"You're new," he observes, his eyes studying me through my mask. "You do our queen well. Very authentic."
"Thank you, my lord."
He laughs. "That's a little too polite! Though I suppose that fits her, doesn't it?"
Kharlis leans closer, his breath sweet with wine. "Between you and me, she won't last a month once the real fighting starts."
I bite my tongue and move on, the tray trembling slightly in my grip.
Helena appears at my elbow so suddenly I nearly spill the wine. She takes the tray from my hands and passes it to another server without looking away from me.
"I know what you are," she says softly.
My pulse slams.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, keeping my voice light. "I'm Fawn. The new worker—"
Her fingers close around my wrist firmly.
"You're a Maiden of Arawynn," she murmurs. "And you're here for information."
The air leaves my lungs.
Around us, laughter rises, glasses clink, music swells. No one is watching.
"I—" My throat tightens. "You're mistaken."
Helena's grip shifts, her thumb brushing the inside of my wrist as if checking for a pulse.
Then she leans closer.
"It's fine," she whispers. "I fucking hate King Eirik."
The words are bone-deep.
"He accused my brother of treason. Had him executed last fall before sunrise." Something in her voice cracks and hardens in the same breath. "Jaime didn't deserve it."
I study her.
"So find whatever you're looking for," she says. "Make them pay."
I'm so dead if this is a trap and Helena serves the Hunt.
If Blaire were here she could reach past performance and find the truth of it in an instant. I don't have her mind-reading ability. All I have is the catch in Helena's voice when she said her brother's name, and the fury in her eyes.
The music swells again. A server rushes past.
"The invitations to the eclipse gathering," I say before I can reconsider. "I need one. Please help me."
Helena doesn't hesitate.
She reaches into the concealed pocket of her skirt and withdraws a folded card sealed in silver wax. The emblem of the Court of Nightmare glints faintly in the candlelight. She presses it into my palm, closing my fingers around it.
"Use it well," she murmurs.
Before I can answer, a voice calls sharply from the corridor.
"Helena! Room forty-three. The elven patron's giving the girls trouble again."
