CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Dust

Kunzite murmured softly to himself as he thumbed through an armful of papers. He made his way down the long corridor that ran the length of the eastern wing of the palace. He began to turn toward the right to head down a corridor that led to the conference room where the rest of the prince's advisors were waiting, but he stopped when he saw Terrania headed toward him, her amber chiffon gown trailing elegantly behind her.

"Kunzite!" called the Queen. Immediately, Kunzite stopped and nodded his bow. "I presume you've heard the news?" said Terrania.

Kunzite shook his head. "What news is that, Your Majesty?"

Terrania extended her hand and offered Kunzite a paper scroll bearing a broken wax seal stamped with the image of the House of Mars. Kunzite accepted the scroll and unfurled it. He quickly scanned the calligraphy.

"She has chosen Jaedite?" he asked, looking up in surprise.

Terrania nodded. "This is very good news for us, Kunzite," she said solemnly. "A knight in our own house elevated to King of Mars."

Kunzite read through the rest of the document. "I'm confused, Majesty. How does this honor benefit the Kingdom of Earth?"

"Before we consent to the match, we can require certain protections for our Kingdom."

Kunzite furrowed his brow. "Protections?"

"Of course," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Being this closely allied with the Kingdom of Mars virtually assures Earth's position on the Royal Council. This should especially please you, Kunzite."

Kunzite raised an eyebrow. "Me, Your Majesty?"

Terrania cast him a knowing look. "When Jaedite takes the Martian throne, there will be an opening on the Council."

Kunzite was taken aback. "Your Majesty, I'm—I'm truly honored you would think of me for such an exalted position."

"I can think of no better representative of the Temperate Kingdom," said Terrania. She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you will do great things, Kunzite. You are a natural leader of men. You have molded my country boy into a prince befitting his station!"

Kunzite was speechless. He nodded a quick bow as Terrania gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and headed off down the corridor. Finally, he thought. All my years of work are finally paying off!

….

"Well, don't you look dashing!" remarked a satisfied Zoisite as he surveyed Darien up and down. The prince was perched on a small pedestal and turned around halfway to inspect himself in the large mirror Zoisite had wheeled into Darien's bedchamber earlier.

"I look ridiculous," Darien complained. His crisp black tuxedo fit perfectly over a clean white shirt. A long, glossy black cape was affixed to his shoulders by gold buckles. Perched on the bridge of his nose was a white mask, a mandatory accoutrement for the Masquerade Ball, which was to be held in the Elysion Ballroom of the palace in less than an hour.

Zoisite shook his head. "Nonsense!" he cried. "You look very intriguing and mysterious." He paused and looked Darien over once again. "Wait, I think just one more finishing touch, Highness," he said, tapping his slender index finger against his chin. Darien felt foolish enough in the dapper getup and wondered what new humiliation awaited him behind Zoisite's unfinished thought. "Aha!" said Zoisite, snapping his fingers. He disappeared inside Darien's closet and emerged a moment later brandishing a shiny black top hat. "Perfect," he said, mostly to himself, as he placed the final adornment on top of Darien's head.

Darien inspected himself in the mirror and winced. "I just—I don't look like myself."

Zoisite winked. "That's the whole point! You're not supposed to be Prince Darien tonight. Tonight, you are your alter ego. You are Tuxedo Mask!"

….

Night had just begun to fall as throngs of nobles, courtiers, and knights milled about the Elysion Ballroom showing off the finest formalwear Darien had ever seen. Even the servants had dressed up for the occasion and floated around the room passing out hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes in elaborate costumes replete with jewel-encrusted masks. An eleven-piece chamber orchestra filled the ballroom with dancing music and couples paired off and swayed to the music.

Darien, however, noticed none of this as he sat stiffly on a marble bench at the base of the palace steps just outside the main entrance to the ballroom. Music wafted down as did the laughs of joyful revelers.

"I guess she isn't showing up," said Darien, aloud. He felt foolish for even thinking she would. She had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him back in the woods in Permia. Still, he thought, it would have been nice if our years of friendship counted for something.

Darien sighed. I guess I can't put it off any longer, he thought. He heaved himself off the stone bench and started for the palace steps. He stepped up onto the first stair and hesitated as his eyes wandered to the exquisite rose bush cushioning the end of the ornate railing. He reached over and snapped a bloom several inches below its base. He gently slid the stem into the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket and, taking the steps two at a time, quickly ascended.

He felt assaulted by the mirth that greeted him in the ballroom. Instead of joining the party, he gathered up his cape and sat down in the throne reserved for him. His mother and father were noticeably absent.

"This party is for you, Endymion," Terrania had said earlier that day. "It is a chance for you to bond with your subjects, for them to see you in an informal setting and get to know you a little better."

Darien had wanted to ask what was so informal about dignitaries from all across Earth dancing and laughing and spilling champagne all over the costly Venusian tapestries hanging all over the ballroom, but he thought the better of it.

Darien was quickly growing bored as he surveyed the slew of masked faces mingling and dancing. He stared longingly at the door in the northwest corner that led to the closest corridor to his rooms and his eyes briefly met Zoisite's. Zoisite glared at him immediately wiping away any plan Darien had to make a break for it. He sighed and let his eyes sweep over the assembled party again. The way they swayed and laughed and drank made Darien feel melancholy all over again and he wondered why it seemed happiness came easy to everyone but him.

