The grand chamberlain announced thename of every guest as they entered the hall, and his voice boomed proudly over the din of the revelers who had already made their way into the ballroom. I hadn’t been announced myself yet—as an esteemed member of the king’s circle, I would follow with other nobles and council members—but I wandered about the hall anyway, admiring its transformation.
Long tapestries depicting a triumphant Marnaigne bull hung between black marble pillars, and there were heavy bowers of gilt flowers swagged everywhere the eye could see. Hundreds of golden candelabras held thousands of lit tapers, each made of onyx-colored wax. The air shimmered with their heat, giving a hazy, dreamy atmosphere to the night, filling it with the promise of provocative things to come.
Though the hall was just half full, there was a palpable buzz building as couples strolled through the crowds, searching for friends to see and be seen with. Women in enormous gowns of taffeta and satin brocade preened and made last-minute adjustments to theircompanions’ masks. Heads tossed elaborate feathered fascinators this way and that, and the candles caught the sparkle of so many jewels, both real and paste, that I felt as if I’d stared directly into the sun.
You’d never guess that only hours ago, these well-dressed partygoers had cheered, watching as a family was publicly executed.
“It all looks so lovely!” cried a small voice, and I looked down to see Princess Euphemia standing beside me. She wore a dress of deep charcoal with an old-fashioned black tulle ruff, full of extravagant pleats and embellished with onyx paillettes along its edges. Her mask was little more than a piece of black lace covering her entire face, its ends artfully pinned to her shining curls.
“Phemie! What are you doing here? I thought everyone was to enter later on, with your father.”
“You’re not supposed to know who I am!” she protested, pointing to the mask. She sighed. “Papa said I’m too little to stay for the whole party, but he let me come look at everything before it’s too crowded.” Beneath the lace, I could see a pout beginning to form. “I always miss the fun!”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, and knelt down so we were eye to eye. “I think you’re the lucky one tonight. Balls and parties are never as fun as you imagine they’ll be. Feel how warm it is in here already?”
She nodded suspiciously.
“Now imagine how it will be later tonight when there’re hundreds more people, dancing and sweating and stinking the whole room up! And look at all that champagne,” I went on, pointing to one of the banquet tables, where a stacked arrangement of crystal coupes towered. “All the grown-ups will have too many of those and laugh too loudly and step on everyone’s toes. Oh, how my poor feet will ache tomorrow!”
Despite her best efforts to keep her frown, Euphemia giggled.
“And you, you get to go upstairs and put on a comfortable nightgown and eat macarons while Margaux tells you bedtime stories. That sounds like a perfect night to me.”
“But I’ll miss all the dancing,” she murmured sadly, her eyes fixed on the handful of couples already waltzing about the room as the orchestra played softly underneath the grand chamberlain’s announcements. “Papa said I could dance once with him but then I have to go to bed.”
I mulled this over, looking as thoughtful as I could beneath my own mask. “Oh, that’s really too bad…. You see, I’m actually in need of a dance partner myself.” I fumbled for the little booklet hanging from my wrist on a black ribbon and opened it, revealing the rows of empty lines. “See? My second dance is wide open.”
“I could dance with you!” Euphemia suggested, brightening. “If Papa says yes!” Without waiting, she took the dangling pencil stub in her hand and scrawled her name across the second line. She opened up her own dance card and proceeded to fill in my name, beaming.
“Papa is sure to say yes,” a voice said behind us. “Especially when I explain that I’ve already claimed you for the third.” Leopold stepped out of the crowd and bent to write his initials with a theatrical flourish.
“Thank you, Leopold!” she exclaimed, leaping up to hug him.
“Leopold?” he asked, playfully aghast. “I’m not Leopold. I’m a handsome lothario, come from afar with the intention of dancing with every pretty girl I see. Can’t you tell by my mask?”
He’d certainly done his best to look the part. Leopold was delightfully undressed, wearing only a fitted striped vest over his shirt, allowing the fine lawn of its sleeves to billow like a romantic notionof a bygone era. His mask was black velvet, shot through with golden threads, like lightning during a summer storm.
My face warmed just looking at him. Only hours before, I’d been kissing this rakish devil—He kissed me!my mind sang out—as we tussled in the tangle of my bedsheets. I wanted to laugh at the unexpectedness of it all. I wanted to shout my befuddlement to the heavens. I wanted to kiss him again, right then and there, consequences be damned.
Euphemia giggled, bringing me back to the moment, and Leopold glanced my way, eyes sparkling beneath his domino. With a hum of appreciation, his eyes roved over me, taking in the crown and the cut of my dress before spotting the dance card swinging from my right arm.
“And you, pretty miss? Might you be in need of a dance partner?”
He took my hand, bringing my fingers to his lips before flipping through the booklet. My breath caught as his thumb traced an absentminded circle on the soft skin of my inner wrist. Could he feel how my heart raced as I imagined where his hands might roam while we were on the dance floor?
“Oh dear,” he murmured, keeping his voice playful for Euphemia. “Your card is nearly empty. This won’t do at all.” He took up the little golden pencil and proceeded to fill in every line with his initials. “Much better,” he announced once he was done.
“Are you certain I want to spend so much of my evening dancing with you?” I teased. “Some might say your zeal borders on presumption.”
“Are there other ways we might spend the evening instead?” he asked with a wicked smile.
“Oh, but you have to dance!” Euphemia said seriously, blessedly oblivious to her older brother’s inference. “Leopold is the bestdancer! He won’t step on your feet no matter how much champagne he has. Dance with Leopold and then you’ll have fun tonight too. Even without the macarons and bedtime stories.”
“Bedtime stories?” he echoed, raising his eyebrows as his grin widened.
“Do you really think so, Euphemia?” I asked, ignoring both Leopold and the nervous flutters he inspired.
The little princess stamped her foot with theatrical discontent. “You’re not supposed to know who I am!”
