“A purposefully ripped ball gown? How scandalous.” The long, limber frame erupted from the shadows of the dimly-lit quarters, examining his doublet in the cheval mirror his sister stood before. His clothing was made of scarlet satin, imported from somewhere in Europe. Scarlet was the color of romance, or so they had insisted when they dressed him in it. The dashing prince had said a silent prayer upon entering his sister’s quarters that his appearance would earn her approval; she was a rather opinionated individual with a gift for fashion, and anything but the best would create turbulence.

“I try my best.” Her lips were painted the color of red wine for the evening which drew out the mischief in her smirk. The viridian and gold hues of her masquerade mask only accentuated the eccentricity and appeal of her bright amber eyes, which had settled on Jacques. She studied him in the mirror as she struggled to clasp a necklace to her figure, succeeding after several failed attempts. She glanced at herself one last time in the mirror before she took her brother’s arm, allowing him to escort her out of the room she occupied. Her things were still strewn everywhere, though they had been here for several days now. She felt the slightest twinge of shame at her disorderliness, which was followed by envy for her brother’s ability to settle in anywhere. He could make the bottom of a well feel like home in minutes, and it took her weeks to feel attached to a bedroom filled with everything that made her who she was.

“Let’s hope your lover fancies it,” he muttered quietly, perfectly audible to Camille and only Camille. She slapped his arm, unleashing a fiery glare in his direction. He brushed it off cooly, returning a smirk of the highest caliber. “Sore subject?”

“Jacques,” she grumbled under her breath, face flushed. He had won and they both knew it.

“Camille,” he replied back in a lighter tone, “my darling sister whom I adore.”

…

They entered the courtyard of the castle which was lit with candles that sparkled on the lawn like stars against the night sky. It was barely evening but the sky was still quite light out. Jacques felt slightly out of place in broad daylight, unable to slip in and out of the shadows as he pleased. Surely, he was the life of the party, but he desired to be calculated about it. Being so approachable was a bit of a liability, given his reputation with women. Even in a different country, he knew that word could travel quickly between royals, and for once in his life, reputation mattered. In order to continue his education here, he would have to play nice, he would have to make a good house guest. He could play along for quite some time given an impressive list of assets and copious amounts of stamina, but his entire charade could be destroyed by one demeaning word from someone with credibility. Considering his situation and the few options he had, Jacques took two half-drunken goblets off of an unoccupied table, consumed the contents, then went off in search of more with a renewed gusto. Until he could properly mingle under the promises of nightfall, he could at least stand to have a bit of fun.

While Jacques was off scavenging for liquor, Camille searched wordlessly for Laurens. Her suitor was a great deal older than her, and he reeked of something that made her head spin. His conversational skills bored her and he didn’t find his excessive need to make others feel inferior attractive. Yet, until she could present her family with a better option, Laurens was the only thing keeping her in Venice, and how badly she needed to be away from France. The circumstances of her departure were bleak at best, but now she remained in a city where they did not know her story. Familiar faces did not lurk around every corner, carnivorously waiting to destroy her reputation. She could be whoever she wanted to be here, and she could dream of whatever she wanted. She could dream of meeting a handsome stranger at a ball and falling in love for the night, if she so pleased. Or, she could live in reality. She chose the former, preferring daydreaming of happiness to acknowledging the lack of.

“Camille,” the man’s voice made her frown, but she plastered on a smile before he could see. “The dress I provided for you, how did it get into such a state of disrepair in a few hours’ time?”

The woman’s face fell, though it was impossible to see through the glorified disguise that covered it. He offered her his hand, and she took it. “Let’s dance.”

Tobias had never been one for parties.

In his younger days, perhaps, the event may have impressed him. But by now he had grown rather immune to the displays of wealth and debauchery that the castle often hosted. Still, he had to admit this one was rather above the rest.

The King’s parties had a reputation for being grand, but this one exceeded most others he had witnessed - it seemed His Majesty had spared no expense for their foreign visitors. The ballroom was decorated in a fashion that would please even those with impossibly expensive taste. Tapestries woven with real gold and imported velvet adorned the walls, and chandeliers bedecked with hundreds of tiny crystals and diamonds illuminated the dance floor below. Rumour was that even the smallest of them cost more than most of the estates around the city.

Music and laughing drifted in from the courtyard, which was also extensively decorated and served as an overflow for guests or simply a quieter alternative to the bustling ballroom. Partygoers streamed in and out as they pleased, enjoying the balmy night air and the romantic atmosphere provided by the hundreds of candles and lanterns set up for this occasion.

