Night had long fallen by the time they reached S̆arrābī’s manor, but the grounds around his home were anything but dark. Row upon row of paper lanterns, much like the ones his aunt had crafted for his hip, were strung between the trees, across the lawns, and even high up into the branches. It was a beautiful scene that Jasper would have appreciated a great deal more if the light had not also revealed a veritable crowd milling between the lawns.

He reined Dapplegrim in as watched the party below them in disbelief. “What the hell? I thought it was supposed to be an intimate party with just a few of us.” He glanced over at Ihra, and a small grin played at the corners of his lips. “And your suitors, of course. But this…” He looked back at the crowd and let out a low whistle.

“Yeah…”. Ihra drew out the word slowly, as if reluctant to finish it. “This is a lot more than I expected but,” her tone cheered, “more suitors just means more presents, right?”

Jasper laughed. “Who says they’re all for you,” he teased back. Internally, however, all he could think about was the stupid horns currently sprouting from his head.

How could I let Annatta talk me into this? It was one thing to make a concession to his aunt’s feelings when he was expecting that only a fairly small group would see him wearing this world’s equivalent of a toupee. It was quite another when she’d apparently invited a small village. Oh well, nothing that can be done about it for now. Pasting a forced smile on his face, Jasper nudged Dapplegrim into a trot. Once more into the breach…

They were met at the gates by a throng of servants who helped them off their mounts and whisked them away so quickly that Jasper didn’t even have time to give Dapplegrim a parting snack. She’s going to be grumpy about that later.

His thoughts were interrupted as a pair of arms from behind draped around his shoulders, wrapping him in an iron hug. “Yas̆peh, I’m so glad you decided to accept my little gift. I was worried you would refuse to wear the horns, but your servant seemed confident she could persuade you to wear them.”

He offered his aunt a halfhearted grin as she released him. “Well, I guess Annatta wasn’t wrong about that. Apparently, I’m a sucker.” He winced as his hand brushed against the horns attached to his skull. “I look ridiculous.”

The elf shrugged. “Beauty is a relative thing, Yas̆peh. Perhaps where you grew up, the women didn’t care if the man sported a stately pair of horns, but that is not the case in S̆addānu. A Djinn male with no horns is almost certainly either very young or very weak, neither of which is an attractive quality to a woman of good breeding. You certainly won’t be the first noble to cover up a temporary deficiency in the hopes of attracting a suitable mate.”

Jasper snorted. “I’m not in the market for a ‘suitable mate.’’

His aunt just smiled. “Perhaps not, but sometimes love comes looking for you instead.” The trite platitude annoyed him, but before Jasper had time to object, his aunt produced two cards from her bag, one of which she handed to him. “Here’s your schedule for the night, Yas̆peh, and here’s yours, Ihra.”

He scanned it reluctantly and quickly realized there was nothing on the card but a list of thirty names. Thirty feminine names. “What is this,” he asked, with a growing dread in his heart.

His aunt promptly confirmed his fears. “The young ladies you’ll be dancing with.”

Crap.

“I really don’t dance-" he started to protest, but the elf cut him off with an amused smile.

“Now Yas̆peh, I know that’s not true. As soon as you arrived here, Abī arranged for you to be tutored in court etiquette. I’m quite certain that included dancing.”

Jasper scowled, but he knew she had him. “Fine. Any chance we can at least chop a few of these names off the list?”

Kaṣî shook her head. “Just follow the list, and see how it goes. And when you’re done, your reward is waiting.” He understood immediately what she was referring to - the weapon she had crafted for him. Well, I guess a spoonful of sugar does make the medicine go down.

With his spirits buoyed by the proffered bribe, he nodded his head a touch less reluctantly. “Alright, where are these ladies?”

His aunt clapped her hands, and two servants who had been waiting nearby scurried forward to lead him and Ihra off in opposite directions. As Jasper followed his guide to the left, he was astounded by how much had changed since the last time he’d visited his uncle’s manor.

S̆arrābī’s home was usually surrounded by stately rows of lush flower beds tended by a dozen gardeners, but the space those gardens usually occupied was now claimed by a long, rectangular deck. Dozens of fiery torches lined its perimeter, their light dancing in the reflection of the deck’s black, lacquered wood, and in the center rose a large fountain whose tumbling waters were the dark yellow of honey mead.

Couples twirled and thrust across the pavilion at an almost frantic pace as unseen musicians produced a tune that to Jasper’s ears sounded like a chorus of wailing women set to a heavy drumbeat. Not exactly the waltz was envisioning. Then again, I guess the Djinn were tribal at one point.

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The guide stopped on the left side of the pavilion, where a group of men were clustered together, while on the right, Jasper could see a crowd of waiting women. He lingered a few minutes, helping himself to the tables heaped with food and a few shots of liquid courage before, after examining the card in his hand with a heavy heart, he set off across the dance floor.

He scanned the crowd as he wove through the dancing couples. Most of the nobles already dancing were Djinn like him, sporting variations of red skin and black horns that reminded him a bit too much of devils. A few like his cousin were also mixed in, with pale skin and thin white horns or antlers that suggested their mother had probably been an elf. But amongst the crowd of waiting women, there was a third group he was surprised to see - Moon-kissed.

