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My nerves ramp up as I drive up the mountain, partly because I recognize the locale — houses in the area are the size of your average celebrity mansion and cost more than my entire life’s salary to date — and partly because this is important toLysander and I’m scared to mess it up. Historically, I’m not great with important moments. I freeze up in the spotlight. I stammer on the stand. Hell, I skipped my own graduation.

Being around Lysander seems to put magic in my words, because no matter what I say, he always gives me the same look — like he believes me. It’s tough to accept that I might be someone deserving of that.

The chalet is visible through the trees as I turn up the long driveway, its glowing windows peeking through the canopy. It’s only when I get to the gravel roundabout, which circles a massive, ornate fountain, that the immensity of the property smacks me in the face. This is not the kind of party people normally invite me to. No wonder Orion told me to borrow this getup from Syril instead of renting a suit.

The chalet is the size of a castle, seated on a vast green that sprawls out until it meets the forest. Mountains roll across the backdrop like they’ve been painted in. Staggeringly tall white columns frame a freakingred carpetleading up the stairs to the chalet’s entrance. Broad bay windows look down on concentric rows of perfectly manicured shrubs. I pull up short of the entrance and idle.

Is it too late to take the roundabout back down the mountain?

Before I can peel off, I’m flagged down by a minotaur in a tux. I start to roll my window down but he opens my door without hesitation.

“Your keys, sir,” he says, holding out a hand.

A valet service? For my ancient Chevy?

“I can park it,” I hedge. “It’s manual.”

He sniffs. “Manual is no trouble. Sir.”

Great, I’ve insulted him.

Reluctantly, I climb out of the truck and drop the keys into his palm. There’s no one else around, so I guess I’m late. Iclimb the marble steps, unable to dispel the niggling worry that someone’s gonna take one look at me and shut the door in my face.

Don’t mess it up. Don’t mess it up.

No one stops me at the door. In fact, no one even checks that I’m on the guest list. I just waltz right in. Inside, I’m greeted by a ballroom packed with monsters — more than I’ve ever seen at one time, dressed in formal wear of all colors and styles. A quartet of blue-skinned, four-armed nymphs are playing jazzy music that drifts over the crowd, and more nymphs circulate the room bearing four trays each of tiny unidentifiable snacks or flutes of champagne. It’s all extremely posh and extremelynot me.

I just need to find Lysander.

“Ez! You’re late.” A familiar arm slings over my shoulder and I grunt in relief.

“Had to figure out all these buttons,” I joke. Orion is in a sharp white suit that looks so tidy it’s like someone cut it out of a single sheet of paper. His shadows spill over it dizzyingly.

He lets out a chuckle that smells like woodsmoke. “Your poor prince will have to unbutton them all later — you could’ve had mercy on him.”

I elbow him, but he ducks away. “Not the suit! I can’t afford to pay for a single crease.”

“Okay, okay.” I tug the bottom of my jacket. “Where is he, anyway? How does the whole King’s Oath work? Is he busy?”

Orion’s glowing smirk splits his face. “Relax. I bet he’s had almost everyone pledge by now — there aren’t that many wildlings in the city. I’ll show you there.” He snags a glass of champagne off a passing nymph and takes a healthy sip. I leave the stuff alone — besides being a teetotaller these days, I don’t want to go into this fuzzy-headed. “This way.”

The problem is Orion seems to know everyone at the party. Every few steps we’re stopped by someone who wants to chat, and, of course, they’re curious about the human with him. I had no idea so many monstersknewme. Or knew of me. I guess word’s gotten around, and I don’t know how that makes me feel.

“I recognize you from the competition,” a harpy in a blue suit says eagerly, fidgeting with his bow tie. “You’re Syril’s human!”

“Uh.” He says it like someone would say ‘so-and-so’s dog’, but I can’t be offended. I guess Iamkind of Syril’s pet human. Their human experiment. I hold out my hand. “The name’s Ezra.”

“Archimedes.” The harpy shakes my hand vigorously. “You can call me Archie. So pleased to meet you. I’m a lawyer for stoneskins, mostly, but we get the occasional human customer stumbling in. They’re so mundane, it’s charming!”

“That’s us — mundane,” I agree, fumbling for something normal to say. I don’t have the greatest track record with lawyers.

“It’s not a bad thing, not at all,” Archie goes on. He seems to realize he’s still grasping my hand and lets go abruptly, cheek feathers puffing up. “I’m a big fan of humans myself. So very literal-minded. Bit of a thrill to go incognito among them, you know? Just a few generations ago it wouldn’t have been possible. Now even my grandad has one of these amulet thingies.”

“Anyway!” Orion interjects brightly, taking my elbow. “We should get a move on. Nice seeing you, Archie.”

“Yes, yes. Find me later,” Archie says, waving us off.

Orion steers me away. “Sorry about that.Somepeople are weird about humans, like I told you before.”