Long tables laden with every delicacy imaginable lined the walls of the expansive room, elaborate sugar sculptures sparkling at regular intervals along the polished surfaces. Occasionally a servant would appear and whisk away a tray of appetizers to offer to the guests. Other attendants moved slowly through the fringes of the crowd, balancing trays of cristallo goblets filled with the finest red wine and ready to provide refreshment at a moment’s notice. The most renowned band in Italy graced the stage, fingers flitting across their instruments flawlessly to produce the rich, harmonious music currently floating through the air.

Tobias’ gaze moved constantly, surveying the room, watching for any sign of a threat, keeping an eye on the jubilant partygoers. A group of tittering women waved coquettishly at him, batting their eyes behind their masks. They likely had no idea who he was, assuming his leonine mask and matching black and gold uniform belonged to some lord or baron. He indulged them with a respectful incline of his head, which set off a renewed wave of giggling as they all moved off into the crowd.

He had no interest in them, of course. His priorities were far from the physical type, and even farther from an actual relationship. He was, in every sense of the word, married to his work. And that was how he liked it. He viewed love as nothing more than a distraction. An emotion that did nothing more than provide a facade for lust. Not that the people around here saw the need to disguise such a thing. It was not yet dinnertime and he’d already seen a dozen couples disappear to more private surroundings, and at least half of them hadn’t arrived together. He had no time for that kind of thing. It was a distraction. Nothing more.

Across the room he saw Lord Laurens enter the room, accompanied by the French Princess. He had already spotted her younger brother a few minutes before, attempting to be subtle as he snagged two goblets off a passing tray - both for himself, apparently. Tobias had smirked as he watched the younger man saunter off through the crowd, believing himself to have avoided any witnesses to his indulgence…despite his vivid scarlet finery. The colour really wasn’t conducive to stealth.

He watched as the Princess and her suitor took a position on the dance floor and began to sway to the music. Even from this distance he could see that the skirt of her ballgown seemed to be in a state of disrepair. It evidently hadn’t been due to an attack, that much was clear. Which meant that she must have torn the fine garment herself. Interesting.

He had seen the dress arrive earlier that day, a gift from Laurens. A servant girl had brought the package to the Princess’ suite right before he had left to check the security preparations for the party, leaving his two most trusted guards stationed outside her door in his stead. The dress had been a shining expanse of rich, vividly dyed silk and embroidery when it had arrived. Now it was…well, he wondered what had happened to prompt the “modifications.”

If the Princess’s body language was anything to go by, it was safe to assume that she was not nearly as interested in her suitor as she would wish people to believe. She did a good job of acting and disguising it, but years in his line of work had trained him to notice the subtle lack of energy in her step, the way she tolerated but did not press into Lord Laurens’ hands. As the couple passed by he caught her eye and dipped his head in greeting. He did not pity her for the potentially dull union she was poised to enter. It was her duty, after all. But he did pity the fact that one with such an interesting view of the world would be paired with someone like Laurens, whos way of thinking was often rather…drab. It provided a sharp contrast to the woman who now swirled away from him into the throng of dancers. She seemed to think in a different way…one that Tobias found mildly intriguing. She certainly wasn’t the most boring person he had ever been assigned to protect. He harboured no attraction for the foreign princess, though she was quite lovely. But he did enjoy her company.

“Spot anything worrisome?”

The voice came from his left and carried an undercurrent of amusement. He turned to see his right hand man beside him. Marco was second only to himself when it came to matters of security, and he was a master with the sword. He was also the closest thing to a friend that Tobias had. And he had an infernally annoying sense of humour that he was always trying to instil in his far more serious commander. “No, Marco. If I had then I wouldn’t be here. I would be dealing with it.”

Marco rolled his eyes at the deadpan answer. No one else would dare do such a thing, but unfortunately he knew he could get away with it. “Lighten up. The ball is going smoothly. People are enjoying themselves. The Prince and Princess are being treated to the best hospitality in Venice. And you have caught the attention of several rather lovely individuals.”

Tobias shook his head. “I have no time for such things, Marco. They would only-“

He fell silent as his eyes darted to a spot across the room, where he thought he’d seen a suspicious flicker of movement. But there was nothing there, save for a nobleman and a lady with their hands all over each other, getting rather intimate in the shaded alcove. Tobias shook his head and returned his gaze to the Princess. This was going to be a long night.

