When they arrived in the foyer, Claire spotted Arabella almost immediately. She looked absolutely resplendent in a gown of dark green velvet trimmed with gold. Like Claire's gown, the bodice was fitted, tapering at the waist before flaring out just below her hips. Her hair rose upwards in an elaborate array of twists and braids held in place by gold hair pins with ruby and emerald tips fashioned to look like holly leaves.

It was the man beside her that gave her pause. With his back to her, the tall, blond haired gentleman could have been Algernon Pentworst for all Claire knew. When he turned around, however, Claire's eyes grew wide.

"Draz?"

"Is this some sort of joke, Haval?" Alek called out, his voice hard.

"Do I look like I'm laughing?" Draz replied, his tone caustic. He did not, quite the opposite in fact. Claire had never seen him look so downtrodden, not even when he found out about the dog sleds.

"He's my guest," Arabella replied with a sharp upturn of her chin, as though daring Alek to say something.

"Like hell he is," Alek replied without hesitation.

Claire saw Draz's shoulders visibly slump with relief. He looked ready to slink away when Arabella grabbed hold of his arm. "If you can bring a guest, then so can I. Draz is going."

Draz looked towards the both of them, shaking his head rapidly, his expression one of desperation. Ara shot a glare in his direction bringing his silent protests to an abrupt stop.

Before anything else could be said, Ms. Avery appeared carrying a deck of playing cards in one hand and a board for backgammon in the other. She stopped when she saw them all standing there, her gaze finally settling on Draz.

"What's this? I didn't realize we were dressing up for a few hands of Old Maid," Ms. Avery declared looking flustered.

"I do apologize, but Draz won't be able to join you tonight, Ms. Avery," Arabella announced, "I've borrowed him as I need a gentleman companion for the ball this evening."

Alek snorted and shook his head.

"Oh I see," Ms. Avery replied looking a bit crestfallen.

"As I was just telling my sister, Draz was not invited, so Draz may not attend," Alek insisted.

"And for once I agree with Mr. Tightpants over there," Draz admitted earning himself an elbow to his stomach for all his troubles.

"Odd, the invitation allowed for a guest per attendee," Ms. Avery said thoughtfully, "unless Miss Arabella has another guest attending, there is no reason why Mr. Haval cannot."

"There! See? Now enough arguing, we're going to be late," Arabella said, pulling Draz towards the door. Alek sighed and shook his head. "That girl is impossible," he muttered. Claire smiled and leaned in close to catch his gaze.

"It runs in the family you know," she teased causing Alek to smirk and give her arm a little tug.

"Come on, we better go before Arabella comes back and herds us out the door like cattle."

The carriage ride took them out of the city and into the lush, snow covered countryside that made up the outskirts of Avala. The night was clear and the a nearly full moon hung low and heavy on the horizon, bathing everything in sight in a soft, silver glow. While it was mostly sloping hills and farmlands, they passed through the occasional clustering of trees, tall ash trees whose white trucks and silver leaves seemed otherworldly as they swayed in a gentle breeze.

Arabella kept up a constant stream of chatter, from young men she hoped to dance with, to what the other ladies might be wearing. Draz sat beside her, his expression one of resignation, his fingers repeatedly rising to adjust and pull at the green silk cravat around his throat.

Claire wasn't really listening to the excited girl, she was lost in her own anxious thoughts. What if she did something improper? What if she made a fool of herself and embarrassed Alek? Claire could certainly live with being ostracized by the nobility of Oria, especially if it meant never having to put on a corset again, but this was Alek's life, his work, and she didn't want to put that at risk.

"Breathe, Claire," Alek's voice interrupted her thoughts and she felt his hand close over hers. "It's going to be fun. Just relax."

Right, fun.

Claire nodded and offered as much as a smile as she could manage.

"There it is!" Arabella exclaimed excitedly, drawing Claire's gaze towards the opposite window. Arabella was pointing, though she needn't have bothered. The palace, with lights blazing against the black night sky, set atop a high hill blanketed in white, was impossible to miss.

The carriage slowed as it joined a long procession of carriages ambling up the gentle slopes, each with the same destination in mind.

Claire felt a mixture of fear and excitement as the palace grew steadily closer and before she knew it they were passing beneath an arching gateway woven through with thick garlands made of pine and holly, laced through with red and gold ribbons and soft, twinkling lights that swayed back and forth and were, without a doubt, the result the magic.

The carriage came to a stop and Alek exited first, offering Claire a hand which she took and did not release even after her feet were planted firmly on the gravel drive. He gave her fingers a tight squeeze and then repositioned her hand across his forearm before approaching the wide stone stairs the other guests were climbing.

