All Charles had wanted to do was see the Royals.
Raven had gotten him an invitation somehow. Apocalypse, destroyer of worlds, was holding a masquerade. Charles had wanted to feel their minds against his, to see how those more privileged than him moved, and thought, and felt.
He'd stolen the clothes from a room carelessly left unlocked. Raven had altered them to fit him in a small, hidden closet. She had promised him no one would miss them, and with the number of clothes left in the closet, he had believed it. She used her own powers to disguise herself, assuming the image of a delicate creature of blond hair and sapphire eyes, dressed in a green-blue cloth that shone like the feathers of a peacock.
Charles could barely conceive of the colors and sounds that assaulted his eyes as he walked through the ballroom. Even his clothes overwhelmed his senses. Their touch was uncanny, the cloth as foreign to his skin as the unnamable foods the servants whisked past the dancing figures. He reached out with his mind, brushing against those who were nearest to him. He felt greed, fear, loathing, the same as those on the surface of the planet. His thoughts met iron and he stopped. It moved beneath his touch, never letting him stray past it.
"And who are you?"
He turned, forcing a smile, "Charles. Charles Xavier. I'm a royal from Alorien." A believable lie, if the minds around him told the truth.
The man smiled, his face hidden behind a black metal mask, "Charles…" His name was a purr, "A strange name for a creature from Alorien, and a stranger look," The Royal reached up, peeling his mask from his face. Charles' breath caught. The man was perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen. "I was told the Alorien natives were blue."
Charles swallowed, caught in his lie. Those around him had never seen an Alorien and knew nothing about the natives there, and this man's mind was as impenetrable as a steel wall. "I am not a native. My parents were immigrants—"
"Charles," The man tisked, "don't lie. Take whoever gave you those clothes and leave before I change my mind." He leaned forward, his eyes flicking to the throne at the end of the room, "You would do well to go quickly. I shouldn't have to tell you what would happen if Apocalypse found you. Should I give you a hint?" He held out his hand. Charles cried out in pain, cupping his hands to his temple. He could feel Raven's pain, a metal knife falling from her hand, a stray thought escaping her mind. Was she trying to kill Apocalypse? She'd used Charles' promise to stay out of her mind against him. Raven knew he would protect her, even when he knew she had used him. But against this Royal with a mind of steel, he was helpless.
"Assassins aren't welcome here either," The Royal dragged her forward by the necklace around her throat with only a flick of his hand. The partygoers didn't seem to notice, their attention ensnared by some new form of entertainment that had moved into the middle of the room. Raven choked in pain, the skin of her neck turning blue.
"Stop it," Charles seized the Royal's arm. A name slipped from behind the wall, Erik. "Erik stop, please."
"You didn't know she was here to kill him." The Royal tilted his head to the side, his eyes glittering in the light. Raven's neck snapped, her body going limp, "Maybe I won't introduce you to Apocalypse just yet."