Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Sofia Vasilieva]

Alina Marveet

He was so lovely, and so sad. Alina felt the emotion rush inside her, heightened by hormones and bringing warmth to her eyes that she smoothed away discreetly. Still, the look she gave Maksim was a little despairing. Her family was large, chaotic, vibrant, and she couldn’t fathom why someone would isolate themselves in the middle of a party. Even Pasha, who didn’t remotely enjoy these occasions, simply retired himself to company he found more comfortable once he’d made the necessary social rounds.

She followed Maksim’s lead and allowed herself to be led away, grateful for the moment – and reminded just how fiercely she loved him for the softness of his heart. While they were still alone in the estate’s grand halls, she leaned to nuzzle against him and whispered that declaration in his ear.

She wouldn’t mention Jensen again. But Vasiliev women were not known for their docility when their hearts or minds were set upon something.

Maybe it was exactly Pasha she needed to speak to.

Sofia Vasilieva

She always enjoyed Myshelov’s company, and not just for the power of his title. Sofia positioned herself expertly between the doting niece she often portrayed herself to be, not that there was any actual blood relation of course; and the flirtatiousness of a young woman who knew the weight and worth of her charm – and the commodity it wielded in his favour. On the dancefloor Sofia was all smiles and whispered razor wit, to the envy of those who'd never attain such heights. The Patron’s attention was coveted – he was dangerous, powerful, and very well liked by his dominance – while Sofia’s own favour was as precious as the diamonds glittering across her mask, and far rarer.

It was a show, and they both knew it.

Zixin swept up Colette in her absence, and she paid no real mind to it. Adrian’s thorough incompetence at being an adequate date was not surprising – Colette would definitely be doing better in future, Sofia would ensure it. But she was not so uninterested as to miss the small ripple of disturbance that followed soon after. Cyrena’s facade was transparent. Utterly. Her attention cut briefly to the stranger who claimed Colette, but it was towards Cyrena the ire in Sofia’s chest set aflame. A stupid gamble for the woman to make really, to think it would go unnoticed – or uncontested.

Myshelov had neatly paused – and of course Sofia could by then see why – but it wasn’t to release her. She was about to express a sisterly concern and excuse herself anyway – the Marveets were practically family, after all, and it was only polite for her to allow him to attend to the Ascendancy – when Myshelov skillfully outmanoeuvred her. The sly cut of her glance at him acknowledged it, though it was hardly to her detriment that he pushed her piece across the board of tonight’s game.

Her attention moved smoothly, with all the beautiful poise and charm she was renowned for. She smiled at the offered hand, gaze travelling up the arm to the man who eclipsed even Myshelov for power. Of course she luxuriated in the moment, made in the centre of her domain, with the eyes of all the Vasiliev’s allies and enemies in attendance. It wasn’t unheard of for Nikolai Brandon to partner a dance at events like this, but neither was it a common enough occurrence that it would go unremarked.

For a moment she followed the flicker of his attention away from her – a lapse she might not have noticed but for how avidly she courted the moment of his singular attention. And to her credit her expression remained effortlessly serene for all the unexpected recognition of the woman currently cradled in her brother’s arms.

“I always keep a promise,” she demurred, sliding her hand into his. He might be the Ascendancy, but Sofia was as beautiful and deadly as a gilded cobra, and he would not ruin this moment for her.

For now Myshelov earned Cyrena a reprieve, not a pardon. And there was nothing she could do to release Noemi’s claws from Dima at present. But Vasiliev women were not known for their docility when their hearts or minds were set upon something.