The Bal Masqué was in full swing, the grand foyer brimming over with the lively sounds of music and laughter. Monsieur Firmin had organized a lavish performance to welcome the new year in swaths of black, white, and gold. Much of Paris's high society was in attendance, dressed in their finest and most elaborate costumes as they indulged in the free-flowing champagne.
Amidst the revelry, Raoul guided me through the crowded hall, a protective hand on my lower back.
As I beheld the opulent festivities, I spotted Meg from across the room. She was a vision in her shimmering white angel costume, her Soul Marking protruding from beneath the gauzy fabric. The elegant, filigree pattern decorated her left shoulder in fine, blue-black swirls, appearing almost iridescent under the foyer lighting as she danced with her newly Bonded Soulmate, Henry. His floppy brown curls and kind, hazel eyes complemented Meg's ethereal beauty as they waltzed together.
A few weeks ago, Meg and I had done little more than exchange a few pleasantries with the unassuming stagehand. Until one night, after a long and grueling rehearsal for Hannibal, their Bond snapped into place.
That night, we lay awake in the ballet dormitories, exchanging excited whispers in the darkness. Meg compared the experience to a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into place; an all-consuming completeness, absolute certainty that she gazed into the eyes of the one destined for her. Since then, Henry and Meg were inseparable. Henry would always meet Meg on the sidelines, offering her refreshments when rehearsals finished for the evening.
Meg shot me a beaming smile as they twirled past. The pair danced as if they floated on clouds, not a care in the world. I returned Meg's love-sick grin with a weak smile of my own. I was indeed happy for her. But I couldn't hold back the twinge of envy as I fiddled nervously with the glittering engagement ring dangling against my chest.
That moonlit night when Raoul proposed was everything I'd dreamed—romantic, enchanting, perfect... with one exception. The Soul Bond hadn't locked into place during our kiss, as I'd desperately hoped. Even Raoul's tender glances and gentle touches couldn't seem to make it ignite.
The nagging disappointment caused the diamond ring to feel heavy against my skin, like a rock settling in the pit of my stomach rather than a symbol of our passion, our commitment to one another.
I drew in a calming breath as I remembered Madame's stern warning to me. When I told her of my engagement and the subsequent lack of connection, she was quick to remind me that Soul Bonds were unpredictable creatures. No one could say for certain who or what determined them. They manifested on their own schedule, some locking into place immediately, while others took years to form, if they did so at all.
Madame herself had never experienced one with her late husband, yet they had still shared a passionate and all-consuming romance. I grasped at the glimmer of hope. Perhaps the Soul Bond was taking its time with Raoul and I. Or, if it never did manifest, we could share the same relationship Madame had, profound and spellbinding as any Bond. Soulmates or not, we loved each other and I should've been embracing that fact.
Still, I couldn't suppress the anxious energy that skittered through me as Raoul led me towards the dance floor. Each step felt like a lead weight dragging me closer to the unavoidable moment when someone would notice the ring strung around my neck. Would they ask questions? Whisper about it behind their fans and masks? The thought filled me with dread. I had no desire to draw any more attention to myself than I already had these past weeks.
"You don't need to hide that, Christine," Raoul said, his voice gentle but insistent as he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. He must have spotted my half-hearted attempt to conceal the ring from the prying eyes around us. Although, if I was honest with myself, it wasn't the curious gazes of the wealthy Parisians dancing before us that worried me. It was those striking eyes following me through the shadows, soothing and comforting as they were unsettling and enigmatic.
"I do, Raoul. They'll see," I whispered back, giving the ring an anxious twirl between my thumb and forefinger.
"Then let them see! We have nothing to hide," he said.
"Raoul, please," I began, but he interrupted me.
"It's an engagement, not a crime," Raoul's tone was resolute as he looked pointedly at me. I could tell from the tense set of his brow that he knew the elusive Angel of Music was part of the reason for my nerves and he was determined not to let my cryptic guardian rattle me.
I sighed. Perhaps it wasn't a crime per se, but as long as my mysterious Angel kept watch over me, some nagging part of my mind, however small and inconsequential, would feel it was a betrayal.
I gave Raoul a hesitant look as I finally relented and let my hand fall away from the ring. We linked arms and continued toward the dance floor.
Raoul's hand drifted to the small of my back, his touch gentle and reassuring as we took our position for the waltz. Though we kept the appropriate amount of space between us, it was more distance than either of us wished. We swept across the polished marble floor, the swirling notes and graceful dance allowing some of my anxiety to melt away, replaced by a sense of contentment. I couldn't keep a grin from my lips as I gazed into Raoul's handsome face.
