“Not yet,” Jet cautioned him.

“Eh? Why not?” Gideon replied, disappointed.

Jet frowned. “They might not be subtle, but that doesn’t mean there’s only one assassin. Once we attack, we’ll almost certainly be thrown out. Even if they let us explain ourselves, we’ll have lost the element of surprise and almost certainly will be treated as dangerous by the guards. We have to attack only once we’re sure we’ve found all the assassins, so we can take them out all at once. After that, nothing matters.”

“Too bad there isn’t an easy way to check if people are dragons,” Angel complained.

“Given how subtle the assassins are, I don’t think we’ll have that hard of a time,” Jet quipped back.

Angel snorted. “Fair enough.”

Jet clapped his hands together and looked around the group. “Alright. Everyone scatter, and look for assassins. If you’re absolutely certain you can take care of the ones you find without causing a fuss, go for it, but otherwise, just memorize their faces and locations. Gideon, no pissing off any more of the nobility.”

“Aww, but where’s the fun in that?” Gideon complained.

“You’ll get to kill more dragons if the nobles don’t kick you out of the ballroom,” Jet pointed out.

Gideon’s eyes lit up. He nodded slowly. “You are a wise man, Jet.”

“I’ll follow that assassin. Everyone else, search the room,” Jet commanded.

“Aye aye, captain,” Angel said, saluting sloppily.

“That’s for the navy. He was in the army. You say yes, sir! in the army,” Gideon said, saluting no less sloppily.

Leo dipped his head, shooting Gideon a nervous glance.

“As you command,” Elly replied with a curtsey.

“Religious salutes? And Leo, that wasn’t even a salute! Jet, your force is a mess. You need to get these privates in line.” Gideon tutted.

“Get in line, Private,” Jet replied, narrowing his eyes at Gideon.

“I’m clearly not a Private. I’m like… a General, at least,” Gideon declared.

A General, at least? Promoting himself straight to the top of the military? Jet shook his head with a sigh. “Do you have any idea what the ranks are?”

Gideon gave him a look like he was stupid. “Obviously. Privates are at the bottom. Generals are at the top. And I’m always on top!”

Angel snorted.

“Especially in the bedroom,” Gideon added triumphantly.

“Won’t that get boring after a while?” Angel asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“I don’t know, but we can find out?” Gideon replied.

Angel held out her hand. “Money up front.”

Gideon looked at her hand and scowled. “No test ride first?”

Angel stared him dead in the eyes. “Do you think I became a successful dancer by being stupid? Money, or you don’t get nothing.”

Gideon pursed his lips. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Cheapskate,” Angel laughed, turning away.

Jet sighed. Rather than try to rally the troops a third time, he turned and followed after the assassin. He wound through the crowd, grateful for his outfit’s relatively narrow silhouette as he dodged hoop skirts and elaborate disguises.

The assassin’s skintight black made the man even slimmer. Ahead, two circles of men and women conversed, sipping wine and sampling the hors d’oeuvres. The assassin slipped through a gap between two massive bustles which closed afterward, giving Jet no route through.

Jet gritted his teeth. He hurried around the smaller of the two large circles and paused, looking around. The assassin was nowhere to be seen. Where did he go?

A flash of black. Jet craned his neck. Skintight black appeared between a woman in a puffy pink wool ensemble meant to evoke a poodle and a man with the alphabet sewn all over his costume, whom Jet had no idea what he was supposed to be dressed as. Jet hurried over and pushed through, apologizing to the woman in pink as he slipped between the two.

The assassin disappeared behind a pillar. Jet took a deep breath, touching his sword again to reassure himself, the familiar icy-cold touch of the blade’s enchantment ready at his call. The faint sound of conversation caught his ear. On guard, he pressed up against the pillar and leaned around the corner.

“Nobody knows?” a man whispered.

“Nobody saw me come this way. We’re safe,” the assassin whispered back.

Jet smirked. He gripped his sword tighter, peeking around to get a better angle on the two men. The other man dressed in green, in an archer’s costume. Red curls spilled out from under a pitched green cap, to match the scarlet feather stuck in the felt. The archer stood taller than the assassin, with squared shoulders and a trim waist that suggested rowing rather than archery.

“Then… what are we wasting our time on words for?” the archer asked.