“I’m an artist,” his bright eyes glittered with mischief as he spun a red-headed maiden around, then drew her close to him. So close, in fact, that their lips nearly touched. His gaze fell to her lips for a fleeting moment before he pulled away, teasing her. Her green eyes were entranced with desire. “I specialize in portraits...nude portraits. Perhaps you’d like to model for me sometime, I’m searching for a muse.”

Perhaps she was like many of the other partygoers scattered about the lawn who had chosen intoxication over coherence, or perhaps she was just plain dumb. Either way, her only response to the prince’s advances was the same response she had given all night. A coy batting of her eyelids, enthusiastic nodding with nothing behind her eyes, it was all child’s play. He had already been through half of the eligible women at this party, they did not amuse him anymore. He despised the idea that he might be growing older, he might be needing more than a warm body to satisfy him. Hell, at one point it wouldn’t have even had to be warm, it just had to be a body. He refused to believe that any word that came from Camille’s mouth was true, especially regarding his love life. He hated the way she could be with him, probing him to accept every letter that fell off her tongue as gospel. But when he sat back to think about it, every word she had said to him of any importance had rung true eventually. He sighed, dismissing the woman with a wave of his hand, only to be met with another.

“You seem to be in high demand tonight,” this woman was a blonde, almost painfully so. Her hair was the color of candle wax and looking at it for too long made his eyes hurt. She smelled like roses, a scent entirely too sweet and consuming. She was giving him a headache and he hadn’t even said a word to her yet. “It’s a pleasure to dance with you, Prince Jacques.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he deadpanned robotically, as if he were barely breathing. It was as if the very lifeblood was being sucked from his veins. He thought to find Camille, to ask her for a dance. He wanted a moment away from the pretenses of society and she would desire the break from that unimaginative ignoramus of a suitor. Where did their parents find these men? It was as if they were looking for the worst of what they could still accept, as if they desired to send their daughter on the fast track through purgatory by living it here on earth. He pitied her, really. If the roles were reversed, he would have ditched his title by now and run away. He wasn’t entirely sure why she had stayed, and why she continued to please their parents. Even he, the ultimate devil’s advocate, could not imagine her point of view. Where exactly had she gone, though? The last he had seen her, Laurens was dancing with her in the crowd. And now, she was nowhere to be found.

…

“Where are you taking me?” Camille had tried her hardest to keep the facade of tranquility plastered on, but it crumbled at every step she took. She sensed that she was in danger, that Laurens was not very secure of mind and could be easily pushed to a point of no return. She had seen it in him within a few hours of meeting yesterday afternoon: the flashes of malevolence that hid behind hooded eyes, the deadly silence that lingered when he clenched his jaw after hearing something he didn’t agree with. There was an insatiable hunger for savagery, for inhumanity. It lingered in the shadows, ready to pounce with each word Camille said or withheld. She was terrified for her life in a crowd full of people, and even more so now, being led down the dimly-lit entrance of the palazzo.

His silence was deadly, but his grip on her arm willed her to focus on something else. It created a searing pain that made her want to cry, but she was too scared to shed even a tear. If she spoke up, if she screamed, if she fought, she would be sent back to France, or maybe worse. Maybe she would never see France again. Maybe she would never see tomorrow. She didn’t know what Laurens was capable of, or what he was planning. Yet, if she remained silent, she would almost certainly meet the same fate with less controversy.

She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. Unflinchingly, he threw her on the floor. Now in a ball on the floor with a fairly deep cut on her cheek from what she had fallen into, Laurens continued to inflict more violence upon her. Eventually, it stopped hurting, it only became one large envelopment of pain. She thought of Jacques faintly, as if he was a distant memory. Where was he? Where were all of the partygoers? Surely she was not completely alone in this large abode with one person. After some time, she simply stopped expecting someone to rescue her. She had learned her lesson, no matter how much violence continued to ensue: from this point on, she would not fight, she would simply take it.

The party was still in full swing and dinner was approaching, and nothing had gone badly so far. Everything was running smoothly and according to plan, yet Tobias couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It was a tiny, quiet voice in the back of his head, murmuring so softly as to almost not be heard. There were no alarm bells, no red flags, nothing to even remotely suggest that something was amiss. Yet that soft whisper continued to nag at him, prodding at his awareness, making him double and triple check the room, adding intensity to his scans for danger. There was no reason to suspect anything more than mild paranoia caused by the importance of the event.

But Tobias had learned long ago never to ignore his instincts.

