The mask was the only thing keeping Erix alive. Not only did it hide his face from prying eyes, but it kept him oxygenated in an environment that was rife with carbon dioxide. The atmosphere might have been ideal for an Ov’ok, but to a human like him, it was deadly.
Erix stood on the outskirts of the ballroom, simply observing. He didn’t dance. He chatted when necessary, but kept it to a minimum. He wanted people to be afraid of him, but so much that they found him suspicious—just so that they avoided him.
It was interesting, he thought, what one could see when everyone was wearing a mask. They didn’t quite hide identities as well as everyone thought. Erix recognised Lord Tavol by his loud, booming voice. And near him was Dame Mary Arbor, her hesitant gait unmistakable. Erix smiled to himself. If any of them had any sort of intelligence, they’d realise who was observing them from behind the facade of his ornate mask. As it was, they were all members of the court. Between them, their added IQ was probably less than his own.
And that was why he, Erix, would be Prince of Space once more after tonight.