Chapter 77: The Elf Conspiracy (4)

The traitors’ ball opened up with an opera.

Lady Justine had built herself a private theater in her palace, and invited artists from all across the world to entertain her guests. Simon sat through three hours of Fablan masked pantomime, Cocagnian magical ballet, and then a live performance of the famous Gargauth opera showcasing the Second Overlord’s rise and fall from his point of view, where he was portrayed as a paper dragon who received his just comeuppance from Balzam the Just and Saintess Euphemia.

Simon thought he would hate a play based on his father, but it ended up being so absurdly inaccurate—down to portraying Balzam as a hammy warrior torn between his ‘eternal love’ for his dead first wife and his burgeoning affection for ‘kind’ Euphemia—that he couldn’t help but find it darkly comedic. The decision to showcase Gargauth as a dimwitted manchild lizard with an inexplicable obsession with virgin princesses was also both questionable and undoubtedly hilarious. The actors really carried the show on their performance alone.

The only other opera Simon had witnessed in his life was a performance back in Valne, and he had to admit he was starting to grow fond of these performances. Eole was right, perhaps he should try to become a bard one day. Maybe he would live a reign as a minstrel in the future, should necessity allow it.

After the opera, the guests were invited to put on their masks and costumes before mingling with everyone. Simon’s group was one of the last to show up in order to be fashionably late. Both Leonard and Meredith showed up in their Class outfits to act as security. Eole came dressed with a simple golden mask and a white dress that showcased her graceful figure well, whereas Belzemine wore a gown with a pair of false green wings.

They were both splendid, yet it was Simon’s ‘disguise’ that caught the most gazes. Many guests gasped and muttered at his approach. Their disbelief was palpable, but no one had yet to dare approach him to confirm their suspicions.

Reactions from his retinue were mixed. Meredith bit her lips in embarrassment while Eole covered her mouth to suppress her laughter. Even Belzemine seemed a tiny bit amused by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Leonard eventually cleared his throat behind him. “If I may, Your Highness–”

“Please call me Your Majesty in public, Leonard,” Simon insisted.

“Your Majesty, there is a thin frontier between audacity and insanity,” Leonard said. “Should word of this reach Frightwall–”

“Then they can take their issues to my father,” Simon replied as they approached the ballroom. “Now hush, we have a role to play.”

The ball was said to be hosting a thousand and a half guests, and the palace’s ballroom venue could easily hold that many people. Hundreds of masked men and women wearing the latest imperial fashion were gathered under phantasmal candelabras lit by dancing illusory ghosts and served by a small army of imp waiters. Wine and water fountains provided all the refreshment the guests needed, alongside tables covered in the realm’s finest food.

An orchestra played a symphony on a stage, while Lady Justine dominated the gathering from atop a private dais. She came dressed to this ball with a silver mask covering the upper part of her face and a feathered gown of multicolored feathers, with little masked Henry sitting on her lap. They sat on thrones fanned by two demons, with a small line of courtiers walking up to them to either pay their respect or offer her gifts.

Lady Justine was the first to spot him entering the ballroom, and she clearly struggled to hide her laughter behind her fan. The ballroom otherwise fell eerily silent when he arrived, except for gasps and the sound of the occasional glass hitting the floor.

After all, who would dare show up to a masked ball full of traitors disguised as the Overlord?

He hadn’t been foolish enough to come in the actual Class outfit itself—the risk of discovery would have been too great—but a combination of pilfered knight armor and a ring of Fiendmask crafted by Belzemine turned him into the perfect lookalike of his own Overlord form. None could tell him apart from his father.

The real beauty of it all was that Balzam’s death remained a secret outside of a select few, so as far as most were concerned, the person in front of them might actually be the real Overlord coming to attend the party of the year.

Simon glanced at the silent crowd through his helmet’s slits, his eyes searching for the Flauros and Malphas families. He didn’t see them, but he was sure they were among the crowd. The silence was deafening, and almost unsettling.

What would Balzam do in this situation?

Oh yes, arbitrarily assert his dominance.

“Firewand, this ball’s mood is too dark,” Simon declared, pointing a finger at the nearest noble with the longest mantle. “Set that peasant’s cloak on fire to lighten it up.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Belzemine replied before snapping her fingers. The nobleman’s mantle caught fire all of a sudden, and everyone in his vicinity screamed in alarm. The man ran towards the nearest fountain in his panic, much to Simon’s amusement. His helmet turned his laughter into a deep and cavernous sound that echoed into the ballroom. Eole seemed torn between condemning the gesture and being amused in spite of herself, whereas Leonard and Meredith were clearly dying of shame inside.

Well, he had warned them he might need to act the part.

Masked gargoyle guards with pitchforks all looked up to Lady Justine, waiting for her decision on whether to intervene or not… which she did.

“Your Majesty!” Lady Justine declared from atop her throne, a wide smile on her face. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence tonight!”

“A pity you failed to inform your guests that I would be attending this celebration,” Simon replied while struggling to suppress a fit of laughter. He had to give it to her; she knew how to roll with a joke.

