The Princess Cynda pounced on Rob the moment he walked in the palace. “Where’s your cousin? He should have been here an hour ago. I’ll personally gut his bandmates one by one if he doesn’t show himself immediately!”

“Whoa,” Rob said. “Zev left the house before I did. He should be here. Can’t other people play until he gets here?”

“Other people can play,” she snarled. “But they’re not the ones who should be playing. If I hear another bagpipe, I may have to spit in somebody’s face. Step back if you see my lips pucker.”

Then Cynda burst out laughing, her angry face tucked away like the saw blade on a Swiss Army knife. “Come along, doctor, don’t take me so seriously. The stresses of hosting this ball have worn on my nerves, and I vent to those I like. Now. Where is your date? It’s not that wild woman, is it?”

“I don’t have a date.”

“Doctor! You know they won’t let you in without a suitable companion.”

“That’s what people keep telling me. But I don’t like being forced into something I’m not sure I want to do.”

“Stubborn. I like it! My husband is off on one of his hunting parties, and God only knows the whereabouts of your cousin, so you’ll be my date. Take my arm. We can’t have you walking into the biggest social event of the year without a beautiful woman accompanying you, now can we?”

Rob smiled cautiously at the Princess. Wearing a tightly-fitted gown that had been dyed a deep and expensive royal red, Cynda was undeniably attractive. But there was a hardness about her that made him want to, if not run away, than walk from her as briskly as good manners would allow. “I’m not sure I should.”

The Princess held out her arm. “Don’t be a fool, doctor. I’ll walk you inside, nothing more. You’re not that interesting, you know.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware,” Rob said as he took Cynda’s arm. He didn’t like it, but at this point he was determined to get inside, if for no other reason than to show the Godmother he wasn’t afraid of her.

Well, he was a little afraid, but not enough to give in to her demand.

“With our King away in Paris,” Cynda said as she led them up a wide staircase, “this is the first ball that’s fallen entirely on my shoulders. Of course, once our dear ruler expires and the crown passes to me and my husband, responsibilities such as organizing the Harvest Ball will seem trivial in comparison to more pressing matters of state. But that doesn’t make tonight’s job any easier. So many moving parts. Who would have thought that putting together a simple dance would be like building a machine? Lose track of one rakish cog—say, a musician we’re both acquainted with?—and the whole thing chokes and sputters.”

“Zev will be here. He wouldn’t miss out on his band’s big night.”

Cynda laughed. “Making a living as a musician. Can you even imagine, doctor? I was poor once, but even I wouldn’t stoop that low. Here we are, now. Brace yourself; it’s rather warm inside.”

Steamy air washed over Rob as guards opened a pair of thick wooden doors. Inside, men and women in fancy clothes and fancier hats danced in the center of the high-ceilinged ballroom. Candles filled every available nook along the walls, and the fireplaces burned full-tilt, but it was still dim enough that Rob’s eyes needed time to adjust. His ears took over somewhat, picking out a horn player, bagpipe and a rattly-sounding drum, although the musicians didn’t seem to be up on a stage. The only raised object Rob could make out was the King’s golden throne, which sat atop a dais.

Rob realized this was the audience hall where he’d met the Chancellor, the very first day he’d arrived here. He experienced a reflexive flash of homesickness for his life in Seattle and the creature comforts that this world lacked, but he shook off the feeling without much effort. The Godmother be damned; Rob had made a life here with a career, a home and plans for the future, and the things that would have struck him as strange not so long ago—the ludicrously tall hats worn by both sexes, the people dancing not as couples but in a ring-shaped herd, and the lack of electric lights or air conditioning—nearly went unnoticed now.

Cynda tugged on Rob’s sleeve, reclaiming his attention. “Perhaps I might interest you in some refreshments?”

Everyone parted as Cynda led Rob across the room. As his eyes adjusted to the candlelight, he noted some ladies’ disappointment when they saw him on the princess’s arm. Part of Rob wanted to explain that the two of them weren’t actually together, and a part of him was relived to be seen as taken, even if it was with a married princess whom he’d just warned his cousin against.

Another part of him wondered what Maggie would think of all this.

Just as he caught a glimpse of the Godmother’s steely eyes watching him from the crowd, Cynda stopped in front of three serving tables. The tables were laden with smoked meats, bits of cheese, cups of candied fruits, and pitchers heavy with water, wine and ale. Three serving women dressed in rough cloth stood behind the tables with their hands folded in front of them and blindfolds covering their eyes.

