Stranded between hostile nobles and royals at my back and a king and queen seated on their throne before me... I wish I had my cloak to hide behind. I feel stripped bare before their eyes that see through skin and marrow, arrowing straight to the heart.

I find myself caressing a knife beneath my sleeve and I draw my hand away as if stung. I doubt I’m supposed to have hidden weapons on my person, much less be fingering one this close to the king. It’s surprising I haven’t been pin cushioned with arrows from the archers hidden in the balconies. So far I’ve counted eight, but I have a feeling that is merely a drop in the ocean of the actual amount here. And the king's own protector is around here somewhere, but who he is and what he looks like has been lost to time. Which, now that I think about it, is quite odd.

The king looks down at me, the crown once again perched precariously on his head. Were Rose with me, I’d be tempted to make his crown fall. It would ease the way my skin burns with the eyes glaring at my flesh, sizing me up and making judgements.

It’s a good thing Rose is back with Natasha. The one time I used Rose for selfish means… the Spark turned me purple. Not joking. Purple. Good thing it only lasted a few minutes.

The king crooks his finger and I gulp. What am I supposed to do? It’s not like I’ve been trained on how to speak to a monarch. Jenny taught me a little… but I barely listened. I was more interested in getting my family back and then protecting said family and helping them heal.

And what should I call him? Sir? Your highness? Your majesty?

Go down to a knee, Ran says, exasperation leaking through her voice. Then hold his stare like a wolf to assert dominance.

A knee? Sure, I can do that. The other? Having a stare down with the king doesn’t seem like it would be proper etiquette.

When I get to the dais, I drop to a knee, almost falling on my face when my legs falter.

“Rise, Sir Rinaldo, First of Sword and Conqueror of Giants.”

I slowly lift my eyes, then get to my feet. He watches me with an expressionless face, his eyes piercing and reminding me of someone I’ve seen before, but it just doesn’t quite register who. Especially when the queen clears her throat and my eyes dart to the woman who has been credited to keeping our country together in more ways than one.

Her eyes are just as I remember when I saw her and the crown prince in the market, somewhat aloof while the softening around her eyes and the smile at her lips make her seem approachable. Almost kind.

It makes me gulp to imagine what must lie beneath such a mask. For I've no doubt it's a mask. It seems no one here is without a mask to cover what they truly feel and the emotions bubbling beneath the surface, which is what makes me so... lacking? Maybe. Naked, for sure.

“What say you about winning the first two trials?” the king asks, drawing my eyes back to the portly man.

I swallow, but my tongue is a useless flap of flesh in my mouth and my lips seem unable to form words.

“Do give the lad a chance to gather himself. Can you not see he is dragon-struck?” the queen says, her tone soft but her eyes sharp as my knives.

“I-I am honored, y-your highnesses,” I squeak out, my voice too high-pitched. The nobles gasp and the tittering returns. I keep my focus on the king, unsure of what I did wrong.

The king leans back, steepling his fingers. I imagine he thinks it makes him look prestigious. Instead, it makes him look like a portly frog with half-lidded eyes trying too hard to look like a king.

“Thank you for your service, Sir Rinaldo. Please enjoy the rest of your evening,” he says, still watching me with a gaze that more befits a hawk than the man I thought the king was.

I bow deeply. “Thank you, your highness.”

I turn and stumble back down the stairs, feeling my stomach roll and afraid my face is green.

Gasps come from around me, and I can’t for the life of me figure out what I did wrong. Again. Then I catch words passed around loud enough to reach my ears... perhaps on purpose.

“Turning his back on the king and calling him highness! Disgraceful.”

“It is why a peasant should not be allowed in the trials, I say. They know not enough to survive with us.”

I duck my head and rush out the first door I come to, almost knocking over a lady. She squeals and I grab her forearm so she doesn’t fall, bringing her and her large red dress back upright.

“Forgive me, my lady—”

“Sir Ri! I was hoping to see you here this night,” she interrupts.

My heart sinks at her voice. I glance up to find Sir Hans’ daughter looking at me through a wide grin. Her name runs from my brain and I can’t catch it. I give a weak smile. “It’s good to see a friendly face, my lady.”

“No, if we are to be friends, you must call me by my name. I insist!” Her smile is genuine and bright, her fan fluttering to fan her red-splotched cheeks.

My mind runs. It picks up its petticoats and dashes for the hills. Am I to insult Sir Hans’ daughter tonight, too?

