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“It’s fine. Not like some humans wouldn’t be weird about monsters, if they met them,” I say with a shrug.

“Yes, well, speaking of monsters to be weird about.”

Finally.

Orion brings me to the back of the room, next to the orchestra pit, where a curtain hides an entrance to another room.

“Your liege is through here,” he says with a flourish.

Instead of rushing through, I hesitate.

Orion lowers his arm. “Well, don’t run or anything.”

“I’m just… it’s nerves, I guess.”

Orion squeezes my elbow and his four flaming eyes flickering in a way that manages to be sympathetic. “Listen. Syril made it out to be a big thing, but really, the King’s Oath is a symbolic gesture for most of us. All the frills are there for the king to put on a show and prove he’s dedicated. In the old days, if he didn’t, someone more popular would depose him. But most of us have got with the times and we don’t worry about that anymore. Sure, there are practical reasons it’s important, but the pledge of loyalty isn’t life or death.”

I sigh. “I get that. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for this ambassador stuff, and with Lysander? He’s so…”

Princely? Sure, but he’s also a bit of an anxious mess. Ethereal? Until he falls apart under my hands. It’s just that every time I catch a glimpse of some new angle of him, it reminds me of how different our worlds are. How can I be what he needs when I’m just a boring human with big old problems of my own?

“Trust me, dude. You’ve got it.” Orion gives me one last squeeze. “Do what feels natural. That’ll get you at least eighty percent of the way there.”

What about the other twenty?I want to ask, but strangely, Orion’s pep talk helps.

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not that complicated.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I duck through the curtain.

There’s a short hall and another curtain ahead. It’s quiet, the music and the ballroom chatter dampened. I open the second curtain.

The room is dark, running lights lighting a path to the far end. Strategic curtains block off shadowy enclaves to either side, where empty champagne glasses sit on low tables and monsters I don’t recognize holding murmured conversations. Wings rustle and bodies lean toward each other. The air is thick with familiar tension. I know what goes on in these kinds of rooms, and the low chuckles and brief gasps confirm it.

He’s made them fertile.The crazy thought drops into my core like a hot stone.

Then I see him, my breath catches.

Perched on a raised platform at the end of the room, the light makes him practically glow. Long, white-gold hair pours like water over his shoulders. A sky blue robe is draped over him, hiding almost all of his lithe form except his calves, which are crossed delicately. All he’s missing is a crown.

He clutches the arms of his chair like a lifeline. Syril stands behind him wearing a dress that looks straight out ofGothic Brides.They certainly don’t do things by halves. When Lysander sees me, Syril slides off the dais and disappears into the shadows.

I have no clue how I get to the edge of the dais — my legs must carry me there. I have the weird urge to kneel. But I’m not his subject — I’m his equal, and I’m not gonna do this their way. If they want a human ambassador, I’ll do it my way.

“Hey, babe.” I lean over the dais and drop my voice. “You come here often?”

Lysander’s puzzled face makes me chuckle, and I’m relieved to see his death grip on the arms of the chair slowly loosens. His eyes rove over me.

“You’re wearing the Night Prince’s costume.”

“Am I?” I preen, as if I didn’t feel like an impostor the second I put it on.

“He’s a myth. A creature of shadow who steals all the green of the world, and the fairy king has to steal it back. At the midwinter festival there’s meant to be a play — that’s what the costume is for.”

“I am here to steal something.”You.I lift the amulet off, but Lysander doesn’t change — he’s not wearing his amulet today.

He’s bare to all eyes.