Verse 3: The Garden’s Overture

It was so chilly that the summer heat earlier that afternoon almost seemed to be a lie.

Stars streaked the night’s sky as music trickled out from the main hall. My eyes were glued to the man pulling me by the hand as we strolled along. Occasionally, he would glance back at me with a smile. I got the niggling feeling that I knew this man.

Surely...it can’t be him. My heart ached at the thought. But why...?

I tilted my head, confused as to why I would feel so forlorn over the thought that this man couldn’t be the prince. I tried to search my brain for answers, but before I could, the man in front of me slowed to a stop. The night’s air caressed his hair, blowing through his golden locks.

He breathed a small sigh. “Fairy Princess, may I ask you why you decided to partake in this masquerade ball tonight?”

“Huh?”

The smile was still on his lips as he glanced back at me, but his voice was pained. “Your innocence and vulnerability are what make you so charming, but at times...you make me want to lock you away so you won’t fly off to be with another man. If I could do that, then...” He lifted my hand, pressing his lips to my fingers. His warm, moist breath rolled across my skin. “These fingers, this warmth—every breath you take, your very heartbeat...would be all mine alone.”

In my head, I understood they were lines from the opera and not his own words, but the way he moved was so bewitching I couldn’t take my eyes off of him.

His eyes were glued to me as well, watching me from behind the mask. Right as I thought he was going to kiss my fingers again, he abruptly flipped my hand over and planted his lips against my palm.

“Ah,” I gasped. My heart leaped into my throat.

This is dangerous, something in my head told me.

Before I could rip my hand away and flee, he threw his overcoat wide open and scooped me up. With me cradled in his arms, the phantom then ducked into the shadows of some nearby trees.

I tried to raise my voice in protest, but he hushed me. At the same time, voices and footsteps came echoing closer.

“Please wait, Viscount Gorton!”

I trembled in surprise at how rough the man’s tone was. As if to comfort me, the phantom stroked my head.

Shoes slapped violently against the stone path, the man’s cries echoing as he chased after another man. The latter stopped and turned around, standing not far from where we were hidden.

“I already know you weren’t the one who composed that song, Viscount Gorton!” said the man giving chase.

“I have no idea what you are on about, Serge Crowley.”

I flinched upon hearing that name, and the phantom tightened his arms around me. The two of us were pressed so close I could almost hear his heartbeat. My breath caught in my throat.

Nearby, the elderly Viscount Gorton and the young Serge Crowley continued their tense conversation. The former’s voice was low and gravelly while the latter’s was rich and pleasant.

“The song and the opera you claim you wrote based on the Lady of the Lagoon are almost identical to what my former mentor, Cyrus Wharton, wrote. Even if other people don’t recognize it, I do. I was the man’s apprentice. I implore you, Viscount, stop dishonoring a dead man’s name like this. Where have you hidden the original Lady of the Lagoon my teacher wrote?!”

I stiffened, shocked by these allegations.

“You,” a low voice growled. “Do you even know who you’re aiming these accusations at? I am a noble. You may have a little bit of popularity to your name, boy, but you’re still just a low-born singer. Do you want to be punished for defamation?” The viscount snorted with derision. “Besides, who do you think the world is going to believe? A nobleman like me or some no-name composer? You have no proof. And if you keep lodging these false charges against me, I will find a way to deal with you, Serge Crowley.”

Serge swallowed a breath when he realized the viscount was threatening him.

Viscount Gorton continued, “You’re only enjoying that popularity because you performed a song in the opera I created. As easily as I can snap these two fingers together, I could have you replaced with someone else.”

The message, albeit unspoken, was clear: “Learn your place.”

Footsteps receded as Viscount Gorton took his leave.

I breathed a sigh and mumbled, “As I suspected.” A suspicion had weighed on me ever since I saw the opera myself, and now I knew why.

The singer must have heard my voice—unsurprising, given how keen his ears had to be due to his trade. “Who’s there?!” he demanded as he pushed his way through the thicket that had kept us concealed until now. “Nobles?” His voice strained with disappointment. After a short, lamentful sigh, he apologized. “Pardon me for intruding on your...little tryst.”

“Excuse me?” I gasped.

The phantom cradling me in his arms scoffed. “You should be sorry. That crude spectacle soured the moment for us. You’ve frightened my fairy princess.”

“Yes, my deepest apologies.” Serge promptly spun on his heel to leave.

“However,” the phantom continued, releasing me from his hold, “my princess seems intent on solving the opera’s mystery. Let us hear the details of your story, Serge Crowley.”

Surprised, he turned back, lifting his face. Our eyes met, and I gave him an encouraging nod.

“Ever since I heard your song, it’s been weighing on me,” I said. “The man you spoke of—Cyrus Wharton—is a playwright from the town of Berik, yes?”

He held his breath, eyes wide with surprise. “That’s right. Berik had only a tiny theater, but Cyrus was a talented man who composed music and wrote operas. But...how would you know that?”

