A/N: Here you go! A long chapter, to make up for all the short ones recently. We finally made it to the masquerade ball…hopefully you enjoy it! Just a few more to go! Oh yes, and thanks for all the reviews! They make my day!

Chapter Ten

The massive school ballroom was completely—and extravagantly—decorated, the food was ready, the students were all lined up outside and ready to enter; everything suggested that the evening was going to be a huge success—at least in terms of profit and the Host Club's reputation—but Kyouya was not pleased. Oh, he smiled gallantly at everyone when the grand doors were finally thrown open to welcome the crowds, and many a girl sighed dreamily when he passed them, wearing his usual cool expression, his slate gray eyes mysterious and secretive behind his glasses. He bowed courteously to each guest, and listened as they enthused over the décor; he did have to admit that they might have outdone themselves this time, with their castle in the air motif, suited to their costume theme of Greek gods. The ballroom was made to look exactly like some dreamscape castle—Olympus, as it were—with floaty gauze and clouds and gold and silver everywhere. What made it even more interesting was that half of the ballroom was decorated as night, with dark tones and hues and silver stars against a dark sky, whilst the other half was glorious as sunrise, with milky pastels and soft smears of gold, like sunshine against the walls. It was extravagant without being excessive, and it seemed like it had been a good choice, judging by all of the guests' awed expressions. Kyouya filed the observation away in his head; it might be interesting to try something similar later on in the year at the Host Club.

But even though he greeted each guest with an equal show of pleasure and graciousness, tonight, the Shadow King was not as inwardly serene as he seemed. Without meaning to, his eyes scanned the crowd for someone in particular, even though he had no idea of knowing what he was even looking for. He had not talked to Miho for about a week, since her car had of course been speedily repaired, and there was no longer any reason for him to take her home. It wasn't exactly that he missed her company; rather, their afterschool conversations were at least an interaction, an opportunity for him to try to understand this Shinotsuka Miho. But she was never exactly forthcoming with information about herself, and she seemed quite adept at avoiding anything that might implicate herself one way or the other. She was polite, and cool, and perpetually amused, and he could not get any sort of rise out of her—never an unregulated response, never an impulsive reply. And now those chances, unfruitful as they were, were gone completely. He had even gone so far as to consider sabotaging her car—well, arranging to have it done, of course, but it amounted to the same thing, didn't it?—but he quickly shook himself of that idea: when had he ever had to resort to such inelegant solutions?

He didn't. But now he had no idea what her costume might be, and thus he could not seek her out—couldn't keep an eye out for her. It wasn't that he felt that she should be watched; rather, he simply disliked being at any sort of tactical disadvantage. As a host of the evening, he was instantly recognized, and anyone would know who he was. Miho could see him, could watch him, and he would never know it. He doubted that she would choose to employ her time in such a manner, but then, you never knew, did you, and Kyouya preferred not to be surprised if he could help it.

So he decided to ferret her out, in the easiest way possible. He made his way silently through the crowd until he found Haruhi, standing uncomfortably next to a pillar, seemingly trying to make herself as small as possible—or blend in with the shadow of the pillar, he wasn't quite sure.

"You will have to dance eventually, you know," he murmured as he came up behind her. She jumped about a foot into the air and then turned around, wearing a sheepish expression.

"Senpai! I wish you would all stop doing that," she complained. Kyouya gave an elegant shrug.

"You should be more alert, then," he remarked. She made a face.

"Never mind," he said. "I was actually wondering if you've seen Shinotsuka Miho yet this evening."

Haruhi frowned. "Miho? No, not yet. Why?"

He pushed his glasses up with a slender finger. "I am afraid the twins may have something planned for her…it seems they still have not quite forgiven her for being more perceptive than they are."

Haruhi groaned. "Still? I swear those two are impossible."

Kyouya shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps I am just being overcautious—"

"No such thing, with those two," Haruhi muttered. "I'm going right over there to tell them—"

Kyouya turned his all-too familiar cool smile upon her.

"Oh, I don't know that we need to go that far, Haruhi. It could be interesting."

"Senpai!" she protested. He raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I wouldn't let them ruin the club's reputation, so she could hardly come to any harm," he reminded her. "I just want you to keep an eye out for her, so that I may be aware of everything before it happens."

She didn't look convinced, but she reluctantly agreed—after all, it's not like she really had much of a choice. There was never any doubt as to who really ran the show in the Host Club. Dear old Mother.

"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out for her, senpai," Haruhi told him. "I think I know what her costume is, if I remember correctly."

