Greg watched as the palace servants set up the tables both for sitting at and the buffet on the terrace. A couple of canopies had already been hung above. He nervously tugged at his sleeves, praying to whichever god would listen that he had thought of everything. David was already on his way to pick up Pierre and pack, it was too late to back out now.

His whole family would be there, both sides—well, everyone except for Nathan, who was still stuck someplace outside of Deeshire. Bram, Andrew, and David would be there as “security” to put Duke George Louis’s mind at ease, supported by Lane, Ronon and Lafayette. Imani had been going over the outfits she had picked out for his daughters when Greg had left the house. Their brothers had turned wolf at noon, as soon as the half moon rose, they’d come with Morgulon, too. And then there’d be Pierre’s pack, and if the rumour mill was anything to go by, every noble in residence at the palace, Deva, or within three days of travel.

“The event of the month, possibly the season,” Duke George Louis voiced what Greg had been worrying about. He kept just out of arm’s reach and emanated the cold of a lot of silver. “Feeling prepared?”

“I think so,” Greg lied. “Duke Desmarais kindly helped with wrangling the kitchens, so we’ll have good food at the very least. The rest should fall into place.”

George Louis managed not to glare at him, but Greg thought it was a close thing. “How very kind of him. I hope your brother knows my door is always open?”

Greg folded his hands behind his back and had the slim satisfaction of seeing the duke twitch at the movement. “I’m sure David is aware. He wasn’t involved in planning this event, though, and I didn’t feel the same offer extended to me.”

This time, the duke was ready, smiling at him with just the right mix of bafflement, disbelief, and insult. “I have no idea how you would come to that conclusion. I hope it wasn’t something I did or said.”

The night you made me sit in a stinking cell was a bit of a hint, were the words Greg was really tempted to say. The silver you carry is another.

What had the man done? Padded his vest with coins? Silver coated chainmail? How much did that cost? Either way, it must have been done by an expert tailor, it didn’t detract from the fit of his clothes at all.

The silence stretched between them and that servant had been polishing the same table ever since the duke had stepped outside. And George Louis was clearly waiting for a reaction.

“I feel it’s generally safer for me not to assume hospitality from higher born nobles or go where I haven’t been invited,” Greg finally said. “I wouldn’t want to upset someone.”

He hated himself a little for that, for wasting his breath on giving the duke yet another way out of a sticky place where he had firmly put his own backside. But he still needed to deal with the man, somehow, fear and silver and everything else.

Could he get burned by the cold across the distance? It certainly felt like he might.

Still, he didn’t move.

Your turn, George Louis. What’s it going to be? Extend me an invitation? Pretend I didn’t say anything? Give me some excuse?

“I suppose that’s a rather wise move given that we still haven’t caught the people attempting to kill our werewolves,” George Louis said.

Greg was tempted to call him a coward for that nothing-answer. “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said instead, as artificially genuine as he could manage. “I’m glad you approve.”

Which had the beauty of not being an insult while meaning almost the same thing to the experienced spy.

“Well, I’m going to leave you to your preparations,” George Louis said. “I’m looking forward to seeing the results.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Greg repeated, and as the duke turned away, he couldn’t stop himself from adding: “If I may be so bold, nobody will be expected to pay for their food. You won’t need to bring so much silver.”

“Thank you. Though I don’t suppose I will have to worry about pickpockets, either, will I?”

“No, Your Highness, you won’t,” Greg admitted, hoping that his grimace would pass for a smile.

Look at us, the werewolf and the duke sharing a joke.

He stared after George Louis as he walked away before turning back to the working servants. They had finished putting the table linens on, and were now placing the flowers that would go in the centre of the buffet. He hoped that Pierre would appreciate it. Annabelle probably would.

Desmarais had helped with that, too. Their budget hadn’t improved yet. It was annoying, but Greg didn’t think it would be worth raising the issue until they had drummed up some more support.

Which of course was why he was standing out here, watching the servants. In an hour he’d get into his brand new best suit and attempt to gladhand Loegrion’s remaining nobility while also trying to reassure Pierre and his pack and giving Annabelle her promised moment with her son. With George Louis and his damned silver lined suit standing next to him.