He once again checked the crowd for the Princess and her suitor. He had seen them leave about ten minutes ago and had chosen to remain here to give them some privacy. Laurens was a capable man and well able to defend his companion should the need arise. But that little voice was telling him that maybe he should not have allowed her to leave his sight so readily, even if it was in the company of Laurens. If something happened to her it was his fault, no matter who was with her at the time. He shifted his weight, the only outward sign of his unease. He could see nothing amiss from here, which meant it was time to move. A subtle gesture brought Marco to his side immediately. “Keep an eye on things here. Watch the Prince; he’s in the courtyard. I’m going to check on the Princess.”

Marco nodded once in confirmation, all joviality gone as he took up his position. He could be annoying at times, but that man knew how to take things seriously when needed.

Tobias descended into the crowd and casually made his way through, heading straight for the exit through which the Princess had disappeared. He was careful to maintain the pretense of simply wandering the room - too much urgency could spook guests and cause upset, and prompt questions he didn’t want to nor had time to answer. Within a minute he had reached the stone archway and stepped into the corridor beyond. Soft light drifted in through the windows along the wall that divided it from the ballroom and torches flickered along the pillars that ran down the opposite side, but much of the hall was cast in deep shadows. The voice in the back of his mind grew more insistent. There were no bedrooms down this way. And he knew Laurens wasn’t the type to have his fun against a random wall. Which meant that the likelihood that they had left for a bit of pleasure was rapidly decreasing.

His fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger hidden within his tunic and strode quickly down the hall, his black leather boots muted against the smooth stone floor. A soft giggle followed by a breathy exclamation came from up ahead as he neared the turn at the end of the corridor, causing him to stop in his tracks and wonder if he had worried for no reason. But the sounds did not come from the Princess; rather they originated from yet another random couple enjoying the virility of youth and the freedom of intoxication. They were at least sober enough to be slightly embarrassed by being walked in on. But only slightly.

Tobias continued on down the new corridor, his speed increased. He was a good distance away from the party now and the music had faded to soft strains drifting in on the breeze. Real concern began to prickle at the back of his neck. There was nothing down here but overflow storage for the kitchen pantries and the rooms that received deliveries to the Palazzo. Laurens had no reason to take her down here. No good ones, anyway.

He was about thirty feet from the end of the hallway when he heard it. A muffled thumping, coming from a room up ahead on his right. Another person might have dismissed it as the sound of yet another couple hidden away for some privacy. But Tobias instantly recognized the sounds of violence, the muffled thumping of hands and boots hitting skin. He drew his dagger and stepped into the room - and his blood ran cold when he beheld the sight of Laurens mercilessly raining blows down upon the Princess. The young woman was curled into a defensive ball with her arms protecting her head. Not a single sound escaped from her as she took the beating without complaint. Laurens’ eyes were seemingly lit from within by some kind of sadistic glee, his mouth twisted into a cruel grin as if he were enjoying every second of this torture.

Tobias saw and processed all of this in less than a second. And the next he was flying at the other man. He could not harm him, as he was a member of the royal family. But he was allowed to stop this madness and protect his charge.

Laurens’ next blow was interrupted as Tobias intercepted his falling fist. His watery grey eyes went wide, but that was all the reaction the younger man allowed him. In a matter of seconds Laurens was pinned face first against the wall with his arms held behind his back. He whimpered and struggled against Tobias’ grip, offering flimsy excuses. “I...she tried to throw herself at me...like nothing more than a common wretch! I had to correct the behavior as her intended husband….no wife of mine will act that way! It was necessary, I-”

Tobias tightened his grip. “Enough.”

The cold fury simmering in his words sent the older man into silence instantly. The only sound in the room was the Princess’ quiet shivering. Tobias leaned close to the Lord’s ear. “The only reason my dagger did not find a home in your heart is because of your heritage, Lord Laurens. Had you been any other man you would not be breathing right now. I have been assigned to protect Her Highness. And I intend to do it using any means possible. Know that I will be informing His Majesty of this...incident. And know that if it happens again...I will exercise the privilege of my position and eliminate the threat to my charge.”

With that he released the lord and moved to the Princess, gently helping her up from the floor. Laurens furiously brushed himself off and glared at them, rage and embarrassment beginning to tinge his face purple. “Are you threatening me, Captain? Me? It would do you well to know where you stand.”

Tobias’ voice was no more than the whisper of steel against velvet. ‘Yes, I am.”

He took a step closer and the lord recoiled. “And unfortunately for you...I know exactly where I stand. Now begone. And pray that I paint you in a favourable light when I report what happened here.”

Laurens muttered a curse under his breath but left in a hurry, slamming the door behind him. Tobias turned to the Princess and offered a silk handkerchief. “I am so, so sorry. I never should have let you leave unaccompanied with him.”