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The veil I wore hid the smirk I could feel spreading across my painted lips. What a haughty little princeling. He thought hewas sweeping me off my feet, bringing me to this gaudy event and allowing me to hang off his arm like holding the lead of a prized kisteral. Something to show off his power and status and essentially snub the council fighting to control his future. I was using him, and he thought he was using me, too. But he forgot to discuss those terms with me beforehand. I gave him a taste of the freedom he longed for when I snapped at the mother and her daughter, so they would go and titter to the other ladies about his prickly date. His little scheme of keeping away all the hungry scavengers would only work if I agreed to keep up the appearance.

Irin didn’t realize how long I’ve been playing this game of deception.

His hand crept around my back, fingers wrapping around my waist, as we wove through the collections of guests absorbed in their own conversations. My gaze roamed the crowd, noting the doors that led from the room and the alcoves along the walls guests could tuck themselves into for their own nightly entertainment. It was no secret the kind of balls Jinon Pid hosted were of the sensual variety. They were part of the reason Trisne distanced herself from him and hosted her own parties, notably tamer but no less elaborate in scale.

“For you, my lady.”

A flute appeared in front of my face, the delicate stem gripped in Irin’s gloved fingers. It wasn’t the one that was bleeding. Actually, that hand was shoved deep in his pocket. My curiosity got the better of me.

“Is your hand injured?” I plucked the glass from his hand and lifted it slightly in gratitude.

He had picked up a glass for himself with the same hand he offered mine to me and raised it halfway to his lips when it stopped. His hazel eyes locked onto my face, and for a brief moment, I had the eerie feeling he could see right through thelacy pattern of the black veil covering it. We studied each other, neither of us willing to back down first.

But finally, he relented. “No need to worry about it,” he answered and took a sip of the goldtine.

“That didn’t really answer my question.”

He shot an annoyed glare, then tossed his drink back. “Didn’t you want to talk to the guests? Come, let’s mingle.”

I’ll be filing this conversation for later.

“What a delicious-looking woman you are escorting, Your Highness.”

I was grateful for the dark veil covering the snarl that leapt onto my face. It gave me just enough time to squash the disgust before Irin turned us around to face the source of the compliment. Of course, half his face was also covered with a rather grotesque trebegnon mask. The top jaw was lined with blood-stained fangs cutting the man’s face in half at the nose, and the lower jaw traced his own with more teeth. Whoever designed the mask kept functionality in mind — the mask was hinged at the jaw to move when the wearer spoke. All that was visible was a particularly smug grin that set my teeth on edge. All along the mask’s edge real trebegnon fur was swept back to cover the newcomer’s head to imitate a mane. Notable for its iridescent-black sheen in bright light, the fur was cut bluntly at his wide shoulders.

The rest of his attire was equally gaudy, playing on the dark purple-black of the feline trebegnon form with a double-breasted coat over a white dress shirt, with frills at the collar spilling over. The rest of him matched every other noble in the room—black pants, knee-high leather riding boots hardly used for their purpose, and all matter of jangling medals and adornments hanging off the breast pocket of his coat to denote minor nobility.

We stood for a good minute in silence, eyeing the other up. His gaze had yet to make it near my face, his dark eyes glued solidly to my ample bust. Even modestly covered to the neck, I drew unwanted attention from the likes of this slimy bastard.

“Good evening.” Irin finally broke the tension. His arm tightened around my elbow, drawing me closer to his side. “I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet. These masquerades make for challenging socials, do they not?”

A rather smooth way to ask, ‘who the fuck are you?’ I applauded Irin silently. If I let my tongue loose from between my teeth for two seconds, I would probably regret whatever came out of my mouth. Being called a ‘delicious woman’ was far from my idea of a compliment, and I attended plenty of high society functions like this.

The man let loose a ringing guffaw that drew the attention of everyone in a four-foot radius. “Yes, yes, I admit the idea was mine! Highlan Pid and I are rather close, so he sought me out for inspiration.”

“A shame he couldn’t ask his daughter Trisne to host it. The parties I attended that she organized were always fantastic.”

The stranger kept that same cocky grin on his thin lips, but there was a subtle shift in the air as his eyes finally rose to meet mine through the veil. He was sizing me up like the namesake of his outfit, a trebegnon lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right time to strike. Except he was doing a terrible job of being subdued about it.

“Yes, a shame.” He drawled, his voice whiny without much bass to it. “I was rather fond of Trisne myself. She was a beautiful girl. So full of life. So full of… passion.” A deep breath whistled through his nose and his eyes slid shut as if recalling some euphoric experience.

My skin crawled, and I had to swallow down the disgust that roiled in my stomach. “You speak as if she is dead. No one hasreported her whereabouts, have they?” Irin tensed up beside me, pulling my arm again as a warning. I ignored it. “And who are you to claim such familiarity to her when you have yet to give your name? It comes across as a bit lecherous, in my opinion.”

“Apologies, my lady. I am Forol Hent, a childhood friend of Jinon’s.” The bow he gave was half-hearted, not even lowering his head so he could maintain his stare set on my face. I was even more grateful for the veil now. Even with my experience in these social gatherings, there was no way my expression was anything less than pure loathing. “You are in a similar position, I believe. What kind of relationship didyouhave with Trisne?”

The question was intentionally barbed. I stood stiffly, hoping he would be the fish that caught himself on my hook so I could watch him flail and deny having anything to do with Trisne's death. Forol's eyes wandered slowly down my body again, his gaze intentionally vile and wholly inappropriate. Like he was trying to make me uncomfortable and scare me off.

He knew something.

Irin hesitated for only a handful of breaths, then began pulling me away from what was rapidly boiling to a more unsophisticated conversation. “Dear, I think I see Highlan Ymir and his wife by the desserts. I’ve been meaning to introduce you. They are staunch supporters of the Terramancy Guild, and I was in the same class as their son. It was good to meet you, Forol.”

I wanted to snarl. Gods, I wanted to leap at this Forol’s throat and tear it open with my teeth and nails. I would show him what a real predator looks like in the hunt, instead of just wearing the fur of one like he shot it himself. This fucking bastard knew something about Trisne’s death. I could feel it. The way he talked about her so off-handedly, like a foregone conclusion, was offensive on its own. But there was something deeper. Something… wrong about this Forol Hent. I couldn’t see it with my eyes, but the instinct that kept me alive for so many yearswas howling in my ears that he was dangerous. That he was not at all who he presented himself to be.

That cocky smirk stayed plastered to his face all the way to the far wall Irin dragged me to, my eyes never leaving the snake’s.

“Stop it,” he hissed under his breath and gave me a shake. “What iswrongwith you?”

I balked. “With me? Were you not listening to the same conversation? Where the fuckwereyou?” He kept my arm pinned under his when I tried to pull away. Irin was coming very close to having that fucking arm ripped from its socket.