Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Noémi Jourdain]

After Kristian left in pursuit of Jensen, Noémi continued circulating, keeping half an eye out for Dmitri. Her heart fluttered like a trapped animal whenever she thought she caught a glimpse of him, but fortunately they seemed to have lost each other amongst the milling guests, and she did not see him again. His sister, too, seemed occupied by her date for the evening, which was perhaps an even greater blessing. Dmitri’s attention might cause Noémi discomfort in its unwanted intensity, but Sofia would doubtless be the crueler. Reigniting the burn of old hatreds was not something she wished to risk, especially not here.

She knew none of the other guests, but would not depart before Nikolai made his own exit, which was why she lingered. Her soft and pleasant manner was not unwelcome and she had no problem occupying herself in conversation, though she graciously turned down any more dances, and did not stay in the same company for too long. Noémi possessed a quiet magnetism, slow as the bloom of a rare flower, which had made her a very successful escort with a certain type of client, but also attracted when she did not wish it. But she also knew how to step quietly; to disentangle herself before any lasting impression was left. She drank little, as she had not all evening; just enough for social nicety. That was an old habit.

Eventually a whisper was directed discretely into her ear; a matter of security protocol, to which she nodded in understanding. She didn’t question it, perhaps relieved for the opportunity to disengage for a moment, following the instruction to move elsewhere in the grand mansion.

[Ascendancy]

The door sealed shut behind him, and the roar of the masquerade, the laughter, music, and the clink of crystal was gone. In its place came a sudden silence. A hush woven through velvet curtains thrown across polished wood. She was there, waiting.

Nikolai’s gaze softened the moment it landed on her, but the weight of it was still a force. He crossed the room without hurry, but with an inevitability that filled the air. He did not smile. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was reassurance, a shield of armor drawn tight around her.

“Are you all right?” His voice was intimate. He did not ask as if uncertain. He asked as though demanding honesty that only from her lips alone would sate him. “I saw what… attention you were receiving. It will not happen again.” The promise carried more than protection. It carried the faintest shadow of threat, as though some unseen hand had already tipped the scales.

When she answered, and when her posture convinced him she was unscathed, his control eased, though not the intensity strung through his body. He drew closer, reaching for her not as a man who conquered something, but as one who guarded what was his.

He sank onto a chair so that her standing frame eclipsed him, then leaned forward until his brow touched just above her stomach. One arm wrapped loosely around her waist, the other anchoring her hand against his shoulder. For a moment he was silent, cheek pressed to the fabric of her dress, listening to her heartbeat, steady and delicate against his ear. To the proof of her existence. And there was the briefest moment of peace, he didn't even recognize it.

Soon his breath stirred the fabric. A sigh followed, almost a prayer, though Nikolai was not a man who prayed. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze. The vulnerability in the intimacy gave way to an intensity so sharp it startled by contrast. Expression dark with ownership, fixed only on her. His grip tightened at her waist as if daring the world to intervene.

And with that look, he tugged her down into his arms. His mouth found hers, a kiss that was not frantic but consuming; command and surrender wrapped together. The kind of kiss that left no space for anything else.

[Noémi Jourdain]

He did not smile, and nor did she. Neither of them were prone to the more whimsical affectations of attachment. And yet the air changed around them, like puzzle pieces clicked silently into their rightful place side by side. His entrance was not unexpected, despite the explanation of security protocol that brought her to stand alone in one of the estate’s many rooms. Amidst the finery and quiet, Noémi had spent the time waiting in consideration of what she wished to say to him. She had never wanted to be a powerful man’s mistress, and the rumoured cause of Nikolai’s brief disappearance tonight only stirred that bitter reminder of what it was like to be one among many. Whatever she might wish, or how dearly she might wish it, Noémi knew she would never be his wife. She was not suited to the public scrutiny; her past came with littered questions and shame, and the only thing she could offer to the union was a love that was written into her soul without the need for vows to bind it so. Yet one day he would marry – for the necessary wholesome image, when such a thing became prudent, and more importantly for the political advantage of the Custody. Noémi would never argue against his choices in that regard, nor with whom or how he chose to spend his time even before then. But she would ask that he not flaunt it where it would hurt her. For all the things she accepted they could never have together, she would ask that of him at least.

She was not surprised by the intensity with which he defended what was between them, but she was touched that it was her wellbeing he inquired about rather than a need to first sooth his ego with her loyalty. Most men liked to treat beautiful women as possessions, but if Nikolai proved possessive, it seemed more a reaction to her discomfort than from jealousy at the attention. “I am,” she told him simply. It was unlikely to be the last time a man’s interest was received uneasily by her, and while she did not brush the incident off, it was also a simple reality. Tonight she had accepted the invitation knowing it might risk Dmitri’s notice. “It is an old thing. He has struggled to let go.” She offered no details on the nature of their relationship, or how such a thing had ever come to be. She was quite certain Nikolai’s staff had her entire history at their disposal should he ever wish to peruse it for himself, though by her clear-eyed expression he only had to ask to hear the truth directly from her lips. There were no shadows inside of her where he was not welcome to tread.

Instead he shifted, pulled her closer with need and reverence. She had watched him all night, the perfect blend of charm and command. The Ascendancy made the performance seem effortless, an armour so secure there were no flaws or chinks, even to Noémi’s eye. This was the Vasiliev’s ball, and yet it was him at the centre of it. But she knew the beating heart which lay beneath, knew too the loneliness of such service, even if he would never call it that. She cherished the brief moments he existed without the burden of it. Her free hand came to cradle the back of his neck, fingertips soft as he rested against her. The touch was quietly intimate, a promise and reassurance in one gentle gesture. I am yours. You are mine. The world cannot touch us until you are ready.

When he finally looked up the moment intensified into something else, sharper and brighter. His expression might have looked angry on another man, yet Noémi fell into his embrace without hesitation or misunderstanding. Nikolai rarely indulged his emotions in the heat of them. His acts of care were usually calculated, though no less genuine or ardent. Noémi was likewise a measured woman, unprone to rashness of the heart. But with him she was easily and willingly consumed.