His confusion was only natural; as Viscount Gorton had said, Cyrus Wharton was largely unknown. Pleased to have caught him off guard with my knowledge, I took a few steps closer.

“Author Dan Edold wrote about it in one of his old travel journals. He said there was a man whose talent rivaled any playwright or composer at the Royal Opera House. Unfortunately, this man had already passed away by the time I learned about him, so I sent for copies of a few of the scripts he left behind and read them. His version featured a female protagonist. That song you performed a few days ago—it was originally meant for a woman, wasn’t it?”

His jaw dropped. A split second later, he snatched my hands up in his and, expression pleading, said, “Please! Help me rescue the Lady of the Lagoon... That is, help me rescue the songstress Master Wharton left behind.”

Pardon?

The faint hum of music from the party venue filled the air around us. I also heard what sounded like someone clicking their tongue from behind me.

~.~.~.~

According to Serge, Viscount Gorton was holding Cyrus Wharton’s daughter in his custody. The now-deceased playwright had passed knowledge of his unpublished work onto her, which was why the viscount was keeping her locked up—in hopes of taking it all for himself. Serge realized this when Viscount Gorton announced his latest composition, and he had been waiting for an opportunity to rescue her since. Unfortunately, he lost his patience after being unable to search the manor for her, which resulted in their quarrel moments ago.

The phantom listened to the story from the beginning, but once it was over, he voiced his skepticism. “I understand how you reached the conclusion that the viscount was keeping the girl based on the characteristics of the song he publicized, but are you really certain she’s being held here?”

“Well, I...”

“Excuse me!” A cheerful voice cut in as a young boy intruded on our conversation. He wore a whimsical clown mask on his face.

Goodness, I thought, taken aback.

The boy bowed toward the phantom, and the latter nodded. Apparently this boy was the phantom’s servant because his gaze never left the phantom as he proceeded with his explanation. “There’s no mistake; she’s definitely here. There are rumors about a songstress’s ghost appearing on the grounds recently. No one has ever seen her, but people talk about hearing her beautiful voice, night after night.”

“Eugenia...” Serge curled his fists in frustration, his voice straining with grief as he relayed what happened when the two of them last parted. He told us how he was blessed with an opportunity to study opera in the capital, so he decided to leave Berik. He didn’t learn about Wharton’s passing until much later, and by that time, Eugenia had already disappeared. He’d been unable to locate her since.

“My plan was to become famous here in the capital, so I could return home and bring attention to our theater there. That place—with Master Wharton and the little Eugenia—was my home. Please, I implore you. Lend me your aid and help me save her!” Serge bowed his head low.

My chest tightened. If what he claimed was true, then Viscount Gorton had committed some ghastly crimes. Not only had he plagiarized another playwright, but he had also held the man’s daughter captive. Anger boiled in the pit of my stomach. This man had abused his power as a noble in the most heinous of ways. He had some nerve, taking credit for something another had painstakingly written, parading it about as if it was a product of his talent.

I stepped forward and opened my mouth to volunteer my assistance, but a new voice interrupted me before I could.

“Ah, there you are. Miss, come on, it’s ’bout time we go home.” My manservant appeared, oblivious to the atmosphere as he urged me to hurry along. “’Sides, if we don’t get outta here soon, we’re gonna be in for it. The whole party is in an uproar, saying someone of high rank has appeared.”

“Oh no...” I panicked, too. We had sneaked off to this evening party in secret, careful to make sure His Highness didn’t find out. Lady Therese had said it herself—this was supposed to be our little secret. I had no idea who this high-ranking person could be, but it would reflect shamefully on the prince if my real identity were to be revealed here.

What should I do?

I hesitated between wanting to help Serge and needing to uphold my reputation.

Someone nearby sighed. “Go on home for tonight, Fairy Princess.”

When I glanced back, the phantom was smiling reluctantly at me. “You have people who will worry if you don’t return, yes? I am sure your companions must be concerned as well. Return home for the evening.”

“But...” My voice trailed off as I glanced hesitantly back at Serge, who had pleaded for our aid.

Again, the phantom sighed. “Don’t worry, I will take care of the matter regarding the songstress. Return home before you get wrapped up in all the fuss here.”

I stared at the youth in the mask. Tonight was our first meeting. Would it really be all right to leave something like this to a stranger? At the same time, I wouldn’t be of much help here without giving away my identity.

“Can I really entrust this to you?” I asked, swallowing hard.

“Heh.” His lips cracked into a smile. He reached forward, fingers brushing over my hair. My eyes were glued to him as he leaned in, whispering sweetly in my ear. “My Fairy Princess, I will grant your wish by any means necessary.”

Flustered, I froze up, heart drumming in my chest.

“Sounds like he means it,” Jean said, ushering me along.

I gave a curtsey before hurrying off. I reunited with Julia and Lady Therese, and the three of us left the viscount’s manor.

Asking for a person’s name at a masquerade ball was against the rules. I knew that, but I still desperately wanted to ask that masked phantom for his. I had to bury that desire in the back of my heart.