Prince George stood with his father and David in a ring of the many nobles who were either too fearful to approach a werewolf directly, or preferred to use the opportunity to jockey for the future king’s attention. Or possibly the favour of his right hand man. David had that strained look on his face again and he kept glancing over in Lane’s direction.

Or maybe the latter was just because of the young woman who was hanging onto his arm, leaning in to accentuate her ample decollete.

David’s eyes were firmly fixed on her face.

“Berenice!” Greg interrupted her cheerfully. “Or should I say Lady Pettau? It’s so good to see you again, it’s been such a long time. I do hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

She turned around to him, surprise and shock and fear flashing across her face so fast he only spotted it because he had expected it. A heartbeat later, she batted her eyelashes at him. “Gregory! I feel marvellous, thank you so much! I’m glad to see you’re alright! This is all so exciting!”

“Care to join me?” Greg said, offering her his arm with a flourish.

Berenice glanced up at David. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” she claimed. “I’m sure everyone wants to meet you tonight!”

“Not at all.” Greg pretended to hesitate: “Perhaps you could re-introduce me? It’s slightly embarrassing, but many of the young lords seem afraid to speak to me without a chaperone. You don’t seem scared at all.”

He did not look in the duke’s direction as he said that, even though he really wanted to. Just as he worried that Berenice would disappoint him, she chuckled and accepted his proffered arm.

“Lead the way.”

Not quite where he had planned to start, but the fleeting look of utter relief on David’s face was worth it.

“I hope your family is well?”

“Thank you for asking, yes, they’re quite well,” Berenice said. “My brother is at the siege, leading a regiment, it’s very scary, but we get regular telegrams, so that helps a lot. I don’t even want to think about how horrible it would be if we’d have to wait a week for every letter.”

Greg nodded sympathetically, when she blurted out:

“Say, are you really a werewolf?”

She blushed when Greg raised his eyebrows at her, nestling with her fan. “I’m not doubting your brother’s word, I’m not,” she hurried to add. “It’s just so hard to imagine, seeing you here, looking like, you know, you.”

“I really am,” he said. “If you had some silver on you, I could show you.”

He paused, looking her up and down. “But you don’t. Huh. I think that makes you the only person here who isn’t wearing at least a sun-amulett at their neck.”

Berenice touched her throat, framed by artfully styled brown curls. She did wear a delicate gold chain with a single ruby pendant. Not magical, as far as Greg could tell.

“It seemed rude,” she said. “To bring silver here, of all places. And it’s not like there’s any danger, is it?”

“I thank you for your forbearance,” Greg said. “No, there is no danger. Nobody else seems to trust in my brother’s word quite as much, unfortunately.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s like a flame,” Greg explained. “A sort of radiance, only a cold one. As if everyone carried buckets of ice around. Only, I’ve never touched ice as cold as silver.”

He pulled his sleeve up an inch to show her the goosebumps on his arm.

“I’m very sorry. Now I’m doubly glad I didn’t bring any.”

“We were all aware that this would be happening,” Greg said, pulling the sleeve down again. “Would you like to meet my fiancée?”

“Your—oh, who is she? Is she a werewolf, too?”

Greg winked at Thoko as he led Berenice over, straight into the arms of Lane and his mother. Perhaps that would stop her in the future from leaning quite as heavily onto David. And if she suspected he had put her into that situation on purpose, well, she had been excited to meet Thoko.

He glanced at Thoko, to see if she wanted to walk with him, but she seemed quite happy to stay with Morgulon and the babies. So Greg moved over to the buffet on his own.

“I’m sure the Lady Pettau was just dying to meet your brother’s fianceé,” Gustave commented, materialising next to Greg at the canapes.

“It looked like she was interested, didn’t it?” Greg agreed. “How’s your mother?”

“Shocked,” Gustave shrugged. “Also, livid.”

“At whom?”

“At me. For not telling her about you earlier. Also, for going out with you even though I knew. Oh—”

Greg spun around when he felt a wave of silver bearing down on him.

“Hello, mother,” Gustave sighed.

“Lady deBire,” Greg said with a bow, before she could say anything, giving her his best smile. “I’m glad to see you are doing well. Is there anything I can do for you? Perhaps someone I could introduce you to?”

It slowed her down, like it so often did. Smile brightly and speak in a cheerful voice, forming complete sentences, and people couldn’t reconcile the picture of a werewolf they had in their head with the person standing right in front of them.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You,” she started, but it sounded weak. “You’re a werewolf?”

“If you give me one of the coins you’re carrying, I’ll be happy to prove it,” Greg replied. “Or perhaps the magic amulet in your pocket?”

“How do you know what’s in my pockets?”

“Oh, it’s just a little party trick,” Greg said, keeping the smile in his voice. “We can sense both silver and magic, it wasn’t hard to figure out. Mind you, I’m not very good at it. Pierre could probably tell you what the magic is for, too.”

He looked around. “Pierre deChamps, I should say. He’s over there, talking to the Marques of Southshire, if you’d like to meet him.”

He smiled innocently as he watched her struggle with the decision. Meet a werewolf more powerful than him? But meeting the Marques could only benefit her.

“That would be quite welcome,” she finally said.

So he led her over, introducing her as the mother of his best friend to the group. Gustave followed him around, so he made him take the lead in approaching some other young nobles they had grown up with. Once the ice had broken, he waved Gertrude over.

It was mix and match. Find the right werewolf for each group. Make sure everyone was comfortable around each other, and move on. Make sure to check on David and George Louis and the prince. Pretend he didn’t notice the way the duke stared at him. Get the timing right.

