With my colleagues standing ramrod straight at attention awaiting the arrival of the final VIP, it was an easy matter to skirt around the building and approach the formation from the rear without anyone noticing. Once I begin to draw closer to the line of pretend footmen, I begin to exaggerate my footsteps to draw some attention to myself. To their credit, my colleagues don't turn around, maintaining their formation for the benefit of the incoming convoy.

"You're late." the guy next to me whispers as a I fall in, "What happened?"

"Hey, something might have happened in the Opera House." I make a show of catching my breath, "I heard screaming while checking things out. I came here to get some backup."

I had quickly come up with a plan while making my way to the building's grand entrance. Pretending to investigating the ruckus caused by myself would be a good way of evading suspicion and getting the heat off me if the Supervisor, no Mark, decided to keep looking into who had been eavesdropping on him and Barkhant. It would also give me an alibi, not water tight, but certainly strong enough to withstand general scrutiny and get me some precious time.

Time enough to work out a way to flee Phoenix Guild, Mark, James, Excelsior and all the associated bullshit. With the money I had stashed away from the earlier sale of the Matriarch's Ruby, it should just be a matter of packing my bags and disappearing. Taking cleaning my tracks into account, its a mere few days work.

"We can't leave now." my colleague rebuts, "The VIP is almost here. Where did the shouting take place?"

"I think from the East Wing?" I answer back as the limo rolls to a stop in front of our formation, a pair of diplomatic flags mounted on the hood and fluttering in the wind.

Icepolis? That limo has diplomatic plates too, doesn't it? The driver dismounts and moves to open the passenger door in a rehearsed motion.

"Great, the East Wing is not on our escort route." colleague guy murmurs back, "We'll escort the VIP to the private box as planned, then we can investigate the disturbance."

"Its kind of urgent though?" I quibble, but as the VIP disembarks, the words die in my mouth.

"Dayum." colleague guy mutters before stopping himself. I don't blame him.

A tall, slender woman in a slinky evening gown complemented by a transparent shawl graces us with a smile. Needless to say, she's hot. That's why everyone's staring at her. But our VIP isn't just hot. She's exotic looking too. Long silver hair. Pale white skin. Blood red eyes. First time I've seen anything like it in person, but I recognize those looks at a single glance.

"Grand Duchess." our formation salutes and forms a box around the VIP, leading her into the Opera House.

Generations spent living in the North Pole had left its mark on the imperial family of Icepolis. But the Grand Duchess is the only person to carry every single hereditary mark that line boasts. Needless to say, she's very recognizable.

"Control yourself." colleague guy mildly reprimands as I pull in a harsh breath. I merely nod distractedly. The Grand Duchess is probably the most striking person ever, and for more reason than one.

She's sporting an absolutely titanic halo. Several times stronger than what Latour, James and Sam had combined.

"Stop ogling her!" colleague guy urges.

I grit my teeth, trying my absolute best to resist. But I can't. Bringing up the rear of our Footmen formation, I have an unobstructed view of the Grand Duchess's exposed back, thanks to the revealing cut of her gown. And plastered on her back are the tell tale glints, hundreds of them, constantly pulling, demanding my attention. As the glints flicker in and out of existence, they form a pattern I had seen recently in the Winter Rift.

The standard of Phoenix Guild.

And since no one else can see the glints, that leaves only one possibility. The Grand Duchess is deliberately hiding something under her skin. Something with a connection to Phoenix Guild. Ignoring colleague guy, I try focusing on the glints, ignoring the forest for the proverbial trees. And then I see it. Tiny threads extending outward from each of the glints, feeding into the Grand Duchess's halo.

"Damn". I murmur in turn, this new discovery confirming my earlier theory. The halos aren't natural. Something is causing them.

"Get it out of your system." colleague guy sighs, resigned to my distraction as our procession winds its way up the staircase leading to the private booths.

The head of the formation rushes ahead, opening the door to the Grandmaster's booth with a bow. The rest of us split into two lines, opening a path for the Grand Duchess's way. From the open doorway, I can see the Spectacles and all the other big wigs rise to welcome the Duchess to loud applause. A glimpse of Excelsior, hot and bothered while staring daggers at Rachel is all it takes for me to hide my face behind the guy next to me.

The Grand Duchess graces us with a slight smile before entering the VIP box, the door closing to my blessed relief.