“Ta-da!” Cynda threw her arms open to display the ample spread of food and drink. Although the blindfolded serving women couldn’t have seen Cynda’s approach, they did flinch at the sound of her voice. “It’s not our finest table stuffs—we’re saving that for later, when most of the rabble has cleared out—but it should satisfy those of us in the know until then.”

“It looks very nice.” Hungry again, Rob made himself a tiny cheese sandwich. “How can I get a drink? I don’t see any cups.”

“The serving girls will take care of that for you,” Cynda chirped happily. “Serving girls! Some wine for the doctor!”

“Yes, m’lady,” they said, practically falling over one another to be the first to respond.

“Mixed with water, please,” Rob added, and he watched, increasingly disturbed, as the serving women—Cynda had called them girls, but given their warts and wrinkles, they must have been much older—fumbled for a cup from the stack behind them. Then they ran their spotted hands over the tables in search of the pitchers of water and wine, and finished by splashing some into the cup and some onto the floor. Their jerky, groping movements stood in stark contrast to the graceful dancers just a few feet away, and Rob felt strangely horrified.

“Why have you blindfolded your servants?” Rob asked the Princess as he wiped the dripping cup on his new tunic. “Wouldn’t it be easier if your servers were allowed to look at what they’re serving?”

“Oh, good doctor, they’re quite blind.” Cynda’s smile grew mean while her voice dripped with honey. “A flock of crows pecked out their eyes. And on my wedding day, too. Such tragedy.”

“Good lord, that’s terrible! Why not let them go home?”

Cynda pinched her face into a playful pout. “I wouldn’t dream of it. You see, these are my dear step-sisters, and they do so enjoy attending balls. Step-sisters, are you enjoying yourselves?”

Still quaking, the three women barked out, “Yes, m’lady.”

“Crows did this? I find that hard to believe.” Rob put down his sandwich and reached for his medical bag before remembering he’d left it at home. “Maybe I could examine them?”

“Another day, doctor, another day,” the Princess said, spinning to the slow rhythm of the music. “We don’t want to keep my step-sisters from the ball. Do you know what’s interesting? A long time ago, my step-sisters tried to keep me from attending a ball. Fortunately for them, I’m not so cruel.”

Cynda’s spinning became more frenetic, drawing her toward the music like a Junebug to a porch light. “Farewell, step-sisters! Farewell, doctor! Do remember to save me a dance, unless that red-headed creature of yours has you on too short of a leash.”

“Her name is Maggie!” Rob spoke loudly so he might be heard in the noisy room, as well as to bridge the growing distance between them. “And she’s not coming tonight!”

“Pity!” Cynda called out as she spun away into the parting crowd of dancers. “I was so looking forward to seeing what she might pass off as a gown!”

Her remark caught Rob like a slap in the face. The insult targeted Maggie’s insecurities with vicious accuracy, and he felt his blood boil. But Rob didn’t shout anything back at Cynda; she’d moved too far away, and he lacked a suitable comeback. Instead, he watched the Princess disappear into the folds of the crowded hall, swallowed his anger alongside the watered-down wine, and tried not to think of a future in which that kind of person ruled the land.

“Enjoying yourself, doctor?”

Startled, Rob turned to find the Godmother choosing a piece of candied fruit from the refreshment table. She wore a simple dress whose steel-grey color matched her eyes.

“Ah, hello,” Rob managed after choking down the sip of wine he’d just taken into his mouth. “Enjoying myself? Not so much.”

“What a shame.” She nibbled on a glittering apple wedge that had been crystalized in honey. “The Harvest Ball comes but once per year. And how can you be morose with so many young ladies here, all outfitted in their finest? Why, it must stir some interest in you, doctor.” The Godmother tucked the remainder of the candied apple in her mouth and bit down hard with her worn, yellowing teeth. “For your sake, and by the end of the evening, it simply must.”

Rob was already angry, and the Godmother’s threats only made him more so. “Listen, I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to marry some random person just because you say it’s good for business. You want to come after me? Go ahead. But I’m still the only doctor around, and getting rid of me can’t be good for business, either.”

The Godmother moved closer to Rob, crowding him into the table. “What I want is for you to continue your work as a happily married man. The girls in town have become mad, as if under the influence of some spell.”

