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Eryx tugs me after him deeper into the room before another word can be said on the matter.

“That was awfully diplomatic of you,” I say. “I’ve never seen you that patient with someone in all the months I’ve known you.”

“You’ve only witnessed me interacting with you,” he points out.

“So you can spare patience for strangers but not the woman you share a living space with?”

“Precisely.”

A man elegantly maneuvers through the swishing skirts to be the next to approach us. I’m not sure how he manages it without knocking someone over.

I whisper to Eryx, “Watch and learn,” before the man intercepts us.

“Your Grace,” the Duke of Simos says, staring me down. “I feared the worst, since I never heard a response to my letters.”

I stare at the new man’s cravat. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I meant to reply, but I simply became so overcome any time I would imagine your impressive figure while trying to compose a response.”

Eryx barely manages to conceal a snort. I only catch it because I was waiting for his reaction to the words.

Simos doesn’t know what to say at first. Finally, he mutters, “Thankyou for the compliment, Your Grace. Might I have the pleasure of a dance?”

“Oh,” I say, taking a slight step backward. “If I can’t manage a letter, I surely won’t be able to handle a dance without swooning. As a gentleman, I know you wouldn’t have me embarrass myself in front of so many people, now, would you?”

Simos’s voice drops in tone. If I were watching his face, I’m sure I would find it crestfallen. “Of course not, Your Grace. I hope you will recover your nerves. Please do write me, if—if you can manage.”

The man walks away with less confidence than when he approached.

When I turn back to Eryx, the man looks dumbfounded.

“What just happened?” he asks.

“It’s called acting.”

“Howdid that work?”

“It’s a simple and highly effective play I’ve perfected over the years. You deliver information that will be disappointing to hear but appeal to their vanity while you do it. They can’t very well argue with me or beg further without refuting the compliment I’m paying them. Most men are far too vain to argue on their looks.”

“How can they possibly take you at your word? You, swooning? Over that soft-handed man.”

“I hadn’t realized you’d found an opportunity to hold his hand.”

Eryx grumbles, “I don’t need to touch him to know he hasn’t done a day of hard labor in his life.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“I said it was nothing to swoon over.”

“And who should I be swooning over? You?”

He stumbles over his next words. As though he’s unsure whether he should encourage the notion or vehemently protest it.

Before he splutters out a response, more courtiers approach us, asking for an introduction to the new duke. I listen as Eryx carefullyrefuses the not-so-subtle hints of salivating mothers that he should dance with their daughters. As soon as one party leaves, another takes its place. Men approach, begging me for dances, and I let them down with gentle words that appeal to their egos.

After several women leave our sides, dejected, some of the men in the room start approaching Eryx, thinking perhaps the reason he’s not dancing is that his preferences lean in another direction.

“Would you care to dance?” Petros Leva, friend of the king’s, asks Eryx without any preamble. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself, despite the fact Eryx has no idea who he is. Petros eyes the fake duke up and down before meeting his eyes.

Eryx seems to lose his voice at the request.