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There was no turning back now. News would spread to the Shades of Riven’s presence within a day, hours if someone wrote to Silstra. Thankfully, they had all been called to Volcar.

At the end of the hall was the cloakroom. Two Halfling servants stood outside the small room, greeting guests as they passed off their outerwear. “I need to drop off my cloak,” I told Riven, pointing to the room.

He nodded, eyes surveying the face of each masked guest. “I’ll meet you by the balcony,” he said before continuing down the hall. I watched his head crane back and forth as he searched for our mark.

I walked past the servants, telling them I’d like to hang the cloak myself. I wanted some privacy to adjust the mask. I stepped between the rows of hangers and coats until I found a large mirror. I pulled one of the clothing racks close and hid behind it. I didn’t want the servants to glimpse my ears, glamour or not.

I pulled the mask onto my face. It covered most of my brow in gilded lacing that fanned outward like wings catching flight, fanning the smoke and flame of my dress. A thick ribbon of crimson secured it around my head. I pulled my hair upward as I tied it, adjusting the ribbon over each ear. I dropped my hair and was relieved to see that my ears were completely hidden beneath the ribbon and hair.

With the glamour disguising my eyes, I could be anyone.

Mortal. Halfling. Maybe even an Elf.

The guests would whisper about it all night, wondering who hung on the arm of the Fae. I didn’t care what they said as long as Curringham joined the chatter.

I took off my cloak and handed it to one of the servants as I left. His eyes widened, trailing along the hem of my dress. Wilden had outdone himself.

I walked down the hall to the large ballroom. I stepped through the grand doors that opened out onto the balcony. Riven was standing in the middle of it, peering over the edge at the crowd below. I could hear the hushed conversations of the guests already gathering on the dance floor. Ladies whispering behind their silk fans, their lords gossiping over gulps of wine.

I took a deep breath and made my way to Riven. A group of ladies gawked as I walked by, their arms freezing midair, holding their fans. A servant dropped a tray, but no one heard it. Every face lining the hall was turned on me. Their wide eyes stared, unblinking, as I walked toward the balcony.

With every step I took, the fabric of the dress shifted, crimson turned to marigold before revealing the layers of charcoal and smoke beneath. I was dressed in living fire. I felt uneasy under their gaze. I’d spent so long lurking in the shadows, avoiding attention at all costs. Dreading the looks people gave me when they recognized my black cloak or the sword at my neck. But these looks were different.

There was no fear or revulsion in their faces. There was only awe. I raised my chin a touch. I wasn’t a monster tonight; I was a prize.

The whispers of the guests caught Riven’s attention, and he turned around to face me. I felt the release of his breath when his eyes landed on me. His gaze caught at the swirling layers of fire, catching the skin of my bare calf and slowly trailing upward. My breath hitched when he reached the slit showing the slightest hint of my hip. His eyes flashed like a swirling, violet storm as he took in the tight cut of the bodice.

That familiar flicker of electric current coursed down my skin. His eyes cut to mine. There was no hatred there, but something else. Almost feral. I glimpsed his fangs before I took his hand and pulled him against my side.

“You’re staring,” I whispered.

Riven blinked and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, leading us down the left staircase. His hand glided along my back and nestled on my waist. It set a fire to my skin that felt much more real than the illusion of my dress.

Lord Curringham was standing at the bottom of the stairs. The gold pendant hung over his black jacket. It shifted along his chest each time he breathed.

Lady Darolyn stood behind him, her mouth set in a straight line as she glared at me. She’d noticed the hunger in Curringham’s stare.

Riven’s hand tightened on my waist.

Curringham gave the tiniest bow to Riven, completely ignoring me at his side.

“I apologize for not greeting you at the door. I didn’t realize Lord Feron was sending a delegate to our festivities,” Curringham said diplomatically. His cheeks were flushed and there was a dewy sheen along his brow.

I smirked, hoping he thought Riven would shapeshift into a direwolf and eat him whole. It was much more fun watching Curringham in the open than lounging on his roof.

“Thank you, Lord Curringham, for your warm reception,” Riven said with a small bow of his own. “My uncle sends his regards and hopes this year’s harvest is even more plentiful than the last.”

“I hope you and your... lady...” Curringham’s eyes glanced over me, trying to discern what kind of creature I really was. I was tempted to flash him my fangs out of spite. “I hope you will honor us by taking part in the first dance.”

Riven opened his mouth to refuse, but I wanted to shock Curringham a little further.

“It would be our pleasure,” I said, reveling in his surprise of being addressed by a woman. Or female. I knew it bothered him that he couldn’t tell. I grasped Riven’s arm more tightly and led him across the room.

“We need to create an opportunity to steal the pendant,” he whispered harshly.

“We’re not going to win any favors by refusing to dance,” I said without moving my lips.

Riven looked down at me, unconvinced. His shoulders hunched as he scanned the dance floor filling with couples.