"OK. Now we can investigate that screaming you were talking about." colleague guy wipes his brow with a handkerchief, an expression of awe all over his face. Man was acting all cool in front of the Grand Duchess, but the façade broke down quick once she disappeared out of sight.

"This way." I take control of the formation and we troop off.

........

Mark wasn't in the East Wing.

I had taken my ad hoc troop back to where I had left the Supervisor, the Dining Halls. But other than blood staining the floor and the busted chair, there wasn't any trace of him.

"An escape through the window?" I stand near the open window and ask the other footmen. Good thing I'm good at playing dumb.

"Better check it out." colleague guy affirms, "Thee clearly was a fight here earlier."

The entire formation clambers out of the window one by one, and we begin searching the grounds for any sign of Mark. Several minutes later, we spot the Supervisor rooting in the bushes at the rear of the building. He's literally tearing out fistfuls of branches and leaves, fruitlessly combing the area. As the formation approaches Mark, I take a quick raincheck with my heart.

No palpitations.

Good. That means no danger. Probably.

"Sir?" I cautiously ask and Mark snaps up to full height in an instant.

"Everett?" Mark demands, his face a rictus of anger, "And the rest of you, what are you lot doing here?"

"Investigating a disturbance, Sir." I answer blandly but politely. The less details means a smaller trail leading back to me. Mark doesn't seem to recognize me as the eavesdropper, so my escape was most likely successful.

"Well, where were you earlier?" Mark huffs angrily.

"Escorting the Grand Duchess." colleague guy explains, "We didn't want to alarm her that anything was wrong."

"Good, good." Mark reluctantly agrees, "The Grandmaster would have our hides if the Duchess saw anything embarrassing. Nothing went wrong then?"

"The Grand Duchess is with the Grandmaster now." colleague guy confirms.

"That's one thing settled at least." Mark grunts, "I caught an intruder, but he managed to get away after wounding me."

"Your hand, Sir!" I bark in alarm, pointing to the Supervisor's blood encrusted hand. Serves him right for trying to get me killed back in Winter Rift. Small victories still need to be savored.

"I'm fine." Mark conspicuously flexes the hand, his Warrior class skills helping with the pain, "Go back to your stations. I'll get myself patched up at HQ."

"Yes sir." I sloppily salute as the troop departs. Leaving the Supervisor behind, I release a pent up sigh. I've done it. Mark doesn't know. For now at least.

As we file back into the ballroom through the staff service door and take our places, the main double doors swing open, admitting the VIPs as well. We made it back just in time. The next big event on tonight's program is about to start. The master of ceremonies takes a microphone in hand, ready to make the announcement.

"Ladies' Choice!" the orchestra begins playing an upbeat tune in the background.

All ladies to the ball must be chaperoned by a male companion. That's one of the golden rules. Even the Grand Duchess isn't exempt, that's why we footmen needed to escort her into the building. Ladies' Choice is the sole exception, a series of dances where the women can pick any man they fancy as a dancing partner and he is obliged to accept. Its also something of a competition between men, to see how many of the ladies would approach them for a dance. For the sake of bragging rights and all that. Colleague guy certainly looks anxious, hoping that someone would approach him. On my part I settle in to relax from all the earlier excitement of the night.

The crowd of VIPs parts as the Grand Duchess glides forward, her eyes sparkling like jewels. As she penetrates deeper and deeper into the ballroom, just about every man swallows hard, wondering who her choice would be.

And in a lonely corner the Grand Duchess stops, offering her hand to a very surprised young man.

James.

Two halos collide as James accepts the dance. The crowd groans with the collective disappointment of all the men present.

But the Grand Duchess's eyes remain cold.

..........

The rat scurries up to Barkhant and jumps into his cupped hands. The Ranger narrows his eyes at the Opera House just across the street as the animal companion squeaks into his ear.

"Mark didn't realize?" Barkhant chuckles, "Of course I won't tell him."

Barkhant's enhanced vision zooms in on Mark and he sneers in satisfaction at his rival's sorry state. The Brotherhood may serve, but they were servants to no one. One day, Barkhant would need to teach Mark that lesson.

But there were other matters to be considered tonight.

"Everett. That's his name?" Barkhant asks the rat, who squeaks in confirmation.

"What an interesting fellow." the Ranger cracks a grin, his body merging with the shadows.