"Oh? Something intriguing, no doubt," he said mildly.

"Yes, it's…oh." Haruhi frowned. "Actually, I don't remember." She shook her head. "But I'll look for her anyway. I don't want the twins creating any trouble."

"Good," Kyouya murmured, his gray eyes slewing over to rest on her. "I would hate to have any sort of commotion ruin the evening." He looked meaningfully out into the crowd. "Apology bouquets on this scale would be…expensive."

Haruhi blanched. "Ah, you know what, I'll go look for her now," she said hastily, and fled. Kyouya chuckled, and leaned back into the shadow of the pillar himself, coolly surveying the crowd. The senpais were both dancing, Honey doing a joyous rig with a delighted freshman girl, and Mori silently moving through a more stately version with a quiet—but radiantly blushing—junior girl. Kyouya was amused to see that Honey's wings—he was Eros, of course, who else?—weren't at all getting in the way as the ever-practical Haruhi had predicted; Honey moved effortlessly through the dance with the practice ease of an accomplished martial athlete. Mori-senpai, who was supposed to be the lame-legged Hephaestus, was doing equally well, an accurate depiction of the taciturn—but kind—god of the forge. Well, except that Hephaestus was supposed to have been hideously unattractive, Kyouya mused, but one simply couldn't tell Tamaki that.

His attention fell elsewhere, on the distant corner of the room where he could see Tamaki sweeping gallantly around the room, bold and radiant as the exquisite sun god, Apollo. Lyrical, poetical, eternally youthful and honest, the god of light and music had been Tamaki's automatic choice, and Kyouya had to admit that the guise suited him well. Tamaki was robed in white and gold, and as they had all opted to put a more medieval spin on the clothing rather than subject themselves to togas, he managed to look resplendent and regal rather than silly. Kyouya was glad of that; his own clothing mirrored Tamaki's in cut and style, though the colors were completely opposite—Kyouya wore a well-coordinated mix of dark gray, purple, and black, with silver accents here and there, and black boots.

"Hardly the place for a Host, these shadowy depths," a soft voice slipped into his thoughts. He looked up sharply, remembering that he was on the night side of the room, and that, dressed as he was, he probably blended in quite nicely with the décor and shadows. Looks like I didn't need to set Haruhi to the task after all, Kyouya thought absently, his eyes on the figure before him. A girl stood there, dressed elegantly in a silk kimono of dark purple, the skirt tastefully embroidered on the left side with a spray of flowers in the same hue, and wide sleeves falling gracefully around her wrists. A pale mask covered her the top half of her face—it reminded him of a Noh mask, though the traditional Japanese masks usually covered one's entire face. Her hair—it must be a wig, he realized, since her own hair was much shorter—fell to waist length, straight and dark, and there were two amethyst-encrusted hairsticks slipped into it at the top of her head.

"Lady Murasaki," Kyouya said with a slight smile, bowing elegantly.

"I suppose the wisterias give it away," Miho replied, touching the embroidery deprecatingly with the fan she carried in her left hand, its chain slipped loosely around her wrist. "If you can recognize them, that is."

There was a slight edge to her voice; he could not tell whether that had been intended as a compliment or an insult, so he ignored it.

"Quite beautiful," he said, ever the gallant host.

"I liked it well enough, though now that I'm here I realized that I should have dressed as a man," she said lightly. "Less attention, and," she continued, gesturing toward his own costume, "a much more comfortable outfit. I envy Haruhi."

"But I would have looked quite odd, then," he said, "dancing with another man." He held a black-gloved hand out to her, inclining his head ever so slightly, a dignified offer.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice ever so faintly teasing. "After all, this night may be the last chance to dance with someone else, I suspect…better make the most of it."

"Are you advising me, or excusing yourself?" he asked coolly. She laughed.

"They aren't necessarily exclusive."

"My offer stands."

Her eyes glinted behind her demure mask, and then she moved forward to place her bare hand gingerly in his proffered gloved one, the silk of her gown rustling as she moved. It did not escape either of them that they were dressed in similar hues of plum and black, though the styles were of course widely different.

"I trust you've been well," Kyouya said conversationally, as they eased into the new song that the—live, of course—musicians were playing, a regal waltz with melodic violin strains and the smooth current of cellos. She nodded.

"Yes. And you, as well? Since our last conversation oh, a week ago?"

Was that amusement or an accusation in her voice?

"You keep track? I'm flattered," he replied.

"Of course," she said, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. "I always look forward to talking with you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It's like a game," she explained. "I always try to see if I can say anything to surprise you. I don't think there's anything that will."

