At the insufferably smug look on Lord Blackstone's face, something fierce in Beatrice sparked, and the memory of what he’d said the night of her debut rang in her ears.

Can’t quite recall her name.

She straightened, hand clenching hard around the doorknob.

“What are you doing here?”

Lord Blackstone frowned and tossed her journal aside as he stood.

“You may be of the peerage now, my lady, but I outrank you by far—whatever your pretensions to the contrary. You’d best address me as lord.”

“You are a trespasser in my private bed chamber, Lord Blackstone. Availing yourself of my private effects. I should not be lecturing anyone on manners and propriety, if I were you.”

He studied her face.

“What happened to the pale, quaking, frightened girl I knew? I saw her downstairs, only hours ago.”

“She fled at the sight of you going through my things without permission.”

Lord Blackstone strode forward, closing the distance between them.

“You fear my mother.”

“She is a mage,” retorted Beatrice. “You are not.” She returned his glare with interest.

How is it I ever fancied this man?

Blackstone scowled, but only for an instant. Then his features composed themselves into a look of haughty satisfaction.

“Speaking of mages,” he said, turning from her to snatch up the forbidden booklet and tapping it with the back of his hand. “Is it true, do you suppose? My mother seems to think so, and she’s rarely wrong.”

“It’s just a fairy tale,” said Beatrice, fighting to keep a steady tone.

“Then why forbid it?”

When she made no answer, Lord Blackstone's lip curled upward to one side.

“What an incredible power. To bridge distances and worlds in the span of a heartbeat. Can you imagine?”

Beatrice blinked, lips twisting down as she took a step backwards into the hall.

“I endeavor not to dwell upon blasphemies, my lord,” she replied.

“Oh, of course not,” replied the young lord in a tone of exaggerated piety, crossing his heart with the Sign of the Six. “Forgive me, my lady.”

“Perhaps I shall if you explain yourself. Lord Blackstone, I ask you again. What are you doing here?”

“Ah, I must confess I assumed you’d taken up residence with Darcy. I never imagined they’d install you here. I let myself in because there was something I had lent to Alice shortly before her departure which I had hoped to recover. I did not realize my mistake until opening your…drawing book. I did, however, find what I came for.”

He lifted the Fox Lord booklet into view again and his smile broadened.

“I pray you will accept my apologies, and I further beg you will tell no one of my possession of this book. In return, I shall keep secret your having had it, too.”

Beatrice's lip curled and she only just managed to suppress a snarl. Longing to snatch the thing from his grip, she forced her hands down to her skirts to twist at the silk instead.

“Very well. Now, if you will please excuse me, I must change for dinner.”

“Certainly, my lady.”

Smirking as he tucked the booklet into an inner pocket of his waistcoat, Lord Blackstone brushed past her. She turned to watch him go, waiting until he’d disappeared down the stairs before following D’artanien into her bedchamber and shutting the door.

Beatrice had thought she’d seen the grandest of what Highreach had to offer. She’d been wrong.

Upon entering the great dining hall for the first time, she nearly lost her balance in craning back her neck to gape at the ceiling. Covered from edge-to-edge in a fresco painting of a twilight sky, it was all violets and cornflower blue and blush. Silvery “stars” twinkled like eyes from betwixt the parting clouds directly overhead, which themselves hinted at the ethereal figures of all seven of the greater spirits. At the center of it all—like a shattered sun—hung a resplendent chandelier of yellow diamonds. It was ludicrous in scale, two and half times the height of a man at least.

When she dragged her eyes away from this at last, she saw that opposite her was no ordinary wall but the mountain’s face itself, with a spring at its center which streamed down a crevasse and into an ornate basin carved from the blue-black stone. The hall was loud with chatter, but upon her entrance it quieted somewhat. As Charles jumped up from his seat to escort her, D’artanien shuffled off to stand vigil against the western wall.

Off near the rain-lashed windows, a string quartet of finely clad thralls played softly, a strange backdrop to Beatrice’s horror as Charles led her to a seat at the right hand of the duchess herself. Charles sat to her other side, and catching her eye, grimaced in sympathy. Jemison held high court directly across from her, most of the guests at rapt attention to what was surely a highly embellished account from his youth. Arron, to his left, sat in silence and eyed the skeleton quartet as though he’d very much like to join them. Gray, too, held his tongue—cheeks gaunt, face downcast.

And then there was Theodore, who sat at his mother’s other side, laughing uproariously and playing the perfect guest.