He was mired in his self-pitying thoughts when his gaze suddenly fell upon a young woman in a shimmering white gossamer gown and matching white mask. A stack of golden blond hair was piled high on top of her head in a complicated-looking up-do and dazzling diamond earrings dangled from her ears. Darien felt a lump form immediately in his throat as he stared at her. Her feathered and sequined mask obscured most of her face, all but a tiny, slightly upturned nose and a perfectly pink, heart-shaped mouth. But it was the way she moved that captivated Darien instantly. Her small body swayed with an elegant grace and she held her head up regally, but not so high as to suggest she felt herself more important than anyone else. He was not aware that he was moving down the steps and into the throng of people. All he could register was the way the light seemed to bounce off her, making her glow as if encased by a full-body halo.

Moments later, he found himself standing right behind her as she rocked side to side to the music. Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and tapped her bare shoulder. Her skin was smooth and perfect. She swiveled around and her dress angled elegantly around her.

"May I have this dance?" he found himself asking, in a voice he barely recognized.

The young woman descended into a low bow and replied, "Of course, Your Majesty."

There was something familiar and comforting about her, but Darien couldn't put his finger on it. He was too distracted by her eyes, sparkling like small oceans from behind the mask. He took her hand in his while his other hand found the small of her back. She held onto his right shoulder and their bodies swayed together as the band played a haunting melody. He knew he had never heard the tune before, but it felt familiar, like an old lullaby a mother sings to quiet a crying child. An electric charge ran up his spine as their bodies moved in perfect synch and he breathed in the delicate aroma of sugar and roses wafting up from her shimmering golden hair.

His heart pounded as he held her. He started to speak, but a lump formed in his throat. Suddenly, his surroundings became a blur all around him and all he could see was the small half of a face that was turned up facing him.

"What is your name?" he whispered.

He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth, the corners of which turned up as she replied: "In the spirit of anonymity, which I think is the theme of the Masquerade Ball, I cannot tell you."

Darien grinned at her playfulness. "That's not fair, my lady," he said. "You know who I am."

At this, she broke out into a full smile revealing teeth small and white as gleaming pearls. "There isn't a soul in the Kingdom who doesn't know who you are," she said.

"And who am I?" he said, enjoying the banter, in spite of himself. He spun her around and pulled her close again.

"You are Prince Darien, of course," she said, grinning. "Heir to the throne of the most exalted Temperate Kingdom of Earth."

"Ah, that is true," said Darien. "But enough about me. What district do you hail from, my lady?"

"Your Majesty insists on breaking the rules of the Masquerade Ball."

"You said it yourself, I am the Prince. I can make the rules and break them."

At this, the song ended and they pulled apart. "I thank Your Highness for the dance," she said, her head tipped downward, shyly. "But I'm afraid I must be going." She sunk into a bow.

"You cannot leave without at least giving me your name," Darien cajoled. Then out of the corner of his eye, Darien saw a dark shadow in the doorway. He looked up and caught a glimpse of fiery red hair flying back down the stairs. He turned back to the young lady, but she had disappeared. Darien felt a twinge of disappointment, but then brushed it aside and quickly made his way to the door. The crowd parted for him and he picked up the pace. When he got to the threshold, he could see the familiar red hair over a purple cloak floating away from him.

"Beryl!" he shouted. "Wait!"

She stopped. He caught up to her.

"You came," he said, breathlessly.

She turned very slowly on her heels. The look she cast him was one of pure hatred. "Go back to your party," she spat, her voice low and controlled.

"Beryl, come on, don't do this," he pleaded, looking into her eyes, which had grown dull and lifeless.

"Do what?" she growled. "Interrupt you while that little tramp strokes your ego?"

"Hey!" said Darien, a harshness creeping into his voice. "She isn't a tramp! You don't even know her!"

"You don't even know her," Beryl replied.

Darien didn't understand why he felt compelled to protect the reputation of a girl he had known less an hour. "Look," he said, his voice softening as he removed the rose from his breast pocket. He took a few cautious steps toward her. "Take it," he said, holding the rose out to her.

"You think this makes us even?" she seethed, snatching the rose from his hand.

"Even for what? Come on, Beryl. Just come inside and let's talk."

"Keep your rose, Prince Darien," she sneered, dropping the delicate flower, her eyes turning to steel before him. Darien shuddered as though he could feel the velvet petal graze the tip of his boot as it fell to the gravel. Her voice took on a second tenor and when she spoke, Darien could feel the ground quaking beneath his feet. "A war is coming, Earth Prince," she warned. "And no one will be spared!"

She vanished leaving nothing but a thick gray smoke in the place where she stood. Darien was shaken and he fell to his knees to collect the gift she rejected. His fingers trembled as he struggled to get the rose back into the breast pocket of his jacket.

….

A fire roared in the fireplace in Darien's bedroom as he stood before it holding a faded gray picture. His top hat was carelessly tossed to the floor and his mask sat on top of the mantle. An opened window sent a cool breeze floating into the room making the edges of his cape dance dangerously close to the flame. Carefully, Darien unfolded the picture. In it, a young boy stood next to a young girl beneath a pink flowering cherry tree. Their hair was tousled, their faces smudged with dirt, their knees grass-stained, but they looked happy. Remembering her words, Darien clenched his fist around the photograph and dropped it into the fire. The edges caught fast and soon the photograph was nothing but dust. A single tear fell from Darien's eye as he reached into his breast pocket to remove the blood-red rose. Despite the long night it spent smashed against his chest, it still retained its perfect shape. He closed his hand around the stem and hurled the rose with all his might across the room. It sliced through the air cutting like a fighter jet before finally coming to a stop in the wall. Darien stared, thunderstruck, at the rose, which had drilled into the granite, looking as though it sprung naturally from the stone, the spidery cracks webbing outward like roots. A hazy purple glow emanated from the perfect petals, a luminescence laced with both magic and horror.