Just as I was beginning to truly enjoy the celebration, the peaceful moment shattered. Almost every lamp surrounding the grand foyer flickered and fizzled out, shrouding the room in shadows. Nervous whispers transformed into terrified shrieks as the crowd turned toward the source of the disturbance.
A blend of nausea, fear, and a strange anticipation churned inside me. I swallowed hard as the confusing feelings coiled around my stomach like a vine, my throat constricting as my gaze followed the crowd's.
My Angel of Music appeared, as he always did, like a specter materializing out of nothing. This time, however, he appeared more like a vengeful spirit. Clad in a pair of crimson trousers and a waistcoat trimmed with gold, he was a striking figure amongst the expanse of muted colors worn by the other party guests.
I noticed a long, thin sword sheathed at his side, glinting ominously in the sparse light. The skull mask concealing his scarred face only added to his menacing aura. Frozen like a statue next to Raoul, I could do nothing but watch as he sauntered down the marble steps to the main landing.
"Why so silent, good monsieurs?" His haunting voice carried through the foyer, heavy with malice and reproach.
"Did you think that I had left you for good?" He taunted. Even from where I stood, I could see the smirk playing on his lips. He swung his arms wide, as if daring anyone standing there in the grand foyer to challenge his authority over the Opera House. A palpable fear emanated from the crowd and he reveled in it as he announced the opera he'd written. Removing a sleek, black case from behind his robe, he held it up for all to see.
"Here I bring the finished score…" he seethed. "Don Juan Triumphant!" He hurled the leather-bound sheet music onto the marble steps, causing the papers to spill out and scatter like leaves. He withdrew his sword and the audible scraping of the weapon sliding from its sheath rang in my ears, making me flinch.
I was vaguely aware of Raoul leaving my side as I watched the Phantom lay out his expectations for our rehearsal of his new opera.
He directed the sharp tip of the sword towards each cast member, as if he fully intended to pierce someone's eye out whilst reprimanding them for their faults. Carlotta, with her exaggerated strutting, must learn to act. Piangi must slim down his rotund frame, for it wasn't healthy in a man of his age. The managers, who received the brunt of his scathing ire, should understand that their place is in an office, not within the artistic domain.
I clenched my fists in front of me, a sheen of sweat breaking out on my skin as he turned his burning gaze on me.
"As for our star," he said. His tone was deceptively soft, the words sliding over me like velvet as he pivoted to face me.
"Christine Daae." He slid the sword back into its sheath with fluid grace, like a silent promise that he wouldn't harm me. My eyes remained fixed on him as he sauntered across the landing.
"I have no doubts that she will do her best. It's true, her voice is good. But should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn," He said. Though his sword remained sheathed, his critical words were sharp as any blade. They struck me like fragments of ice, shredding my pride and filling me with shame. I blinked rapidly, banishing the tears that threatened to spill over.
"If pride will let her return to me, her teacher…" He trailed off. I couldn't explain the shift in the air, so intense it was almost tangible as his lips parted and his breaths came heavier. The anger in his eyes transformed into a gentle glimmer, swaggering bravado giving way to tender vulnerability as he approached me with slow, measured steps.
My eyes locked onto his unguarded expression, a look that communicated some silent message meant only for me. The surrounding opulence faded away along with the curious stares of my fellow cast members as I ascended the staircase, my body moving of its own accord. I drifted toward him until we stood suspended in time, mere inches apart. Our closeness made my heart race with warmth, like glowing embers spreading through my chest.
The fragile moment shattered as his eyes swept from my face, down my neck, to my chest, where the ring rested between the curve of my breasts. I had forgotten all about it.
Panic rose inside me as his sharp mind swiftly pieced together the implication of the glittering diamond, and the venomous rage returned.
"Your chains are still mine!" he said, voice filled with bitterness.
In one violent motion, his hand shot out and swiped the ring from my neck. The brush of his gloved fingers against my skin made me shudder, the delicate chain snapping with little effort under the force of his grip. His hand coiled around the diamond like a vise as he held it up in front of me, his eyes wild.
"You belong to me," he hissed through gritted teeth, his tone fraught with possessive rage, acrid venom, and primal protectiveness all at once. My eyes shifted from the ring tightly grasped in his hand and back to his fierce glare.
My breath hitched, unable to keep up with the rapid cadence of my heart. Then, before I could comprehend what was happening, the words bubbled and roiled inside me like a boiling liquid rushing to the surface as my gaze held his.
"I know," I breathed.
To be continued…
A/N: I always wanted to do an ACOTAR/Sarah J Maas-inspired "mating bond" type thing with these two. I'm planning to make it a short story, probably 3 or 4 chapters. Next part is in the works and should be up this week or next.