Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Ascendancy]

  

Nikolai allowed himself the faintest smile as Adrian departed, his thoughts lingering on the young man’s words. In a way, he was strangely proud. That Adrian had recognized the truth of Jay Carpenter’s presence meant his intellect was as sharp as Nikolai had hoped. It was a calculated gamble to send Carpenter—a deliberate insult cloaked as a concession. But Adrian’s understanding of what Jay represented suggested he was ready for something more. The question now was whether Nikolai would give it to him.

The memory of Adrian’s intrusion into his dream resurfaced, vivid as ever. At the time he met Adrian, his focus had been entirely on the Americas, orchestrating the moves that had led to the very announcements being shared tonight. There had been no room to ponder Adrian’s strange and dangerous ability. But neither had Nikolai been willing to dismiss it. Potential, after all, was the most precious resource, and Adrian’s was nothing short of extraordinary.

“Likewise,” he had replied, his voice measured, watching Adrian retreat into the crowd. For a moment longer, he lingered, the faint echo of unfinished calculations flickering in his thoughts. Then, with a subtle glance at his watch, he shifted his attention back to the present. Time moved forward, and so must he.

He inquired about Myshelov, whose location was relayed to him promptly. Nikolai turned toward the dance floor, his gaze sweeping over the swirling sea of masked attendees. The gilded lights shimmered off jeweled gowns and polished suits, faces obscured by elaborate disguises. It took him a moment to identify the Patron, now unmistakably in the company of one of the Vasilev children. But his attention snagged elsewhere.

A figure moved through the light—a woman, her dress gleaming like liquid silver, her hair cascading down her back in soft, dark curls. She turned in time with the music, her partner holding her with a tightness that bordered on possessive. Nikolai’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in surprise at seeing her dancing, but at the subtle tension in the way her partner seemed unwilling to let her go.

The corners of his mouth tightened imperceptibly as he crossed the room, the dance floor parting before him as though choreographed. Timing was everything. He arrived just as two attendees stepped away from the floor, leaving him a clear path. His approach was deliberate, visible enough that Myshelov would have time to notice him. And notice him he did—the Patron paused mid-turn, his partner’s hand still held firmly in his own, as though releasing her might cause her to slip away like smoke.

Nikolai stepped closer, his voice low and composed as he leaned toward Myshelov. “Let’s round them up,” he said quietly, his tone carrying no urgency, only an expectation that his request would be followed without hesitation.

Myshelov inclined his head, his grip on Sofia loosening, though not before his gaze flickered toward her with a small, lingering smile. “Of course, Ascendancy,” he replied smoothly. But then, as though seizing an opportunity, he added, “Perhaps you would do me the favor of finishing this dance with Sofia in my absence?”

There was a coyness to his words, a subtle maneuver that revealed both deference and calculation. By reminding Nikolai of the girl’s name and drawing his attention toward her, Myshelov had deftly transferred her to the Ascendancy while offering her presence as an unspoken gift. A diplomatic play, to be sure, but not one that escaped Nikolai’s notice.

Nikolai’s gaze settled on Sofia, taking in her poised movements, the faint sheen of exertion on her skin, the way she held herself as though the entire room was hers to command. “If she is willing,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk, extending his hand toward her.

And yet, as he waited for her response, his attention flickered briefly elsewhere—toward Noemi, passing nearby with her usual quiet elegance. The glance was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it lingered in his mind like an echo. Then his focus returned to Sofia, his hand steady, his expression calm yet unreadable. The game was already in motion, but there was no need to rush. Time, as always, was on his side.