going to leave early anyway."
Kiki watches her, sipping something dark through an electric-pink straw that looks more like a twig. Joaalk shifts his gaze to Kiki, waiting for her verdict. They always act in perfect harmony, every decision an unspoken agreement.
She then gives the smallest nod and Joaalk turns back to me.
"Okay, you can go. We’ll let Madoc and Oriana know."
Relief unfurls in my chest. The air inside the ballroom had grown heavier by the second.
We head toward the exit, and outside, Talia gives our family name to the orgh in charge of carriages.
"It’s foggy" the orgh informs us, "so it may take some time for yours to arrive."
"Thanks" Talia replies.
Then, suddenly, Taryn’s hands fly to her neck.
"No! The necklace!"
"What’s wrong?" Jude demands.
"I lost my necklace. The one Vivi gave me" Taryn's voice is strained with worry.
"I was sure I had it a moment ago."
"Describe it as we go back" Talia says, calm and practical.
"Maybe you dropped it near the entrance."
Taryn nods, relieved. "Okay, thanks."
All four of us turn back toward the entrance, but Talia stops me.
"Stay here and wait for the carriage. If no one’s here when it arrives, the coachman will leave, and we’ll have to wait all over again."
I nod and stay put.
Minutes pass. Neither my friends nor the carriage arrive.
I tip my head back, watching the stars, wondering if they look the same in the human world.
The thought is fleeting, interrupted by a shift in the shadows. A figure emerges.
I turn, but the orgh remains unbothered, as if sensing no threat.
I narrow my eyes, scanning the dim light.
Two eyes gleam back at me. A lazy figure moves in the darkness.
I recognize him immediately.
"Here alone?"
Cardan asks, his voice smooth and amused.
I ignore him, turning my head and staring straight ahead.
"It’s not polite to ignore someone when they speak to you"
he continues, his tone mock-hurt.
I sigh, but I don’t turn.
He moves. I hear nothing. Then, suddenly, I do—his breath close, his presence looming. I twist around, and he’s right there, so close our noses could touch. His gaze is sharp, assessing.
"I don’t like being ignored"
he murmurs, his voice lower, edged with something different than before.
Maybe the alcohol is wearing off.
I jerk back, putting space between us, and give a small bow.
"I don't know why you're here but you shouldn’t be talking to me, your highness."
His lips curve. "Why?"
“Some of your friends think I want to be a social climber because I wrote your name on my card”
I tell him, even though he doesn't deserve an explanation.
“And you don’t want to?”
his lips curling in amusement. His voice is a taunt wrapped in velvet, and for a moment, I hate how smooth it sounds, how effortless. Like I am nothing more than a passing amusement to him.
I turn around and glare at him.
"I thought humans didn’t care about what anyone thinks of them" he counters, cocking his head.
"Isn’t that your great strength? That you crawl through the dirt of your own kind, sharpening your little mortal claws, uncaring of the blood you spill?"
"Yes, you are right." A mocking tone escapes my mouth.
"And you have all these great assumptions about us despite the fact that you yourself admitted you’ve never really had anything to do with a human? Wow, if you tried to look at the stars a little more, you could become an astronomer."
His lips twitch. "I just know what I was taught."
There's something almost defensive in his tone, but I don't let it fool me. He wants to get under my skin, and I won’t let him. I don’t respond. What’s the point of arguing with someone who doesn’t care anyway?
He looks at me, waiting for an answer, but I remain silent, my arms crossed over my chest. He doesn’t like that. I can tell by the way his expression shifts, amusement flickering into something sharper.
After a moment, he breaks the silence.
“What other name would you have put on the paper?”
he asks, his voice softer now, almost curious.
I frown, confused by the question.
“What?”
“Is there another name you would have put on the card,” he clarifies, “besides mine?”
I hesitate, caught off guard by the shift in tone. It’s such a strange question, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s trying to trap me in some kind of verbal game. But then I decide to answer honestly.
“I don’t know” I say, thinking it over.
“I also considered... Locke?”
Even though I don't know him as well, I might add. But I doubt he does know my schoolmate Ssion.
He snorts, his smirk returning, but there’s a flicker of irritation in his eyes.
“Obviously him” he mutters under his breath.
I watch him carefully, trying to decipher his reaction.
His friends played this ridiculous prank on him, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t write a name initially. Curiosity gets the better of me,
“And you?” I ask, watching him closely.
“What name did you write?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the fog-shrouded trees. For a moment, I think he’s going to ignore the question or twist it into another joke. But then he says,
“Nicasia”
There is something resigned in the way he says her name —that I didn’t expect. It almost makes me feel sorry for him.
“I’m sorry”
I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He looks at me, his expression unreadable.
"We’ve had, what, three conversations in total? And this is, like, the fourth lie I’ve heard you tell."
I bristle at his accusation but force myself to stay calm.
"But I really am sorry. I don’t like you, and I can’t stand her, but you seem... I don’t know, sad? That your friends erased her name. So, I’m sorry."
He studies me for a moment, his dark eyes searching mine.