The assassin drew closer. “Indeed.”

The two joined hands. Jet tensed. Is this some kind of secret dragon art? A fusion transformation? A combined magic?

Craning his neck, the assassin stared up into the archer’s eyes. The archer stared back. Two heads pressed together. Lips found lips.

Uh… Jet swallowed and looked away. Slurping sounds echoed from around the pillar, along with the rustle of clothes. Er… that’s an intense technique. Not every man could accomplish something like that.

Jet’s eyes widened, and he stood up straight. Wait, hold on! Is the assassin… perhaps, is he simply a partygoer? Having a tryst with this archer? Hold on—Ravenna… was she just joking with us? Dammit!

As he stood, the ornamental sheath he’d borrowed from Ravenna clanged against the pillar. The sounds of kissing stopped. A chill crept down Jet’s back, and in the next second, a knife appeared at his throat.

“You’ve seen too much,” the assassin whispered in his ear.

“No kidding,” Jet agreed. He lowered his hand slowly to his hilt, calling up his ice magic.

“Any last words?” the assassin hissed.

“Wait, wait. Who is it?” the archer asked, wandering around the pillar. He looked up and down Jet, taking him in.

Jet stared back, gritting his teeth. After a second, his eyes widened. The third prince? Alphonse?

Holy shit. I’m fucked. I saw something I never should have seen. They’re going to execute me.

Alphonse continued to stare at him. Jet held his breath. Alphonse leaned in, squinting at his face, and Jet suddenly realized: He doesn’t know who I am! He’s trying to judge if I’m a threat to him. I have a chance!

He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I wandered into this corner by happenstance. I wasn’t aware that capital nobles were so territorial!”

“Capital… you’re from the countryside?” Alphonse asked, his tone brightening.

“Don’t listen to him. He speaks lies,” the assassin replied.

“Indeed. This is my first royal ball.” Technically true. Jet had never attended a ball at the palace before. Military balls, while technically royal, didn’t count in his mind. He raised a finger to the blade and moved it away from his throat. “I didn’t know it was royal etiquette to greet guests with knives?”

“Raven, Raven, there’s no need to get so into the roleplaying. Stop accosting our young friend and come back over here. Help me… fix my costume,” Alphonse said.

The assassin held a knife to his throat for another second, then slowly withdrew it.

“Ah, fixing your costume? I apologize. I didn’t realize I was peeking,” Jet said. Fix your costume, huh? Is that what we’re going with? Hell of a costume-fixing method.

Alphonse laughed lightly. “Oh, it’s nothing, it’s nothing. You couldn’t have known.”

“Then, I’ll see you around,” Jet said, turning stiffly away from the pillar to head back into the ball.

A black-and-yellow robed figure turned and beamed at Jet. Jet tensed. You see nothing. You don’t see me!

“Hey, Jet! Ooh, checking out all the makeout spots? Who’s the young couple at it today?” Gideon asked cheerfully.

“No, no. There was no making out going on over here. Just costume-fixing,” Jet said quickly, hurrying away.

“Oh, is that Prince Alphonse? Hi, Alphie! And… his loyal bodyguard, Ray? Spicy,” Gideon said with a smirk.

The archer and the assassin both tensed. Knives appeared in the assassin’s hands so quickly that they seemed to materialize.

Jet took off at a run, grabbing Gideon as he went.

“Huh? What? It was just a joke,” Gideon said. “I mean, come on. Everyone recognized Alphie. There’s only so many redheads in the capital.”

A knife whooshed past Jet’s head. He dodged, and it lodged itself three inches deep into a pillar.

Gideon’s eyes widened. He looked back at the duo chasing them. “Don’t tell me… was my wild guess…”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Jet panted, ducking. A second dagger sliced through the top of a woman’s wig and spun off across the floor.

She shrieked and touched her head, whirling toward Jet, Gideon, and their pursuers, face red with indignance. “You… you…”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Jet managed, between short, labored breaths.

“You ruined my costume!” she burst out.

Jet rolled his eyes. I’m running for my life here, okay?

He shoved through a tight knot of people, forced to brush up against them. One of the men shoved him, his hand feverishly hot against Jet’s back.

Jet ran on, then slowed. He turned back. Wait… that hand… could it be?