My Femboy System

There is a particular joy in chaos that you yourself have orchestrated.

Watching masked nobles twirl beneath enchanted chandeliers, laughing into jeweled goblets while unaware they’re dancing inside a trap—my trap—has a way of making you feel both like a god and a very well-dressed spider.

"Is this what decadence feels like?" Elian purred beside me, adorned in black lace, his mask shaped like a raven’s beak, sharp and gleaming.

I sipped my wine, letting the illusion magic hum beneath my skin. "If it isn’t, then I’ve been wasting a lot of silk."

The masquerade had begun.

We had transformed the Velvet Court into a cathedral of lust and politics—silk draped from ceiling to floor, illusion enchantments masking our security measures, and incense swirling like spell-crafted pheromones. Candles hovered in the air, casting a flickering glow across bodies in every state of desire and disguise.

I made my rounds in crimson robes open down the front, letting skin and implication carry most of the conversation.

Elian moved like a dream, flirting with diplomats, clergy, and the occasional merchant’s wife, whose mask slipped when he whispered Latin endearments into her ear. Jules was on the dance floor, hips moving to a beat only he could hear, a silver chain looping around his thigh like a leash. He kept making eye contact with a viscount’s daughter and a visiting priestess, both of whom looked dangerously intrigued.

Good.

The more they played, the less they noticed Salem vanishing into the servant tunnels or Marius sliding documents from drunken pockets.

I caught Ash in the east hallway, still shirtless, a half-mask shaped like a snarling wolf strapped across his face. He leaned against the wall like sin sculpted into flesh.