"They didn’t erase it" he says, voice quieter now, gaze dark.
"I did."
For a moment, I don't know what to say. The words hang in the air between us, fragile as spun glass.
"But you—"
"I said I erased it. Not that I wrote your name in its place"
he interrupts smoothly.
"I didn’t do that. They might have written yours after seeing I didn't write any."
I feel as though I am standing at the edge of something deep and bottomless, looking down. Why tell me this? Why now? Does he want me to ask him why? Is it a test? Is it a trap? For the usual pleasure of talking about himself? Is he really that self-centered?
Before I can gather my thoughts, he speaks again, cutting through my hesitation like a blade.
"Why don’t you like me?"
he asks, his tone casual, as if he’s asking about the weather.
I blink, caught off guard. “Huh?”
"You just said you don’t like me even though you said you didn't know me before."
He watches me, the faintest smirk curling at his lips.
"Or was that another lie?"
I stare at him, my frustration bubbling to the surface. Of course, he’s that self-centered. Of course, he’s more interested in why I don’t like him than in anything else we’ve just discussed. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check.
“Do I have the permission to speak freely?” I ask, my voice tight.
He nods, his expression unreadable.
“Go on.”
he says, his tone light but with an edge that makes my skin prickle. He takes a step closer, his feathered jacket rustling softly, the gold accents catching the faint light. His eyes never leave mine, and I feel like a butterfly pinned to a board, unable to escape his scrutiny.
"For what I saw until now," I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“You’re arrogant” I say, my voice sharp. He doesn't react.
“You think the world revolves around you. You play with people because it amuses you. You’re selfish. And I don’t like selfish people.”
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilts his head, his smirk widening, as if my words are nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
“Is that all?”
he asks, his voice dripping with mockery.
“No” I snap, my frustration boiling over.
“You’re also insufferable. You don’t care about anyone but yourself, and even for this short time, it’s been exhausting to be around someone like that.”
He laughs, a low, melodic sound that sends a shiver down my spine.
“You really have the guts to say that to a member of the High Court” his tone almost admiring.
“But you’re not entirely right”
I glare at him, my patience wearing thin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He steps closer again, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
“It means”
he says, his voice soft but laced with danger,
“that you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
I take a step back, but he follows, closing the distance between us. His presence is overwhelming, his gaze intense, and I feel like I’m drowning in the weight of it.
“I don’t need to know you”
I say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady.
“But something tells me that you want to”
he says, his voice a low purr.
I shake my head, trying to deny his words.
“That's exactly what I meant. You're playing”
I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Am I?”
his lips curve into a smirk. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers
“Why? Wouldn't you like to play with me, Lilia?”
Before I can respond, the sound of footsteps breaks the silence. I turn, my heart racing, and see Jude and Taryn, her necklage on her hands, approaching; their expressions tense. Talia is with them, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze flickering between me and Cardan with a mixture of suspicion and concern.
“Get away from her.”
Jude’s voice slices through the night like the edge of a blade. Cardan exhales a dramatic sigh, lifting his hands in mock surrender as he steps back, as if to prove he is entirely innocent of whatever crime she has already judged him for.
“What are you doing here, Cardan?”
Talia asks once we reach them, her arms crossed, her expression wary.
“I was exchanging a few words with my partner. We were interrupted before so I wanted to catch up”
His voice is lazy, the syllables curling with amusement. Even though he cannot lie, he knows how to twist the truth, how to wrap it in silk and shadows until it no longer resembles itself. A few words. As if what just happened was insignificant.
In the distance, hooves clatter against the stone road. The carriage finally arrives, its black lacquered frame gleaming under the dim light of the floating lanterns.
“We have to go” Talia says, her voice cool, authoritative. “Goodnight”
Jude doesn’t even grant him that much. She merely glares at him, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade as she bows, a silent promise of what she’ll do if he tries anything again. Taryn, ever the diplomat, bows politely, as if this were just another courtly encounter rather than a quiet battlefield of unspoken words and sharper intentions.
I quickly bow to him and then turn towards the carriage, already eager to put distance between myself and this place. Between myself and him. But before I can step inside, his voice reaches me once more.
“Leaving without saying anything again?”
he calls after me, his tone teasing but with an edge that makes my skin prickle.
I pause, my back still to him, and take a deep breath before turning around. A petty, childish part of me wants to ignore him, to let the silence be my final word. I remember what he told me earlier—that he doesn’t like being ignored.
He seems like a spoiled child, one who stomps his feet and cries when attention is not lavished upon him. The thought amuses me.
I turn just enough to meet his gaze, the gleam of his eyes catching the light.
“Do you need me to say goodnight?”
I ask, my voice sharp and laced with sarcasm.
His lips curve, slow and knowing.
I exhale
“Good night, prince.”
I say, my voice flat and unenthusiastic.
His smile deepens, and something about it—about him—unnerves me.
“Good night, human”
his voice soft but with a weight that makes my stomach twist. And then, without another word, he turns and strolls back towards the entrance of the party, disappearing into the golden glow of the revelry while we step into the dark of the waiting carriage.