The prince understood noblesse oblige a lot better than many of the adults, but he had been promised to not only meet a random werewolf, but also his mother, so it was understandable that there was a limit to the socialising he was willing to waste time on.

It made Greg want to bite the duke for going back on that promise.

However, there was a chance. If Greg could get the timing and everything else right… He had all the cards he needed in hand, didn’t he? If he played them right, Prince George might meet Annabelle in actual privacy, without his father interfering.

Greg crossed his fingers at the thought.

Just as he had anticipated, a little over an hour into the party, Lord Picot appeared with his own guests—not that there were many left. Which didn’t put the Marques in the best of moods. But that was exactly as Greg had expected. Had counted on, in fact.

He had kept an eye on the palace doors just for this moment, so that he could be the one to greet Picot.

He bowed deeply. “Welcome, Lord Picot. Please, accept my humble apology for the unfortunate timing of this event. We did push it as late as we possibly could.”

The marques harrumphed in answer. “You might have picked a different day altogether,” he pointed out.

“I’m afraid we couldn’t have done that, Milord,” Greg said, bowing again. “It was important this happens on half moon, you see, and it did not seem prudent to wait another couple of weeks, given the tight schedule.”

He hoped that Picot would buy the bullshit about half-moon. It was true that George Louis wanted a big event for the press when Rust and his companions returned next week. A public celebration of the cleansing of the Stour.

“It will be good to present a victory to the public,” Picot allowed. “I’ll expect a warning next time.”

“I am very sorry,” Greg repeated. “Let me walk you to my brother,” he added. “I do believe His Highness is with him.”

For a second, he thought Picot would refuse to be escorted, but then the Marques gave him a surly smile. “Lead the way, Lord Feleke.”

Greg went. He managed to catch Annabelle’s eyes, and she prowled after him and the marques, all the way to where David, the prince and George Louis stood. He smiled at the prince, before dumping Picot on David, who fumbled through a greeting. Helpfully, George Louis inserted himself into the conversation, as Greg had hoped he would. At the same time, the prince sidled over. Greg bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning in triumph.

“Is it time?” young George whispered hopefully.

Greg nodded, praying that the fuming marques would distract the duke just a few seconds longer.

And it worked!

They ducked out of the gathering as inconspiciously as a prince could duck out of anything. Annabelle followed at a bit of distance. It helped that David had followed the original plan and pulled the duke and the rest of the group right next to the garden hedges. They only had to walk a few steps to leave the light of the lamps, and a few more to vanish behind a row of shrubbery.

Of course, in the original plan, David and the duke would have been there.

“Where are we going?” the prince asked as darkness closed in around them.

“The smaller of the Sun Pavilions, my prince. I hope we’ll be uninterrupted there. At the very least, it should be easier to notice any eavesdroppers.”

The pavilion he had picked had only one, rather small room, and there were no service-corridors, either. As long as he circled the building, it should be impossible for anyone to sneak up on them.

George Louis might try to kill him, of course, for stealing his son away, but he’d have to take that risk. Annabelle deserved a chance to speak to him. And the prince deserved a chance to talk to his mother.

And he didn’t exactly care about the duke’s feelings, either.

“We’ll let her go in first,” Greg said once they reached the brightly lit pavilion. “I’ve had clothes brought out for her.”

Thank you.

Annabelle prowled inside, and Greg closed the door after her.

“Thank you,” the prince said as well. He looked down at his feet. “You know, my father won’t be happy. Your brother was supposed to be here. So that there’d be a hunter. It’s safe though, isn’t it? I’m not scared,” he added, before Greg could say anything. “Father says she’s my mother. He lied to me. He said she was dead.”

Greg ached for the kid, for the confusion and hurt on his young face, and decided not to tell him what else his father had tried to pull tonight.

“Annabelle is your mother,” he confirmed. “And she has come all the way from the Argentum Formation for a chance to see you. I believe you deserve a chance to talk to her alone. And no, there is no danger here. Hopefully, your father will be less mad at me for stealing you away once you’re safely back with him.”

Or maybe David would have to bail him out of whatever the duke dreamed up for him. Desmarais would help, too, wouldn’t he?

“If you would prefer to wait, I doubt that it’ll take long for them to find us,” Greg added. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to feel pressured into this.

Young George looked over his shoulder, down the way they had come, clearly thinking about it. But then he shook his head, squaring his narrow shoulders..

“He lied to me,” he repeated, just as Annabelle opened the door. She had put on the simple dark green dress Greg had placed for her, but forgone the shoes. Her long, black and grey and brown hair framed her face like a storm cloud. With her golden-brown wolfish eyes, she looked every bit like the werewolf from a story.

Prince George reached for Greg’s hand, staring up at her. When she offered him her hands, too, he reached for one of them, but tugged Greg along.

So much for standing guard outside.

Greg let himself be pulled into the pavilion, but gently freed his fingers to close the door behind them. When he turned around, Annabelle and Prince George were awkwardly looking at each other. He could see her throat working, but no sound came out.

“My prince, this is Lady Annabelle de Tury,” Greg said. “Like for many werewolves, it’s hard for her to speak sometimes. I hope you will be patient with her.”

The prince bowed in reply, and Greg thought the formality of the introduction helped calm them both, so he added: “Annabelle, Prince George.”

“Hello,” the boy said, very, very softly.

“Hello. George,” Annabelle finally spoke. “I am glad. To see. You.”

It was soft, and halting, but there were tears in her eyes, and when she reached out to him, the prince took a step forwards, and another one, and then another one, until he could sink into her arms. Greg smiled a little and ducked outside again.

Annabelle’s joy was glowing and warm like a fire behind him.