He looked at her for a moment, considering.

"You're already married."

That surprised a laugh out of her, but she said nothing further, only smiled at him—a warm, open smile, one meant to deliberately provoke him, he suspected. He ignored it.

"I hope everything tonight suits your tastes?" he said instead, extending his arm so that she could pirouette gracefully under it. She spun slowly and turned back to him.

"Of course. It's all very splendid. But then, I'm not so picky," she acknowledged. His eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses.

"No, you would settle for anything, wouldn't you?" he murmured near her ear as he led her into another turn.

"And yet I get the very best," she said, and there was just the hint of an edge to her voice, though she didn't meet his eyes as she turned. "It comes of being born into privilege such as this, I suppose."

"Indeed," Kyouya agreed blandly. "Surely you're enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely," she replied. "The costumes were a fun idea, I must admit. I'm enjoying it more than I thought I would—there's a kind of power in not being instantly recognized, isn't there? Oh, but I guess that's not something you're used to," she amended. Kyouya arched an eyebrow; he was almost amused by her boldness.

"Of course, all I meant was, even though you have a costume, as a host you can't have the same degree of anonymity," Miho said, smiling. He acknowledged the comment with a slight bow.

"This is true."

She glanced around. "I do like the Host Club's theme, though. Tamaki-senpai makes an excellent Apollo, I think. And Honey-senpai is perfectly cast, as well." She paused. "Where are the twins? I haven't seen them yet."

Kyouya shrugged. "They are breezing about, no doubt, like the wind gods that they are."

"Ah, Castor and Pollux—the Greek god twins who are the basis for the Gemini constellation? That's an obscure one," Miho remarked. Kyouya favored her with an enigmatic smile.

"You're well read," he said mildly. "It comes from time wisely spent in bookstores, I suppose." He eyed her. "Well, that's five of seven. Have you seen Haruhi yet?"

Miho smiled, with real warmth this time.

"I have—she looked unhappy, or at least, overwhelmed. It's really unfair to force her into this kind of thing, you know—she wasn't raised to expect it, or trained to deal with these kinds of events."

"She adapts well," Kyouya replied. "And I don't think she really minds, actually."

"Perhaps not," Miho agreed, "but how on earth did you get her to agree to be Hermes? It hardly suits her character—well, there are some aspects of it that are perfect, like his famed intuition, but Hermes was altogether a bit more flamboyant than Haruhi, don't you think?"

Kyouya smiled at that. "Yes. That one was my choice, though."

"Oh?" It was Miho's turn to arch an eyebrow.

"Yes," Kyouya continued. "Simply because, in one famous myth, Hermes…charms Apollo."

Miho stared at him for a moment, and then she laughed.

"Bravo," she murmured. "Bravo."

Kyouya's cool eyes settled on her.

"That's six, then. I presume you've guessed who I am?"

Her half-smile returned. "Who you are, or who you're supposed to be?"

"Both, either." He paused. "Although that is an interesting distinction."

She considered him a moment, as if thinking.

"Hero or villain?" she asked finally. A cool smile crossed his lips.

"Neither, but something in between."

He guided her regally through the last turn; the song was ending, its last strains lingering in the air. She withdrew her hand; he let her go.

"Really," she said softly, stepping away from him. "How remarkable… that is also exactly how I would have described Hades." Then she was gone, walking slowly away back into the crowd. Kyouya looked after her for only a moment, unaware that he was also being watched.

Haruhi faded back into the shadows, looking for Tamaki. She finally located him near the stairs, and tugged on his sleeve to get his attention.

"Haruhi!" he exclaimed, beaming at her. She shook her head.

"Senpai," she said slowly, "is there a reason for Kyouya and Miho to dislike each other?"

"Dislike?" Tamaki repeated, horrified. "What do you mean?"

Haruhi frowned. "I just saw them dancing, and I overheard some of what they said…it was a tense kind of thing."

Tamaki stared at her, and then he seemed to catch himself, and he shook his head. "Kyouya doesn't actively dislike anyone—or at least, doesn't outwardly dislike anyone," he corrected himself. "Maybe you just misunderstood what happened."

"Maybe," Haruhi said doubtfully. "But when I heard them—"

"Heard who?" Kaoru asked, suddenly popping up behind her.

"Eavesdropping is a nasty habit," Hikaru added, leering at her.

"You would know," Haruhi retorted. Hikaru stuck his tongue out at her.

"Who are we talking about?" Kaoru pressed.

"Never mind," Haruhi said, turning to leave, but Tamaki grabbed her arm.