"Is it what you imagined?" Alek leaned in to ask, his voice soft.

"So much more," Claire replied, feeling her earlier anxiousness fading beneath giddy excitement. "It feels like a dream."

Alek smiled and turned his attention towards the procession as they neared the doors. They were stopped by a regal looking gentleman dressed all in red.

"Lord Aleksandr Drosselmeyer," he said before looking towards Claire. "And Miss Claire..."

Claire felt a brief moment of panic. Did she use her real last name or did she make something up? In the end, she blurted the first name that came to mind. "Bronte."

Alek regarded her curiously for a moment before turning his gaze back to the attendant. "Miss Claire Bronte."

The man nodded and motioned to another attendant standing nearby. The young man rushed over to take both Alek's coat and Claire's cape before disappearing with them to places unknown.

Claire let out the breath she had been holding and followed Alek as he lead her through the wide open doorways and down a long hallway filled with people. Some were making their way towards the far end where another set of doors stood open, others were milling about, greeting one another or chatting casually.

As they passed through the next set of doors they found themselves on a narrow landing which gave way to a marble staircase leading to another landing before splitting off one set of stairs curving elegantly to the right, the other to the left.

Plush crimson carpet muffled their steps as they began their descent. It was on the second landing that they paused, Alek giving their names once more to the man standing there.

"Grand Master Lord Aleksandr Drosselmeyer, advisor to the king, and companion Miss Claire Bronte," he announced in a booming voice that rose over the swell of music and din of conversation. There was a brief moment where everything seemed to go quiet, and as they descended the stairs to the ballroom below, Claire felt as though every pair of eyes in the room were fixated on them.

Then it all came rushing back, the music, the conversation, the soft clatter of silverware striking fine china, and Claire found she could breathe again.

"There," Alek said once they'd reached the bottom. "That wasn't so bad."

"I've certainly had worse experiences," Claire replied.

Alek chuckled. "Come this way," he said, guiding her towards a wide table that seemed to run the length of the room. It was covered in all manner of food and drink and, aside from the dance floor, was easily the most crowded place in the room. Alek requested two glasses and handed one to her. The contents were a pale gold and smelled sweet.

"What is it?"

"Plum wine," he said, "It's very sweet and potent so sip slowly."

Claire nodded and took a small sip. He had been right to warn her of the sweetness and Claire felt it prudent to heed his warning about the potency as well. She had never been much of a drinker and it didn't take much to make her tipsy.

"Drosselmeyer!"

They both turned to see a young man approaching, a broad smile stretched across his face. He reached out to clap Alek on the shoulder. "Glad to see you made it, we were beginning to wonder if you had run out on us in our time of need."

Alek offered an easy smile. "Just been a bit distracted."

"I can see why," he replied, his eyes shifting towards Claire. "Who is this lovely morsel and where have you been hiding her?"

"This is Claire, she's an old family friend, only just arrived in Avala a few days ago," Alek explained, "I've been showing her around, making sure she's all settled in. Claire, this is Emory Aldridge, we are on the King's council together."

Emory offered a sweeping bow and caught Claire's free hand in his. "At your service, Miss Claire," he said, placing a soft kiss on the back of her hand. "When you get tired of this old stick in the mud, let me know, I'll show you what fun Avala has to offer."

Claire blushed.

"Unfortunately, I must steal Alek away for a moment," Emory said. "Though I made light of it, your absence has been noticed and the king wishes a word."

Alek sighed. "I anticipated as much, better to get it over with now," he said, swallowing the rest of his wine and setting the glass down on the tray of a passing attendant. "Claire, will you be alright alone? Arabella and Draz are around if you need anything."

"I'll be fine," Claire replied with a smile. "Go and do what you need to do."

Alek nodded and looked as though he wanted to say more but decided against it. "Lets go, Emory, best not to keep his majesty waiting."

Left to her own devices, Claire took the opportunity to take in the sights. As her gaze panned the room, she caught sight of Arabella surrounded by a group of young women who all seemed to be fawning over her gown. She could almost imagine the conversation in her mind.

Oh, what a lovely gown, Arabella.

This old thing? It is so last season.

Oh, but you wear it so well. I'm eternally jealous of your beauty.

Me? Nonsense, you are by far the prettiest woman here.

We both know that's not true, but it's so sweet of you to say...

Claire smiled to herself, sipping absently at the wine until she found the glass empty and herself woefully deprived.

She was considering a refill when she suddenly found herself presented with a fresh glass hovering just at eye level. Canting her head she wondered if this was some sort of strange psychic magic that was capable of knowing when a drinker was in need of a refill.