The Moon-kissed women were immediately noticeable, not so much from their wide black eyes and porcelain skin, but from the general lack of horns they sported. He wondered for a second why they were there - they were the first Moon-kissed he’d seen since leaving the region of Dūr-Yarha - but then S̆anukkat’s words came back to him. When sons of elven mothers take after their mother in appearance, they usually have to be trundled off to the north to find a spouse amongst the Moon-kissed.

Jasper suddenly realized that his aunt might be more serious about finding him a spouse than he thought. Did she bring them here just for me? He felt a little queasy at the thought.

Swallowing hard, he examined the paper and read the first name off the list. “Is there a Lady Nūrilat here?”

The conversation among the women stilled and there was a moment of silence. No one stood up, and for a moment Jasper allowed himself to hope that he could cross the first name off his list. Then one of the women in the back - one of the ones with red skin and curly black horns - stood up with a heavy sigh. “That would be me, my lord,” she responded primly. She bowed politely and extended her hand.

Jasper bowed back respectfully and, taking her hand, led her onto the dance floor. The two spun across the floor to the frantic music, the Djinn sticking so close to him she was practically glued on. He had to admit, that despite himself, he was actually having fun.

Then the night took an unfortunate turn. While Jasper had had a few weeks of training with Annatta, a few weeks of training were not enough to turn him into an expert dancer. As he swooped in a low turn, his foot missed. If the woman dancing with him hadn’t been clinging so tightly, he might just have been able to recover; instead, her weight dragged him down, and his head connected with the floor. The cracking noise was covered up by the thundering music, but as soon as Jasper stood up, the disgusted expression on Nūrilat’s told him something had gone wrong. Glancing down, he saw one of the horns lying on the ground.

With a contemptuous humph, the woman spun around and headed back to the crowd of women, who promptly gathered around her like a pack of piranhas, poking and prodding to learn what had happened.

“Well, crap.” Jasper was left alone to survey the scene of the disaster. Ignoring the other couples still dancing around him, he bent down and retrieved the horn. It was in perfect condition - it had simply come off its attachment point - but his efforts to set it back in place were in vain. Oh well - it’s not like I really wanted to wear it anyway.

Reaching up, Jasper grabbed hold of the second horn and snapped it off too. He tossed both into the bushes beyond the pavilion and headed back to the gathered women. Only 29 more names to go.

His reception this time was quite a bit chillier. When he read the next name off his card, the Djinn lady, an admittedly fetching beauty, didn’t even bother to hide her exasperated sigh. She didn’t bother to bow as she presented herself to him, but just offered her hand mutely.

The rest of the night passed fairly quickly. None of the Djinn women danced with him long, and only a few even bothered to be polite. Sticking to the bare minimum required for decorum, they trotted around the pavilion once or twice and returned. Another name was read off the list, and another duty checked off. The only ones who didn’t regard him with subtle (or not-so-subtle) disdain were the Moon-kissed women. Unfortunately, after the loss of his horns on the dance floor, their eyes were filled with pity rather than interest, which Jasper almost worse.

By the time the last of the thirty names was crossed off his list, Jasper’s ego was as bruised as a peach that bounced down the basement stairs. While he was definitely not in the market for a mate - regardless of his aunt’s scheming - it was hard not to take the outpouring of rejection a bit personally.

With the last of his dances finished long before the night was over, Jasper was left with not much to do. He made one final bombing run past the delicacies, relishing the opportunity to eat food that was a little less exotic than what his S̆addu’â cook preferred, and then wandered off to find his aunt.

His wanderings were in vain until he broke down and asked one of the servants. The maid led him back toward the front of the house and around to the other side where his aunt was presiding over a much smaller - and quieter - dinner. Her eyes widened as he came into view, and she hastily stood up and, grabbing his arm, dragged him off into the dark gardens.

“What happened to your horns?” She whispered as soon as they were out of earshot of her guests.

His ears were burning as he told her what happened, but in the end, she just clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Tis a shame, but perhaps the Anzuzu had other plans for you tonight. Did anyone catch your eye tonight?”

His laughing response carried a slightly better undertone. “What do you think? After I lost the horns, most of the women didn’t even want to dance with me.”

The elf shrugged. “Surely you realize marriages amongst nobles are often just a political matter. They don’t necessarily have to like you.”

He scowled. “Yes, yes they do. I’m not marrying someone who doesn’t want me.” The absurdity of what he’d said hit a moment later. “Hell, I’m not marrying anyone, period. At least not right now.”

Kaṣitûma ignored him, patting his back with a sigh. “Don’t worry, Yas̆peh, we’ll just have to try again with a different group of women and a stronger pair of horns.”

“No,” he quickly snapped. “I think I’ve had enough rejection to last me for quite some time.” he blurted out. His aunt opened her mouth to protest, but he didn’t give her the chance. “Besides, aren’t you forgetting something important? Like, the only reason I agreed to this in the first place?”

The brief flicker of annoyance in her eyes was quickly replaced by amusement. “Ah, so you finally confess to your mercenary motives,” she teased. “And here I thought you just cared about family. Very well, come with me.”