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“Pah, now you insult me yet again.” He leaned back against the seat, still smiling. “Perhaps I am not undead at all, but a cunning and wicked necromancer. Perhaps I command the dead to do my bidding.”

“Hm.” She pondered him thoughtfully. “No.”

“What? And for what reason do you dismiss it so?”

“If you were such a man, able to command legions of the dead as you say, then I expect I would have met one or more of them by now.” She folded her hands in her lap, quite confident in her argument. It was a silly game of wits they were playing, but she found herself enjoying it deeply.

“Ah, what if I give them a gift of illusion, in order to traipse around the world appearing to be nothing but normal mortals?”

“Now you’re simply inventing new rules to win. Inventing magical tricks to eke your way out of a corner is terrible manners.” She tsked and shook her head. “For shame, Dr. Raithe.”

“And she has bested me once more.” He let out a long, overdramatic sigh. “You are quite right. I am revealed. I am but a lich.”

“I am not familiar with that species of death.”

“Oh? Well, allow me to educate you. We are a strange breed, you see. A rare and dangerous sorcerer who rent their own soul from their body and placed it inside an object of great value. By doing so, they have become immortal. Therefore, hiding my undead minions from the living would be part and parcel for a wizard like myself.”

“Mmh. You are inventing things again.” She smirked. “If you are such a wizard, my dear doctor, then perhaps you will show me some magic.”

“Here? Now?” He huffed. “Salacious. Besides, we would be late to the ball. But perhaps tonight, I will show you something spectacular indeed.”

Her face exploded in warmth again. “Dr. Raithe, now you are the prurient one.”

“I—” He coughed. “That was not—I suppose I could see why you thought such, but I—” He grunted. “I should learn not to open my mouth so boldly, forgive me.”

She laughed. “No need to apologize. Tonight is about mirth and merriment. Is it not?”

He smiled at her. “Yes. Indeed it is.”

* * *

“Doyou think there might be royalty in attendance?” She kept her voice as quiet as she could and still be heard, leaning in close to the much taller doctor to ensure her words were not lost in the din of the enormous foyer of the opera house.

“Oh, I can promise you that.”

The whole room was a flash of color and shapes—of men and women wearing gaudy and bizarre costumes. Her own looked rather dull in imagination compared to many of the others who chose to play characters from mythology or folklore. She could do nothing but watch in astonishment, barely even noticing when Dr. Raithe placed a drink into her hand.

“Ms. Marguerite?”

“Oh! Yes. I found myself somewhat transfixed.” She sipped the wine, glad for its presence. “To think they do this so many times a week.”

“Indeed. The city was bereft of it for many years before they were reinstated some thirty years ago. I think they all wish to make up for lost time.” He extended her his elbow, and she tucked her hand into it as he led her through the room along the edges, avoiding the dancing crowd in the center. She was eager to join them, but she wished to make the evening last as long as she could.

“Dr. Raithe! Is that you?” A man approached them with a woman at his side. He laughed and struck out his hand. “I would recognize those silver eyes anywhere. Good of you to come, old friend.”

“Dr. Louis, if I am not mistaken.” Raithe shook the man’s hand. “I think I am to congratulate you, am I not?”

“Yes, yes.” The other man waved dismissively. “If the Academy of Surgery were not so trite in their foolish competitions, I would not have been elected to join them. It is their rudimentary thinking that is to thank for my position, not an abundance of brilliance on my part.”

Raithe chuckled. “If you so insist.”

“If only the physicians would listen.” Dr. Louis shook his head. “Someday I hope to be rid of their grasping oversight. But! We are boring our charming companions with our talk of business. This is Madame Fernande Dutoit.” He gestured to the young lady at his side.

The woman curtsied and extended her hand for Raithe to kiss. “How do you do?”

“And this is Ms. Marguerite Valois,” Raithe introduced her. He had come to use that false name for her in public, followed by the same sentence each time. “No relation, I assure you.” Why he had chosen to don her with the surname of a line of kings of France, she did not know. Perhaps it was part of the ongoing joke of teasing her with the pet name of princess.

She repeated the actions of Madame Dutoit and smiled warmly at Dr. Louis. He seemed like a sincere man, if somewhat intense in the eyes for someone who looked fairly young.