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“Hells,” Samuel hissed. “There’s been four murders in three months—and that’s not even getting into the protests.”

“And it’s turning this into one of the most active Seasons in a decade,” Isaac said, clasping him on the shoulder. “This is how we deal with stress, Samuel.”

“Endless parties?”

“Well, not just parties.” Isaac shrugged. “There are also dinners, and salons, and balls, and coffees, and plays.”

Samuel thought back to the pile of invitations in his study that grew daily, left unopened and untouched.

“You can go to these events alone, you know,” Isaac said, quietly. “I shouldn’t have to drag you to them.”

“Please, Isaac.” Samuel did his best to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “You think I can take this on without backup?”

“I think,” Isaac said, taking his time in choosing his words, “that you’re afraid. But you shouldn’t be.”

Samuel didn’t respond. He just stepped forward and left Isaac behind. He wasn’t afraid, not really.

He was angry.

Angry at the extravagance of it all—at the fine clothing and the expensive food and the even more expensive wine. At the lies and the gossip and the rumors. At the way everyone looked at him like he was a piece of meat to be inspected and bought for the right price.

But Isaac had never known anything else. Nor had Shan. They were born into a world that would drive most good people mad, and he couldn’t fault them for being what Dameral had made them. Like he shouldn’t blame himself for what Dameral had made him—was making him. But it was easier for him to forgive others than it was for him to forgive himself.

He walked up the stairs with his head held high, Isaac a breath behind him. The footman smiled as they handed over their cards, and they were ushered into the ballroom with the rest of the crowd.

It was a large open space, made of glittering white marble and lit by wide chandeliers from which witch light hung. Against the far wall was a series of glass doors, thrown open against the cool night air, and the musicians formed a perfect quartet in the near corner. Complete with a buffet of light snacks and drinks along the inner wall, it was a perfect image of a noble’s ball—fine, lustrous, and just a bit gaudy.

At Isaac’s instance they were what he called “fashionably late”, and the ball was already in full swing. The dance floor was crowded, filled with all kinds of couples as they spun their way through the song. There were dresses of every color, a rainbow of flowing skirts that swirled round and round, and finely cut suits in greys and blacks and blues. Samuel couldn’t tear his eyes from the beauty of it.

“Do you want to go again?” Isaac said, and Samuel didn’t need to look to know he was smiling. “I’m not quite as talented as Shan, but I’m sure I could manage to lead you.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Samuel glanced over, seeing the same dark look in his eyes that he had found so compelling in the carriage, in the alleyway.

“I thought you were courting Shan,” Samuel said, the words he’d been holding in for days bursting out.

Isaac bared his teeth in a grin. “Did she tell you that, or did you learn it yourself?”

“Please, Isaac,” Samuel said, clenching his jaw. He might be new to this world, but he wasn’t a simpleton. “Rumors fly.”

“Maybe I am,” Isaac admitted. “Maybe you are, too, from what I’ve heard. But a single dance won’t hurt, will it?”

It could hurt far more than he wanted to admit, but he didn’t stop himself from putting his hand in Isaac’s, from letting himself be drawn onto the floor in the breath where one song ended and another began.

If it was strange to see them dancing together, the Royal Blood Worker and the Lost Aberforth, no one said anything. There were just the deep reverberations of the strings as the musicians drew their bows across them—the violins, the viola, the bass. The counterpoint of the piano. There was Isaac’s voice, deep and low, counting out the beat in his ear.

Then they were moving. It wasn’t like the other dance he had shared with Shan, where she had twirled him in and out across the floor. This was more intense, more intimate. Isaac pushed and pulled him across the floor, counting all the while, but Samuel didn’t follow the beat.

He followed the movement of Isaac’s hips, the brief press of his thigh against his, the brush of his fingers against his skin.

It was maddening and intoxicating, and for a few moments Samuel just let himself be. Isaac didn’t give him a moment to worry or stress, and he focused only on the music and the beat of his own heart in his ears.

But when the song came to an end, when Isaac pulled him flush against him for the final few measures, Samuel spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

Shan—her face red and her expression utterly unreadable, but her attention was riveted on them. When she caught him watching her, she simply raised her glass, drained it, and turned to walk away, her dark skirts the color of dried blood fluttering out behind her.