She recognized a few faces, tried to avoid them as she descended the stairs in a flurry of silk. But she couldn’t avoid Beyla, who rushed over to her at the foot of the steps, exclaiming, “Kett, you look beautiful!”

People turned to look. Kett winced.

“Cheers,” she said. Beyla was wearing something satiny in dark green, surprisingly sophisticated, reminding Kett again that her half-sisters were not little girls anymore.

“Kett, I wanted to catch you before you went in. Eithne’s invited Verrick-her boyfriend,” she clarified, when Kett gave her a blank look. “And you know Papa has some ridiculous problem with him.”

“And yet he likes Bael,” Kett said. “The mind boggles.”

“Bael is lovely,” Beyla said, and Kett started to wonder if insanity was hereditary. “And Papa seems to think we’re both little girls who can’t take care of ourselves.” For a moment, her pretty face clouded with the sort of scowl her father had perfected. Then it cleared as she spotted someone over Kett’s shoulder. “Oh, doesn’t Lucidia look lovely? She so suits being a blonde. But listen, Kett, if you see Eithne and Verrick together, try to keep Papa away from them.”

“I don’t even know what this Verrick looks like,” Kett said, but her sister was already moving away to greet the lovely Lucidia and her newly blonde hair.

“Whatever,” Kett said, and started toward the crowded ballroom. It was thick with people and scents, candles and perfume and flowers, and for a moment she reeled, because she hadn’t been in such a crowd for a long time.

Then she squared her shoulders. Don’t be pathetic, Kett. You’ve faced less pleasant things than this.

Not many, though.

“Lady Kett Almet-Cooper of Nirya,” announced the hired emcee, to whom Kett delivered a look that made him shrink about four inches. Lady was bad enough, but Cooper?

“I divorced that twat years ago,” she muttered, and stalked onward.

The noise was overwhelming, a babble of voices and music and people laughing, and everywhere she looked there were unfamiliar faces topping ridiculous confections of silk and velvet. There appeared to be, in some corners of society, a fashion for powdered wigs, feathers and beads in the hair. The people wearing them looked ridiculous, but it was Kett’s opinion that most people following fashion did.

She scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Beyla was still in the lobby, being a hostess. Eithne was doing the same with a group of bewigged women who looked like they had cobwebs on their heads.

She spotted Tane, being a terrible host but a great flirt, talking to a very pretty girl over by the windows. No help there.

There was Nuala’s brother, the king, looking very regal, but what the hell did she have to say to him? A few feet away stood his daughter and heir, Jalen, looking as bored as Kett was and as beautiful as she wasn’t. If all else failed, she could always go over and ask Jalen what sharp pointy things she’d been given for Yule.

Besides, she had a bottle of wine in one hand.

But before she got there, Jalen’s miscreant boyfriend slunk up to her and kissed the back of her neck, making the princess jump and spill her wine. Kett backed away, having absolutely no desire to get in the middle of a domestic.

The noise, the heat, the clashing perfumes and all the deeply unpleasant people were giving her a hell of a headache. This is why I never come, she reminded herself, pushing through the crowds, more irritated with each step.

As she passed the small door leading to the minstrel’s gallery, it opened and a dozen men and women in clothes much too expensive for them trooped out. Nuala strikes again, Kett thought. She probably saw their regular performance outfits and cried. How her stepmother had any money left was beyond Kett.

Oh yes. Her brother was the king. And it wouldn’t really surprise Kett if her father was doing a little light highwaymanning on the side for fun.

Making a quick decision, she ducked through the little door and up the stairs to the rather spacious balcony, now filled with cellos and drums and other things she didn’t really understand.

Up here it was cooler, which made no sense until she saw the open window high in the corner. It was also quieter and, praise gods, significantly emptier. Kett leaned against the wall, far back in the alcove, and massaged her temples.

How did I do this? she wondered. How did I deal with the crowds, the people, the noise? Time was, she’d spent every night in taverns far busier and smellier than this ballroom, and she’d loved it.

Hadn’t she?

I need a smoke, she thought, depressed, and wondered if Nuala would have her shot for lighting up in the ballroom. Then she remembered her cigars were in her room, and scowled.

Moving forward, she leaned over the balustrade to survey the room below. If she didn’t see someone she knew and liked in the next five minutes, she was returning to her room. Since she only knew about a dozen people likely to be invited, and liked less than half of them, Kett didn’t figure she was going to have to stay long.

Then footsteps sounded behind her and she turned, expecting to see the musicians but finding Bael instead, wearing something dark and tailored that made him look far more civilized than she knew he was.

“That,” he said, staring at her, “is a great dress.”

Kett looked down at it doubtfully. “It’s not really…” She waved her hand. “Me.”

“No, it isn’t.” Bael stepped toward her, and he smelled fantastic. “It doesn’t do you justice.”

Kett opened her mouth to tell him he was talking bullshit, but he ran his finger along her exposed collarbone and she lost her breath.

“Lady Kett Almet-Cooper of Nirya?” he asked, and she scowled. “That’s a lot of names.”

Actually, the emcee had-mercifully-missed a couple. “Kett Almet does me fine,” she said.

“Does me fine too,” Bael said, stroking the pulse in her neck.

“Funny,” she tried to snap, but it came out as a squeak.

“You look incredible,” he said, his eyes dark on hers.

“I thought I looked very credible,” she breathed.

“Nope. I’m finding you hard to believe,” Bael said, skimming his hand down her arm, over her bare back and pulling her closer to him. “I think I need to check that you’re real.”

“Okay, that’s a terrible line,” Kett said, and he grinned.

“Did it work?”

“No.” Yes.

His lips brushed hers. “Liar.”

The soft, silky fabric of his suit whispered against her skin, and Kett found herself winding her arms around his neck just to feel more of it. What have I been missing? she wondered, as Bael leaned in and licked her collarbone. All this silk, it’s amazing. I’ve never been turned on by fabric before.

But then, she’d never necked with someone while wearing a ball gown before, either.

He backed her against the balustrade and kissed her, running his hands over her bare back, and Kett experienced for the first time the whisper of silk over hardened nipples. She thrust out her breasts, trying to get more of that lovely soft slide of fabric, pushing herself against Bael and loving the pressure of his hard chest through the delicate silk.

“I could fuck you right here,” Bael said against her mouth, and Kett was hit with a rush of lust so strong she had to hold on to him to keep from toppling backward over the balustrade.

“I could let you,” she whispered back, and he pulled back half an inch and looked at her, his eyes really dark.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he said, his hand covering her breast, and the heat of it felt so good Kett closed her eyes.

“I mean it,” she said, and Bael groaned and turned her around in his arms, pressed her against the balustrade and leaned into her from behind. The rail was waist-high, standing on struts so thickly woven with ivy and ribbons and moving flowers that from the ballroom floor, no one could see through it.