“Sir Ri!” I breathe a sigh, then choke on my spit. Saved by the prince... is this to be a worse fate than forgetting a name and disgracing the monarchs?

The lady in front of me bats her eyes at the prince. “Your highness,” she says with a low curtsy that splays her bright red dress on the floor like a pool of blood. Her plump cheeks grow redder, trailing to her ears.

“Lady Hans. It’s a pleasure to see you. I trust your family is well?”

“Quite, your highness. Father is more than excited and Mother and the baby are well by the midwife’s estimates. We are honored by your concern.”

“My congratulations. You’ll forgive me if I must steal Sir Ri, won’t you?”

“But of course! Please tell your parents I wish them well.”

“I indeed will. Fare thee well, my lady,” he kisses her hand and she giggles.

He pulls me around the corner and into some shadows.

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I lean against the wall, feeling as if my entire world is shaking. Oh, wait,. That's the music shaking the walls as the dancing begins.

“Not what you were expecting?” the prince asks, crossing his arms and grinning, sloughing off the kind and gracious prince to give me a glimpse of the cunning person beneath as his eyes trace the contours of my face as if committing it to memory.

“More like I’m caught in a tangled web and don’t know who’s gonna suck my blood first. Nor who will suck me dry.”

His grin broadens. “You are closer than you might think. Forgive my father. He has a flair for the draconic.”

“And you don’t?” I shoot back.

He shrugs. “Sometimes. It makes the backstabbing world easier to handle. At other times, the show is a game to show where the head and heart lay.”

I rub my sore head where a blasted headache is trying to take its hold. “Great. Just great. I’m playing a game I know none of the rules to.”

“You will learn. And I could teach you,” he offers languidly. Is that hopefulness I detect in his voice? But he feigns disinterest as he crosses his arms and leans against the wall.

I snort. “And why do I think that wouldn’t work in my favor but in yours?”

I try not to ogle his knives when he moves. His arms are quite well-defined with ripples of strength and smooth lines that show through the simple blue shirt with gold thread and a cape with the royal seal. I count five knives beneath that cape, and I would bet my favorite knife many more are hidden on his person. I’m tempted to steal a knife and see if my suspicions may be founded on some sort of truth. If he and Silver—

And that brings a pain to my heart I shove deep, cutting the thought off at the source.

His grin grows sharp edges and he raises a brow, highlighting the fine lines of his face and his arching, perfect brows that a part of me wishes to touch to see if such perfection could actually be real. His eyes… I could fall into them for years. They swirl with a near unlimited amount of emotions, the blue flecked with silver that gleams in the low waterlights. The intelligence dancing within is near impossible to match, but the wicked gleam is tempered with humor and something resembling compassion that’s nearly hidden by the mask he wears.

“A quick study, I see. Forgive my forwardness, but I believe you already play the game of powers of men.”

His blue eyes drill into my own and a shiver runs down my spine. What does he know? Does he know it all? Is that a threat or a warning or just a compliment? Is he my Silver?

I look away, cradling a knife’s handle, and hating this world of frillery and flattery and games more with every moment I spend in it.

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The prince extracted himself and found someone else to bother, but I find his eyes on me often. Like now, as I glance up, he watches me with something akin to puzzlement and hints of other things beneath a mask I cannot read. He turns his eyes away and I can breathe again.

A woman approaches me in the little alcove where I nurse a single glass of wine. She has silken blonde hair and a cute button nose with full lips and wide blue eyes that make her appear innocent and sweet. Her skin is the paleness of snow that’s been peed on.

I hate her immediately and try to curb it by saying she might be different than all the rest. That she probably is. I’m just crabby tonight and don’t need to take it out on the one nice person to approach me besides the prince and Hans’ daughter.

She gives me a wide smile and a tiny nod. A tiara sparkles in the candlelight, the blue sapphires cradled in the twining, branch-like gold matching her regal blue dress that sparkles with gold twirls along the bodice, hem, and train.

“Sir Ri, are you enjoying your first ball?” she asks, and despite her somewhat aloof smile, her eyes are sharp.

Is there a test somewhere in that question? “I am, my lady. Forgive me, I know not your name,” I say, bowing over her hand and kissing the white glove on her dainty fingers.

She giggles. “I am Princess Bridget of Fairfield, sir.”

“Forgive me, your highness, I didn’t know.”

“Now you do, kind sir.” She glances out at the dance floor where the song is coming to a close.

“Do you miss your home, your highness?” I ask before the silence grows too awkward. It seems I attract the attention of kings and queens plus princes and princesses.

