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“I saw you the other day, in the blibliotheca,” she says.

“Yes, I remember.” I brush the sensitive patch of skin at my temples, grateful for my mask.

It can be a tremendous advantage to wear one. I only have to nod and smile as I endure her scrutiny. Not having to check my facial features or hers allows me to watch for other signs. Finger twitches and the incline of one’s chin can tell you more about them than their brows, and it’s easier to reign in my emotions without the pressure of constant eye contact.

“Between you and me, the court is curious about you. It’s not often that we get an old world seed, let alone a princess.”

I make sure not to move my head as she says the word. Aside from the dark triplets and the king himself, no one here knows I’m a princess. Mara hasn’t found a way to belittle me about it, so I’m sure she doesn’t know, and I even kept it from Lori.

“Which task did you get first?” Isobel asks, forcing my attention back to her.

“Nightmares.”

“Oh…you must spend a lot of time with One.” Her tone is now dangerously sweet, and I get the feeling that her patience with me is wearing thin. “Does he plan to show up for the Foghar festival tonight?”

“Actually, I’m studying dreams now. With Two.”

Her top lip curls up in an ugly, disbelieving smile. “Is that so?”

I grip the railing, my long ivory gloves shining in the moonlight, and catch a glimpse of Lori near the buffet. Taking advantage of her arrival, I excuse myself from Isobel to greet her.

The skirt of Lori’s blue dress undulates around her frame like liquid silk as she stumps over to the hors d’oeuvres, her sapphire mask complimenting the look. While her chosen fashion is not as formal as mine—with no gloves or necklace—and her usual earrings still in place, she’s a vision. Her golden skin is simply glowing, making the rest of us look pale and sickly in comparison.

Lori grips a triangular glass and stuffs a spoonful of sweet potato mousse in her mouth. “I hate these things,” she mumbles with the spoon tucked between her teeth. “They always force me into a damn dress.”

“You look gorgeous.”

“Hmpf. I don’t care. I want my hoodie and pants.” She eyes me up and down. “You don’t look so appalled by the Fae fashions as I thought. Didn’t you tell me you weren’t used to showing skin?”

I blush deep red, her remark gnawing at my insecurities. When Baka had carried the dress into my bedroom, I almost clawed it out of her tiny, wrinkled hands. “It’s the most beautiful gown I’ve ever seen. I just—it was so beautiful, I had to wear it.”

“Hey, sorry.” Lori grabs a champagne flute from an incoming magic tray and pinches the front of her dress with a disgusted pout for emphasis. “You look fabulous. I’m just crabby because of this wretched thing.”

Misha—the curly-haired hunter with the sharp accent—joins us with a full plate in his hands. “The High Fae are quite interested in your progress. Everyone’s asking about you.”

My lips purse together. “Why?”

“They’re here to spy on the king.” Lori explains, always quick to jump to my rescue when I need information. “The seeds reflect the strength of his magic on a given year, and I bet Isobel Umbra caught more than she let on the other day.”

“Agreed. She all but grilled me with questions earlier.”

My friend half covers her eyes with her open palm, peering through her fanned fingers. “Oh, here we go. Two’s here.”

I crane my neck around in time to see Two stand on one of the tables.

“May I have your attention.” He raises his wine glass in the air, his speech slightly slurred. “I’m happy to report that all three seedlings have made it through their first trial.”

Applause resonates in the banquet hall, and Two offers them a quick bow, relishing the attention.

I stand on my tip-toes to glance over the crowd.

Three decided to show up, too. The silent triplet shakes his head with a humorous grimace like he finds his brother unredeemable. The red embroideries on his black jacket highlight his muscled frame, and he’s got a gorgeous Fae lady hanging on his arm.

James chats with a group of Fae lords, the timid seed looking like a fish out of water in the middle of the huddle.

“Where’s One?” I ask quietly.

Lori tilts her head back to gulp down the last sip of champagne, and a smudge of red lipstick taints the rim of her empty flute. “I guess he wasn’t in the mood for schmoozing. It’s not unusual for him to miss these events.”