He was almost done getting changed when he heard someone knock on the door to the main office. A moment later, Grooch poked his head in: “A message from Duke Stuard.”

It was a sealed envelope. Addressed to “the werewolf.” Inside, there was only a slip of paper.

After seeing the preparations, it is my belief that tonight’s entertainment will be enough to satisfy my son’s curiosity. I do not wish to add any further risk to the event. Please inform the werewolf upon its arrival.

The short missive crumpled in Greg’s grip as he swallowed about a hundred curses. That damned coward! That was the whole point, to give Annabelle a chance to meet her son! Uninterrupted, not in the middle of a crowd of people!

Greg was quite positive that it would not satisfy George to talk to just any werewolf. Not after being promised—

He stared down at the few lines of text. Would young George even want to attend under these circumstances? Or was the duke planning on him just forgetting about his promise? Worse, was he counting on the prince’s good manners to stop him from throwing a tantrum in front of the guests? He didn’t expect Greg to frame himself as the “bad guy” who didn’t plan out the event?

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Or maybe the duke really did expect that of him.

Arsehole.

And no way. If George Louis wanted to cancel on his son, he could damn well do so himself. All the preparations were done. If the prince did show up to the party…

George Louis would kill him, wouldn’t he, if he snuck young George and Annabelle out, all on their own?

This was ridiculous, though. What was he supposed to tell Annabelle? The other werewolves? This was jeopardising all the work David had done in the past few months. All because the damn coward had cold feet at the last moment.

It really was the last moment. There wasn’t even time to talk about this. He needed to get going.

“Trouble?” Mr. Grooch asked as Greg walked into the main office.

“You could say so.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Greg chuckled darkly, offering the short note. “Duke Stuard is trying to go back on his word. Unless you can make him see sense… I might need someone to bail me out tomorrow.”

Grooch took the paper, his frown deepening as he read. “I shall prepare a missive to Duke Desmarais regarding the situation, just in case,” he promised. “I take it you are not going to follow this order?”

“I might not,” Greg said.

If the prince didn’t show up at all, he would have to. But otherwise? No. No, he wasn’t going to follow this order.

He left Grooch behind and hurried down the stairs, taking his position on the terrace, heart and thoughts racing. The guests were arriving, and he made an effort to unclench his fists.

Smile.

The prince beamed at him, walking at his father’s hand. No sign that he knew that George Louis was trying to back out of his word.

The sight made the fury in Greg’s veins boil over. Screw the duke and his stupid fears. He could still do this. He just needed to get the timing right. And hope that George Louis didn’t have him arrested.

He really wished he had a god to pray to.

He did get to watch Thoko saunter down the steps of the terrace in a flowing new dress just as the sun was setting over the park, and there was divinity right there, in the way she carried herself, head held high, a smile on her face as she met his eyes. The white fabric danced around her wrists, flattering her dark skin.

The sight distracted him so much, he missed Morgulon’s arrival until Thoko joined her. Lane and Imani hadn’t bothered taking her through the palace. Instead, they slunk out from between the hedges and flowerbeds of the park.

Greg did not miss Pierre’s arrival a moment later. The elder’s presence nearly knocked him off his feet. Then Morgulon barked, and he stumbled again as Pierre’s influence abruptly cut off. The downside was that they were now surrounded by a lot of half-panicked nobles.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please. Countenance.”

David’s call cut through the gaggle of voices. He sounded wearied, even bored, and Greg wasn’t sure if that was natural or deliberate, or if David had aimed for something else entirely and missed. In any case, it worked quite well: people calmed down quickly. Nobody wanted to be seen as a sissy, not while the expert on the matter was so clearly unimpressed.

“Thank you. Since I have your attention, I believe some introductions are in order.”

David turned to Desmarais, sweeping a bow. “Duke Desmarais, Your Highness, first of all, allow me to thank you for permitting us to stage this little party here tonight, and for your continuing support in the fight against the Rot. Your presence at this humble soiree is an honour.”

Greg thought he almost stumbled over the word “humble.”

Duke Desmarais waved at the congregation with a grandfatherly smile. “It was the least I could do, Lord Feleke.”

