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“No, but Arrik will have my head if you enter the ball looking as if you rode at full speed on horseback through the city to reach it in time. You must look perfect. You are a representation of the prince.”

“That…seems fair.” Though she was nervous, she forced herself to spin on the spot. “How do I look?”

“Like the Dragon Princess.” Josenu bowed graciously, waving a hand in front of him toward the door. “Try to sneak into the ball proper with as little fanfare as possible. Better for Arrik to find youbeforeanyone else realizes who you are.”

Wren understood the hidden meaning behind the spy’s words: if anyone else discovered her first, she might not ever make it to Arrik’s side, and all would be lost before it began.

“My hair will be a dead giveaway.”

“Then be quick.”

She nodded her assent. “I understand. Thank you, Josenu. For…well, for everything, I guess.”

His expression softened into a smile, and Wren for a moment saw a striking resemblance between Josenu and Arrik—or, at least, the version of Arrik Wren had been discovering over the last few weeks. Was she seeing things again? Was her mind truly broken?

Wren shook her head and pushed out of the alcove. She slipped down the corridor toward the ballroom. Music filtered through the open doors; a set of elven warriors bracketed the entrance. Her palms began to sweat as they tracked her approach. Everyone in the high court of Verlanti had varying shades of blond, brown, and black hair. They were tall and willowy and had pointed ears.

Between her flaming red hair, short stature, and round ears, she was sure to stick out like a sore thumb.

Wren held her breath while she surreptitiously followed a group of servants into the ball and the elven warriors didn’t detain her.

One challenge down, a hundred to go.

Her eyes rounded. If she’d thought Idril’s banquet halls or the Verlantian palace had been lavishly decorated, then the stone hall of Othos put them both to shame.

Wren grabbed a glass of wine from the tray the servants were holding, taking a large gulp of the rich liquid as she took in every inch of her surroundings while skirting along the back wall, clinging to the shadows.

The stone columns from the exterior of the building also lined the interior, and held up a high, sweeping, vaulted ceiling at set intervals. Vines of roses in purple and crimson scaled these columns. From the ceiling hung several gigantic, glittering chandeliers, casting the entire hall in a low but glimmering light.

Between the columns were recessed pits filled either with pillows or upholstered seats surrounding tables laden with food and drink. Lord Idril’s castle had contained something similar, though his had been at least half the size.

In the center of the room was a raised dais upon which a twelve-man band dressed all in white played upon equally white-stringed instruments, filling the air with lively, uplifting music.

All around them were at least a hundred guests dressed in lavish gowns and bold jackets, sweeping skirts in cerulean blue that moved like the sea, shirts of such insubstantial material they seemed likely to dissolve. Everyone was masked in one form or another, adorned in horns or scales or feathers or long fake ears that exaggerated their own, naturally pointed ears. Most were inlaid with some kind of gemstone to indicate wealth and social standing.

Wren gritted her teeth, her fingers tightening on her glass. No one was dressed in black.

No one but herself.

You can’t hide all night. Get moving.

She blew out a breath and departed from the shadows.

Wren swept through the crowd, drawing attention that made her skin prickle.

Though nobody save Arrik’s family couldreallyknow it was indeed the Dragon Princess, the image of her dressed in Dragon Isle black diamonds, with her scarlet hair softly curling down her back, was going to be the topic of every single conversation.

She could already hear the whispers as she trailed through the crowd.

They’d have a dozen different accounts of who or what she was. It would quickly become gossip. Nobody but Arrik and his family would know for sure that it was Wren, so her presence at the ball would be protected from Lord Idril and Vienne’s knowledge.

Josenu’s warning hung in Wren’s ears. She had to find Arrik before anyone else thought it wise to try to steal her away. Such as…

Soren.

She froze to the spot when she noticed him dancing with three sumptuously dressed women. He had not yet noticed Wren. She moved away from him, making sure to keep the king within her sight.

The hair at her nape rose.