Grand.

She looks back at me, fluttering her lashes in a way I suppose she thinks makes her look flashy or endearing. Really it just makes her look like she has something in her eye or is fighting tears.

“I do, sir. The fields of cotton are most beautiful this time of year.”

“Is the cotton even planted yet? Do they wait until first frost is past?” I know the words are wrong the moment they pass my lips. Mom always said I should think before running my mouth. She’s right.

Princess Bridget glances at me and tuts, patting my shoulder gently and leaving behind a crawling sensation that makes me wish to rub my arm or bathe in peppermint oil. “You poor, dear boy,” she says like I am a dunce she pities. She speaks slowly and enunciates clearly, her voice a soothing cadence with a lilt at the end that sounds exotic. “To the south, the frost is long past and the fields are already ripe for harvest. It is why Fairfield has a treaty with your people.”

My cheeks grow red as she gently explains. I bow my head, feeling ignorant. But I thought even the southlands have spring frosts well into the third month? But she lives there. Surely she knows more than the books I’ve read.

“There is no need for you to be embarrassed, sir. Perhaps we can speak more later of the differences in our kingdoms?” She glances to the front of the room, seeing something that makes her smile.

As the song ends, I bow my head. “I would be honored, your highness,” I say, keeping my voice low so as not to be too high-pitched or give away the anger and shame swirling through me. I really don’t belong here.

“Excuse me, sir. I wish you a fine evening,” she says.

I mumble something in return, watching with narrowed eyes as she glides to Prince Arin, and he smiles at her, his face lighting when he sees her, and something inside me clenches.

He holds out his hand for her to dance, and they take the dance floor by storm, the other couples easing away from the graceful couple who look as if they fit like butter and honey. A blonde-haired, innocent beauty beside the tall, tan, and broad warrior with a roguish grin and dark hair framing bright blue eyes.

This is the stuff of fairy-tales. And I feel like the wicked witch.

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I clip clop back into Hans’ yard, dismounting and leaning my head against the horse. My head is pounding like something out of legend. The moon is descending into the edge of the world and coldness seeps past the tunic and cloak I wear to chill me to the bone. It seems an early fall is on its way.

I survived my first ball. I told Mom not to wait up on me, and hopefully she listened, but I genuinely suspect she stayed up to welcome me home. But I don’t feel up to the interrogation incoming… especially if Jenny also waited up.

Please, oh, please, just one night of rest without a fight? Is that too much to ask?

My Gift flares, and I groan as my legs become jelly beneath me and I lean against my horse’s shoulder. She nudges me with her nose, and I feel her trying to decide if she should step away from the crazy human or comfort her. I sink to the ground, trying to fight the emotions, but they burst through the walls I put up in my mind and I’m left a puddle of goo on the ground.

Is one night without my Gift striking too much to ask?

I feel something dark at the corner of my Gift. A slimy thread that doesn’t belong with the golden ones threading all around and through me. I try to grab it and snap it, but it slinks away from me before I can, and then my Gift retreats, leaving me bereft without a single ounce of bone left in my body.

But if that was what I think it was… and it was close… adrenaline flushes through my veins and I stumble to my feet, fear giving my aching body a moment’s reprieve from the exhaustion flowing through it.

“Hans!” I yell, my voice cracking.

A guard stops me, and I recognize him as someone I’ve seen in passing more times than I’d like to admit. He was there a long time ago when I first met Hans and brought down a criminal in the streets… someone who was trying to kidnap a little girl, which all ended up begin a plot to replace her with a doppelganger and infiltrate the castle one person at a time.

I shake the memories from my mind and focus on the red-headed man before me who has his hand on his sword. He watches me with both concern and respect in his gaze. “What’s wrong, Master Ri?”

“Bamshee are coming,” I reply, my voice hard and sure.

To his credit, he doesn’t pause, merely runs to the guardhouse just around the corner.

Hans barrels from the door, sword in hand and wearing only night pants. “What is it?” he asks upon seeing my face.

“Bamshee are coming.” I squeeze my hands and realize I already have two daggers there. It seems they pop into my hands quite by habit now whenever danger approaches.

Rider… I’m coming! Ran says, and I feel her frantic pace and her muscles bunch to leap from rooftop to rooftop through the Bond.

Hans’ face grows extra stoney. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. The one I felt approached from the south… but I felt something else.” My voice grows quiet as I try to remember what I felt. “I think they’re being led here.”

Hans’ mouth presses into a thin line… and then all Fifth breaks loose.