“My apologies, I wanted to keep up the surprise and to keep your first dance for myself.” She put Henry aside and walked down her dais up to him and offered him her hand. “Shall we open the ball, Your Majesty?”

“With pleasure,” he replied gallantly. He let go of Eole and Belzemine to take center stage in the middle of the ballroom, taking Lady Justine’s hand into his own as guards pushed guests back to give them space.

Mmm? Simon sensed a familiar rush coursing through his veins. Huh, I actually got some experience from this farce.

Perhaps he should try to impersonate his father in a future reign. Only the assassin knew about his death within the first hour or so of the reigns, so disposing of the body and putting on a Fiendmask would be relatively easy. Simon doubted it would be a good idea until he had identified the actual killer, but he folded the idea into a corner of his mind for later.

“They are terrified of you,” Lady Justine mused once they began to waltz. Dancing in armor was a bit cumbersome, but Simon had grown used to wearing it over the course of his reigns. “They can’t make up their mind whether you are indeed the Overlord they should suck up to or an imposter about to be smote for his insolence, and the uncertainty paralyzes them.”

“Between us, I signed Balzam Magnos in the guestbook,” Simon replied. “It’s only a matter of time before someone notices.”

She actually chuckled at that. “I wonder how you can dance straight with balls that big. Would you have dared to do this if your father weren’t in the ground?”

“Probably not,” Simon admitted. His father might have taken some amusement at the charade, but he would have been more likely to see it as a threat to his authority and react poorly. “I wonder how long it’ll take until the secret of my father’s death stops being one. Patriate cannot keep his tongue tied.”

“You would be surprised. Obviously, he couldn’t keep something so big from me. A war is coming.”

Simon scoffed. “Is there any doubt?”

“To be honest, I would rather avoid one and keep my head on my shoulders, but the tide of events points to its inevitability.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Then again, I might be worrying too much. There is little my niece has to fear with a crafty seer for a husband.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Lady Justine.”

“I think otherwise.” She met his gaze. “Those dreams didn’t just cover your father’s death, am I wrong?”

Simon hesitated about how to answer. He had expected such a question when his dreams and hidden Visionary potential came up, but he had to be careful to reveal just enough tidbits to sound like an asset without showing too much of his hand.

“I don’t think half of what I saw will come to pass,” Simon replied. “Or if it does, the dreams have to be metaphorical.”

“They could be. What troubles you, my child?”

“I… I have a vision that keeps coming up,” Simon answered, “Of airships bearing the War Party’s flag raining fire down upon cities and forests, followed by a giant sword slicing a manatree apart while a black comet glows in the sky.”

Lady Justine’s smile faded into a scowl. “A giant sword cutting down a manatree?”

“Do you understand now why I say this has to be a metaphor of some sort?” Simon replied, secretly relishing in the sheer audacity of the gesture. With some luck, this would be eerily similar to whatever prophecy convinced the Oracle that Louis had to be stopped. “It seemed so vivid and yet unbelievable…”

“I wouldn’t exclude any scenario at face value. The world has seen many strange things.” Their waltz came to an end, to the polite applause of a spooked crowd. “My, will there be anyone brave enough to dance with you next?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“There are,” Simon said upon turning to Eole and addressing her in elven. “Do you dance, Eole?”

“I do,” she confirmed upon joining him.

Lady Justine picked another noble to be her partner, and soon other confident couples took over the dance floor. The shock of the disguised Overlord had now somewhat passed, though others gave him a wide berth.

Simon found himself guiding Eole through the waltz, his hand pressed on her back. She seemed a little clumsier than usual and largely left him to take the lead. “Is something wrong, Eole?”

“My people’s dances are less… regimented than this one,” Eole admitted. “I am learning, though.”

“So long as you’re having fun.”

“I am,” she said with a wide, genuine smile. “You should open up a theater.”

“We could do that one day.” That would give Simon something to look forward to after preventing the civil war, the Zodiac Parade, and all the assassination attempts on his person. “Elaine told me she asked you to sing the closing melody?”

“She did.” Eole bit her lip. “You were right, the Malphas’ are more than what they seem. They have asked me too many questions about Vouivre, Telluria, and shifter politics for it to merely be innocent curiosity. I think they are planning something here at this party.”

“I think so as well,” Simon replied as he sensed a presence brushing against his mind.

“Your Majesty,” Belzemine contacted him through telepathy. “A man matching Lord Robert Flauros’ description invited me to dance with him. How should I react?”

“Hesitantly accept,” Simon replied mentally. He had suspected that a Flauros would be the one to approach her, since she would recognize Patriate’s voice and distrust it. “He will likely lead you to a private area and then remove your Brands. Proceed with the plan after we lose contact.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

If Simon was correct, then his next dancing partner should approach him the moment he finished his waltz with Eole and keep him busy while the Flauros scion isolated Belzemine away from onlookers.

And he was right.

True to her earlier promise, Elaine Malphas came wearing a black dress adorned with fake wings to match Eole’s real ones. Simon easily recognized her allure in spite of her porcelain mask covering the upper part of her face, and the flamboyant courtier in red and black next to her was likely her father.

“A dance, Your Majesty?” Elaine asked, her voice clear.