To Beatrice's extreme gratitude, the first course was served quickly—giving her an excuse to turn her attention from the overwhelming social clamor of it all and towards the pleasurable necessity of eating.

For a time, everything else became a blur as she indulged first in a delicious scallop gratin followed by leek soup with fresh-baked herb bread and garlic butter, then glazed salmon and roasted vegetables. But by the time the coffee, brandy and fig pudding came along, her silence had become notable.

“Not one much inclined to conversation, your new betrothed,” observed the Duchess, leaning forward to speak around Beatrice to Charles. “I don’t suppose she’s feeble of mind, too?”

Beatrice sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“Idle lips oft conceal busy mind,” she quoted, hoping the duchess shared her generation’s common fondness for Chershire. The elder woman pursed her lips.

“Busy, perhaps, but with what, Lady Stagon? Have you any thoughts of your own hidden behind that blank stare, or merely memories of the dusty old sermons you’ve read?”

For a few horrible moments Beatrice was shocked to silence. Jemison’s stories had ceded the floor. All attention was on the exchange between herself and the duchess now. Her cheeks grew hot.

“I’ve plenty, Your Grace, though I admit I don’t always offer them readily.”

“I see,” said Duchess Arinvale. “It is good, I suppose, to know when one’s thoughts aren’t worth the sharing.”

At that, Beatrice’s entire face burned and her lips dropped open, though she knew not what she might say. There was a scraping of wood on a stone, and her attention turned towards Jemison as he rose to his feet and clapped his hands twice.

“Let us have some dancing then, shall we?”

There was a general murmuring of agreement and a toast to the idea which led to a series of other toasts—as was customary—with a trio of thralls working to refill glasses as needed. The music took on a more lively pace as a number of the guests stood to make their offers. All the while, Beatrice felt the eyes of the duchess upon her, and all the while she feigned ignorance and looked steadfastly away.

Charles was first to claim her hand.

“You’re doing well,” he said. “Incredibly so.”

Beatrice huffed. “You’re too generous, sir.”

“I mean it truly. But this is only the beginning. She will extend her stay as long as she can, and so long as she’s here she won’t give up.”

Straightening, Beatrice tightened her grip on Charles’ hand and shoulder both, breathing deep of his scent.

“It will take more than a few insults and back-handed compliments to force any foolish display out of me,” she assured him.

At this, Charles frowned, lips opening as if to say more. But then the song came to an end, and they were forced by custom to part for the time and pay heed to their guests. But there was something in his look that gave her pause, and she summoned D’artanien from his post along the wall to ghost about along the outer edges of the central floor where they all danced. Thusly, he stayed as near to her as he could while she accepted offer after offer. By the time she took Jemison’s hand, she’d danced with over half their guests already and was most exhausted. But the Tiger shifter lead her away from the other dancers and to the grand table where Arron sat alone instead.

“Enough of your sulking about, Wolf.”

Snatching Arron’s hand, Jemison placed it around Beatrice’s. “The two of you shall dance.”

The huge bard caught Beatrice’s eye, and at the smile that bloomed across her face he blessed her with one of his own. Standing, he shoved Jemison off with a playful huff before offering his arm. Beatrice accepted, following him back to the others with a thrill running up and down her spine at his proximity. The masculine depth of his aroma filled her lungs, and she ached with the Call.

The other dancers parted to make way for them, closing in once more until they’d barely enough space to move. Beatrice didn’t much mind, though, as it forced herself and Arron into closer-than-usual proximity. Warmth pulsed from his body in waves, and the skin at the back of her neck tingled as she nestled in a little closer.

Meaning to be courteous, no doubt, Arron lead them nearer the center of the hall where there was rather more space. Once there, the others gave way for them still further—almost as if singling them out as the central pair. This, of course, made Beatrice terribly uneasy. Nonetheless, she was determined not to play the shrinking wallflower before the eyes of Theodor and his dreadful mother, and most especially not in her own house.

So instead Beatrice focused her attention as much as she could on the man in whose arms she was encircled. The man who, if she wasn’t mistaken, was as Called to her as she was to him. She was quite successful in her efforts, too, until the moment at which a great, creaking shriek of a sound issued from far overhead. A sense of cold foreboding flooded her veins, and then several things happened all at once.

Arron released his grip on her waist as, by the hand that still gripped hers, he flung her violently outward and away from him. D’artanien charged, clanging through the crowd to catch hold of her.

And the great yellow diamond chandelier fell, with Arron standing directly below it.