Allison Brown
She entered the courtyard from the top of the stairs, dressed in a ballgown of rich, velvety, emerald-green satin. The gown was intricately embellished with swirling lace that framed a fitted bodice, flowing sleeves like delicate petals, and a flared skirt cascading to the floor in soft, lapping folds. She knew she’d probably gone a bit overboard when consulting the seamstress, but if this job required her to infiltrate the gala, she might as well look the part.
She checked once more that the delicate porcelain mask—matching the green of her dress—was securely
in place before descending the steps.
She kept her head high, soaking up the curious glances as she descended. Each look of wonder, envy, and
lust made her feel lighter, as if she were floating. But as she neared the final steps, her heart halted.
From across the courtyard, she caught sight of someone she had desperately hoped to avoid tonight: the Captain of the Guard.
He stood apart from the crowd, his imposing figure unmistakable even in the sea of glittering masks and
swirling gowns. His formal attire was tailored to blend in with the other guests, but the subtle gleam of polished armor beneath the dark fabric betrayed his purpose. Unlike the revelers around him, he wasn’t here to enjoy the party—he was here to control it. His broad shoulders and rigid posture made it clear he commanded not just attention, but obedience.
When your job involved quickly and quietly ending the lives of influential assholes within the king’s inner circle, the Captain of His Majesty’s Royal Guard was the last person you wanted noticing you.
The mask obscured most of his face, but she didn’t need to see it. She had made it her business to know
exactly who he was. No mask could hide the intensity of his sharp, unyielding gaze.
A shiver ran down her spine, cold and sharp, as their eyes locked for a single, tense moment. She tore her
gaze away, forcing herself to breathe. One more step.
She made it to the bottom, but her foot caught on the hem of her gown, causing her to stumble and tear the base of the skirt.
Before she could regain her balance, an arm slid firmly around her waist.
“Are you alright?” The voice was deep and rich. She looked up and found herself face to face with a man
wearing a plain mask. His deep brown eyes, however, caught the light in a way that compensated for its lack of embellishment.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She broke eye contact and corrected her posture, attempting to summon the voice that made her sound more important than she was.
Her words evaporated when she noticed his chest was emblazoned with the badges and regalia of the
Royal Guard—his rank and honors proudly displayed for all to see. They glittered in the lantern light, almost too bright against the black fabric of his uniform.
“Miss? Are you alright?” he repeated, his voice soft and warm, yet with a trace of hesitation.
He was younger than the Captain. Unlike his superior, he was dressed in his full uniform. The cut was
sharp, immaculate, not a thread out of place. He stood straight, shoulders squared—almost like he was posing for effect.
“Did no one ever teach you that the last step is always the trickiest?” he teased in response to her silence.
She tried to step quickly out of his grasp, only to stumble again. He reached out to steady her, but she
raised a hand to stop him as she found her footing.
“I don’t need your help,” she said, finally regaining her voice, trying to evoke authority. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, visible despite the mask.
“Would you rather I let you fall in front of all these lovely people?” he asked, his eyes gleaming mischievously.
“Well—no, I just—I…” She glanced toward the Captain, hoping her little misstep hadgone unnoticed.
Unfortunately, he was watching their exchange like a hawk eyeing its prey.
She turned her attention back to the guard, taking a steadying breath. “I no longer need
your assistance. Thank you, but you may leave me now.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Miss. I’d hate to be the man who steps on your toes,” he said with a
chuckle. “You know, when you aren’t stepping on your own.”
Her face grew warmer. She cursed her boss for sending her on this assignment and cursedherself for not
arguing that pulling off a hit at a party swarming with guards was a terrible idea—masquerade or not.
Without waiting for her response, he turned to walk back to his post.
“Wait.” She reached out to touch his arm, then quickly withdrew her hand, remembering that a “lady”
wouldn’t do such a thing. “I’m sorry for my outburst. I was just… embarrassed.”
His smirk returned in full force. “It’s alright, Miss. It happens to the best of us. Just… for everyone’s sake, let me know if you plan on approaching any more stairs tonight.”
With a wink, he turned, leaving her frozen in place. It took the chiming of the clock to snap her out of her daze.
She spun on her heel, panic bubbling up inside her as she searched for the nearest escape route—job be
damned. She had to get out. But before she could take another step, she slammed into something solid.
Not something—someone.
The impact knocked the breath from her lungs and sent her mask askew. She staggeredback, hands instinctively reaching out to steady herself, and her heart plummeted as her fingers brushed against cold metal: armor.
Slowly, she looked up—dread creeping over her like ice.
The Captain.
He stood towering above her, eyes hard beneath his mask, his expression unreadable but lethal. His grip
was swift, hand clamping around her arm with the force of a vise, pulling her in close. His mouth hovered just inches from her ear.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” he hissed, his voice low, dangerous. In one fluid motion, he
reached up with his free hand and tore the mask from her face. “This mask might fool all the others, but it won’t fool me. I’ve made it my business to know exactly who you are.”
Her throat tightened, making it hard to swallow. She tried to wrench her arm free, but his hold only
tightened, his gloved fingers digging into her skin.
“I suggest you come quietly,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, “unless you’d prefer I drag
you through the courtyard for everyone to see.”
Her pulse pounded in her ears, her thoughts racing as she looked up into his cold eyes. She was caught—and he knew it. The gala, the job, the mask—all of it crumbled under his scrutiny.
Just as she braced for whatever was coming next, her gaze flicked sideways, catching the stunned face of
the sarcastic guard from before. His jaw hung slightly open, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was witnessing.
One last flash of defiance surged through her.
“Does the way to the dungeon involve stairs?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm
despite the pounding in her chest. “I may need an escort.”