“Bullshit.”

The Godmother tilted her head in mock appraisal. “Trust me, doctor. Your . . . subtle charms aren’t nearly enough to cause this kind of hysteria.”

“It’s strange, I know. But I didn’t have anything to do with it, and if I could put a stop to it, I would.”

“You wish to stop this?” the Godmother asked. “Then find a woman, tonight. I won’t back down from my deadline. I won’t, because I can’t. You know it’s unusual for a woman to be in charge of the guilds. I keep my place by putting the interests of the town ahead of those of any person. Don’t ask from me that which I am unable to give.”

“Fine,” Rob said. “I get it. But it’s not fair.”

“Fair? Don’t use that word with me. I balance the livelihoods of hundreds of people every day, shoring up a foundation for my town while maniacs like that—” The Godmother drew her metal pen from her sleeve and pointed it across the hall at the Princess Cynda. “—wait in the wings of power.”

Still pointing at the Princess, the Godmother used her pen to draw a series of tiny crosses in the air. “There before us stands an insecure opportunist with a thirst for power and no conscience regarding its use.”

Rob glanced at the three blindfolded serving women trembling nervously behind the refreshment tables. “I’m getting that impression.”

“If she comes to the throne, I fear for our town,” the Godmother said as she returned her pointing rod to its hiding place inside her sleeve. “But I am forbidden to interfere in matters of state. So all I can do is strengthen the guilds to the point where they might weather such a storm, even if I am no longer alive to steer the ship.

“And that’s where you come in, doctor,” she said. “You are a leak in my boat, if I may be permitted to continue the metaphor. A small leak, perhaps, but one that draws attention and thus threatens to grow larger. You fear my wrath? That of the barber’s guild? We won’t be the end of your troubles. This interest you’ve stirred among our young ladies has caused no small grumbling among their male suitors. I wouldn’t walk the streets without a trusted bodyguard by your side. Or preferably, a wife.”

The Godmother studied the platter of candied apples before selecting another piece.

“Speaking of bodyguards,” she said, nibbling. “Do you still have that red-haired one in your employ?”

Rob shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I feel for you, doctor. I truly do. But a union, even one as unromantic as this, is a small price to pay. Indeed, it may even turn out to be a gift. Have you approached the girl, Greta, as I suggested? A bit of an opportunist, like our Princess, perhaps, but with a much more sensible head on her shoulders.”

“A lot of opportunists around these parts,” Rob grumbled.

The Godmother dabbed her lips on a cloth she drew from her sleeve. “Poverty will do that to a girl. Now, believe it or not, I have other people to see tonight. Make good use of your time before midnight signals the end of the Harvest Ball.”

After the Godmother left, Rob peeled his fingers from the cup he’d been gripping and set it down on one of the refreshment tables. “What a day,” he said to himself.

“Do you need something?” one of the serving ladies chattered.

“Anything you want,” another said.

“Anything at all,” the third added.

“No, thank you,” Rob said, remembering just how dark fairy tales could get. “Just talking to myself, actually. But can I do something for you? I’m a doctor, I might—”

“No no.”

“All fine.”

“Please go.”

Rob sighed. He wasn’t able to help them any more than he knew how to help himself, so he went.

Rob skirted the edge of the slow-moving dancers who tapped and glided about the bare floor, feeling like a pimply freshman at his first high-school mixer. He also felt himself being watched. Women eyed him like a tasty piece of meat; men eyed him like a tasty piece of meat they might pop on the grill for seven minutes a side or so until he was very well done indeed.

Hans appeared by his side. “I’ve been looking for you. How are your networking efforts? Do we have any new patients?”

“Not yet.” Rob glanced behind him and noted a lack of active pursuit, although the stares continued. “I’m still getting the lay of the land.”

“Lay of the land? Robert, I thought we were here to work, not socialize. Come with me, I’ve people for you to meet.”

Before Rob could protest that the absolute last thing he wanted was to meet new people, especially if they had any interest in his marriage prospects, Hans had steered him to a cavernous window alcove containing a pair of pillow-covered benches. The Chancellor sat on one bench, his long, booted feet dangling several inches off the ground. His pickle-like nose twitched when he spotted Rob, and the black plastic casing of a digital watch poked out from the folds of his sleeve.

“Why, doctor,” he said, patting the open seat beside him. “Do I have a deal for you.”