"Are you sure about this, Haruhi?" he asked, looking grave. The twins exchanged an irritated look.

"Sure about what?" they demanded.

"Kyouya," Tamaki said. They stared at him, confused.

"Huh?" Hikaru frowned, craning his neck to scan the crowd for Kyouya. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He was just dancing with Mi-chan!" Honey chimed in, and Haruhi blinked. When had Honey and Mori gotten here?

Two identical sets of eyes narrowed dangerously as the twins turned to Honey.

"Mi-chan? As in, Shinotsuka Miho?" they asked, speaking in unison. Honey nodded, smiling widely.

"That name just keeps popping up, doesn't it?" Hikaru suggested. He and his brother exchanged another glance. "I wonder what it means?"

"You don't suppose—" Kaoru began—they looked at each other. "Nah," they both said at the same time. "Couldn't be."

"What?" Tamaki demanded, alarmed now. He could already predict what was going to happen if the rest of the Host Club found out about Kyouya's engagement before Kyouya was ready to tell them—he, Suou Tamaki, as the only person to know about it, was going to be in a great deal of trouble. He could already hear Nekozawa-senpai's ghostly voice…he shook his head violently, suppressing a shudder.

"What?" he repeated, looking at the twins. They shrugged.

"Could Mommy be keeping secrets from Daddy?" they wondered, glancing up to see how Tamaki was taking it.

"And that would be news how?" Haruhi wanted to know, just as Tamaki said, "Secrets like what?"

"You'd have to ask Kyouya-senpai," the twins replied.

Tamaki shook his head. "No way. Are you trying to get me killed?"

The twins grinned, their own version of the little devil's smile—though Haruhi thought Kyouya's version was about 10000 times scarier.

"Of course not," they assured him, and as comprehension dawned in Tamaki's eyes, Haruhi suddenly found five pairs of eyes staring at her.

"What?" she said, highly uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Oh no, no way," she said, realizing their purpose. "Why am I more expendable?"

"That's just it, you're not," Kaoru assured her. "Kyouya-senpai won't kill you. At least, we don't think he will. We think he's fond of you, somehow. This is a good time to test our theory."

"What?" Haruhi exploded. "Where do you guys come up with th—"

"They're right, Haru-chan," Honey piped in, his tone boyishly sweet. Haruhi stared at the tiny senior. "And if he does get mad anyway, well, Takashi will save you, ne?" Honey continued, looking up at his cousin, who gave a curt nod. "So don't be afraid, Haru-chan!"

Haruhi was beginning to regret that she had ever voiced her concerns—and to Tamaki, of all people! What had she been thinking?

"You're sure you'll save me?" she said, resigning herself.

"Save you from whom?"

They all jumped, turning guiltily to face Kyouya, who stood behind them with an amused expression.

"Really, should you all be collecting here?" he chided mildly. "It is our event, after all, and the guests shouldn't feel neglected."

"Of course!" Tamaki agreed, dashing out into the crowd without looking back. "I must charm all of the ladies, who have been so long deprived of my company!"

"Us too, us too!" Honey said cheerfully, tugging on Mori's hand and pulling him back out onto the dance floor. "I want more cake, don't you Takashi?"

Kyouya smiled indulgently and turned his gaze on the twins, who flashed him huge—and incredibly panicked, Haruhi observed—smiles, and fled.

"Cowards," Haruhi muttered.

"Pardon?" Kyouya said, glancing down at her.

"Ah, nothing," Haruhi said quickly. "I'll just go find a new partner, shall I? Can't have the girls waiting—"

"A moment, Haruhi," Kyouya said; she froze.

"Y-yes?" she looked warily up at him, and he observed her obvious discomfort with some amusement.

"Am I so terrifying?" he said mildly. She gave him a weak smile, and his lips curled in a crooked smile. Then his expression changed—the amusement vanished, and he raised his head slightly, sending the glare of his glasses into her eyes so that she couldn't read the expression in his gray eyes.

"Haruhi, would you marry me?"

"Huh?" she blinked, astounded, before she realized that the words and the question were two different things. Slowly, trying to understand what he meant, she said, "I'm not sure what senpai is asking me."

Kyouya looked at her, his expression thoughtful.

"No, you wouldn't," he agreed. "Never mind, Haruhi. Go dance."

She nodded, and left, leaving Kyouya to his thoughts, alone in the shadows of the hall.

A/N: Lady Murasaki is from Japanese literature...both an author and a character. Google her if you're interested :) "murasaki" is wisteria, a type of purple flower.