David inclined his head, then turned to the other duke. Greg thought his brother was trying to suppress an eye roll or maybe an embarrassed smile as he did, but he could see how someone might get the impression that David wanted to strangle him. His bow was much stiffer than before.

“Your Highness,” he said. “Prince George. I welcome you both in the name of my family and the werewolves gathered here.”

Without waiting for a reaction, he turned and stepped over to where Morgulon stood between Lane and Imani, the children in a padded basket at her feet.

“Your Highnesses, esteemed peers, ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you the Morgulon, whose efforts we owe our victory at Oldstone Castle to. Her children—the first werewolves born in Loegrion in a generation—took their first breaths during that very battle. Morgulon herself was born a werewolf and will not turn human tonight. Please, don’t let that stop you from asking questions. Other werewolves can translate.”

Morgulon didn’t look exactly eager, Greg thought. She largely ignored the crowd staring at her, so David turned back towards the terrace.

“May I further introduce Pierre deChamps, former priest of Mithras,” he continued. “Pierre, thank you for agreeing to join us tonight.”

Pierre did take a little bow, his hands folded like a priest’s at the altar. “We thank you for the invitation,” the elder said.

David proceeded to introduce the other werewolves who had come from Windish, before adding: “Together with the navvies stationed there, they recently fought two Rot-queens at the Savre Railway Camp.

Finally, I would like to introduce my brother, the Honourable Gregory Feleke, who not only travelled to the Argentum Formation twice to drum up support in the fight against the Roi Solei, but also kindly volunteered to organise this little get-together.”

Greg felt the heat creep up in his face when there was a smattering of polite applause. He bowed as well while some of the others waved. He should have been more prepared for this. He had written the bloody introductions, after all. David had rolled his eyes at him and complained about his lack of trust, and he could have been a little more energetic in rattling off the text. On the other hand, given what Desmarais had said about his court appearances, people probably expected the stiffness.

David turned around, arms spread. “Your Highnesses, Ladies and Gentlemen, be welcome. I hope you will all enjoy this opportunity to speak to our newest allies. I am here tonight to personally guarantee that there is no danger coming from our werewolves guests, nothing to fear. I do hope you will be able to quench your curiosity and that all your questions will be answered to your full satisfaction.”

He bowed one final time, and then there was applause. Greg shuddered and couldn’t tell if that was caused by his own emotions or someone else’s.

“I notice he didn’t say that he’ll guarantee our security,” Pierre grumbled.

Greg ducked his head, embarrassed. “Should I have put that in there?”

“You wrote that speech?”

“Mostly. I didn’t plan for Morgulon’s barking, so he sort of improvised the beginning. He forgot a line addressing Duke Stuard, too. Or maybe he left it out on purpose.”

Greg sighed inwardly and straightened up as Andrew approached them. The Marques of Southshire followed him, accompanied by his daughter. Time to dance. After all, that was why they were all here.

“Lord de Burg. Milady. I hope you are enjoying yourself.”

He was glad to see that Pierre followed his example and bowed.

“It’s a most remarkable gathering,” de Burg said. “I am given to understand that these many werewolves in one place are highly unusual.”

“Uncommon, yes. But less unusual than most people think,” Greg replied.

He let Pierre talk about his pack, and how there used to be ten of them before Greg had disrupted their group. How his wasn’t even the largest pack out there.

More nobles wandered closer, people whom Greg recognized and people he didn’t know. Sticking to the werewolves who had a hunter with them, a minder. Ironically, that meant that Morgulon and Lane were right in the thick of it.

Greg left Pierre with Andrew and swung by the buffet before checking in on them. Rémy was happily playing translator. Imani and Thoko each held one of his daughters. Greg ran a hand over their foreheads, more to reassure himself that all was well than them, and went to find Annabelle.

She was watching her parents. In her wolf shape, but close enough to listen in on them. They were both tightlipped and didn’t look in Annabelle’s direction. It felt deliberate to Greg, the way they ignored the huge she-wolf standing just a few yards away.

Greg took a deep breath, pushing down his doubts.

“Give me an hour?” he said softly. “Maybe a little longer to make nice? Then I’ll see if I can pry the prince away from his admirers.”

Annabelle nodded, eyes fixed on her mother.