"You looked thirsty," a voice said from behind her and she turned in surprise to see a man dressed almost entirely in black standing there, glass in hand. He was an older gentleman, older than Alek anyway though not by much. He was handsome with a sharp, angular jawline and dark eyes that bespoke of mysteries begging to be solved. He was the sort of man any adventure seeking woman would hope might look her way.

There was something about him, however, that made Claire feel uneasy even though she couldn't quite place what it was.

"Thank you," she said, taking the glass from him. He nodded and watched her for a moment before speaking again.

"I hope you'll forgive me for being so forward," he began, "but what is a beautiful woman such as yourself doing alone?"

Claire took a sip of the wine, turning her attention back towards the ballroom. While the setting had certainly changed, it seemed that men did not. Club or ballroom, there were some men always on the lookout for an easy target.

"What makes you think I'm alone?" She inquired.

"Because no man worth your time would even consider leaving your side longer than it takes to refill your drink," he explained, stepping up beside her.

"There are exceptions to every rule," Claire countered, glancing sideways at him.

"Indeed," the man replied, smirking. "It seems we share that sentiment in common. In that case, since you are, at present, alone, could I interest you in a dance?"

"Oh, well..." Claire began, looking out towards the dance floor. The couples were bowing as the song came to an end and one could already hear the beginning of the next melody as the orchestra prepared to play once more.

"I'm afraid the lady's dance card is full," another voice interjected and Claire looked over to see Draz strolling towards her. She was so relieved that she didn't even protest when he plucked the glass from her hand and set it down on a nearby table. "I believe this dance belongs to me."

Casting a withering glare in the man's direction, he grabbed Claire's hand and tugged her towards the dance floor.

"Draz, slow down," Claire said as she hurried to keep up.

"I swear I'm going to kill that idiot some day," Draz declared, "and what were you thinking talking to that guy huh?"

"He started talking to me first," Claire protested, "and it's none of your business anyway. I can do as I please."

"Well, so what," Draz huffed as he looped his arm around her waist and placed hers on his shoulder. "Couldn't you see he was bad news?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Claire said, feeling more amused than annoyed as she realized the real reason Draz was getting so worked up.

"And you were going to dance with him anyway?" Draz asked.

"No," Claire said, "I wasn't."

"Oh," Draz replied looking like a child whose kite was stuck in a tree and he was too small to get it down himself. "Well, it doesn't matter. You know what Alek said, you have to be careful."

"You're right," Claire said, "I'll do better in the future."

"Good," Draz said with a firm nod, "now, be quiet, I have to focus."

As the music swelled around them, Draz guided Claire into the dance, muttering each step under his breath as they went. Halfway through the song, after Draz had stepped on her toes twice and knocked into another couple, a shadow fell over them.

It was Alek.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Draz looked like he might say no, but Claire could tell he was grateful for an excuse to get off the dance floor. He nodded, offering Claire a short bow before retreating back to the refreshment table. The man from earlier was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm sorry," Alek said as he stepped in to fill the space Draz had left behind.

"For what?" Claire asked, a light shiver crawling up the length of her spine when she felt Alek's warm hand pressing into the small of her back.

"For having to endure Draz's terrible dancing," Alek replied with a grin.

"Be nice," Claire declared, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "He did his best."

Alek smirked but said nothing, simply pulled Claire a little closer as he guided her back into the dance. Where Draz had struggled, Alek excelled and as they swept across the ballroom, Claire lost herself in the music and the way their bodies moved in perfect unison with one another.

Despite not knowing the steps, Claire never faltered, trusting Alek to show her now to move, not with words, but with his hands -- trusting him to lead her.

As the music wound down, Alek brought their dance to an end with a slow twirl before pulling her close once more. Claire gazed up at him, lost in the clear, bright blue of his eyes. His lips parted slightly and Claire felt her heart skip a beat in her chest.

In that moment, no one else existed but the two of them and as Alek leaned in closer, Claire rose to tiptoe to meet him halfway.

Alek's arm suddenly tightened around her waist and then he withdrew, stepping back and offering a short bow.

"Alek?" Claire asked, her voice a breathy whisper. Had she done something wrong? Had she misread his intentions? Surely not, how could she have? She realized then that Alek's expression had grown cool and he seemed to be staring at something just beyond her shoulder.

Turning she saw a tall, broad shoulder man standing with his arms behind his back just beyond the edge of the dance floor. Beside him stood a slender woman, about Claire's height with bright red hair that reminded her of a certain, flirtatious young woman.

"Aleksandr," the man said stiffly.

"Father," Alek replied, his voice equally as devoid of emotion.