The marble steps were especially steep going down, and due to her racing mind, Abreigelle missed a step, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest. She wasn't in a pleasant mood upon entering the ground floor of the ballroom and she stomped all the way to where Beshna and Vaniete were still talking. Beshna looked weary next to her cousin, apparently trying to keep up with Vaniete's racing line of speech.

Abreigelle lurked behind Vaniete, so that Beshna could see, and gave a sharp gesture with her eyes. It was about time for her to stop chatting.

Beshna said hurriedly, "Vaniete, I do not feel well at the moment," She gave a weak, cough. It sounded very fake to Abreigelle, but Vaniete took a step backwards. "I think the lemon cake I ate earlier is upsetting my stomach. Either that or I have the stomach flu...something very contagious has been going around the manse lately. Will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Of—of course." Vaniete, her eyes wide, clasped her hands together and quickly disappeared into the rest of the crowd without another word.

Beshna grinned at Abreigelle. Obviously she wasn't sick.

"Nice one." Abreigelle said. "In other news, I've located your dream boy."

"Shhh..." Beshna once again yanked on Abreigelle's forearm, both of them disappearing into a private space near the wall curtains. "Do not," she declared, "Don't talk to me out in the open like that again. Only follow. Understand?"

Abreigelle wanted to make it clear that she was not an idiot, but decided to keep her mouth shut. It was for the better that she be obedient like they all wanted her to be. She nodded.

"And Rashtar?" the Lady asked.

"I found him. Last I looked he was over by the fire-jugglers, wearing a purple doublet and a pine-green cape over his left shoulder. Tall...sorta...with white hair and darker skin than yours. And he'd be wearing a pin with vines on it which is his family's crest."

Beshna turned her head sideways, studying the herd of dancing people. Several flaming sticks popped up over the most distant heads. He would be over there.

"Stay behind me" Beshna pressed, "and don't say anything as long as you are with me."

Abreigelle nearly gasped when Beshna burst alight. The disc. It wasn't a physical light, but just an urge, as if something within Abreigelle needed to look at Beshna, needed to notice her. It made her very plain features seem extraordinary and beautiful. Clever.

A few heads turned to the corner where the two of them stood. Beshna surged forward, with a new air of confidence in her step. Abreigelle had to make long strides to keep up with her quick pace.

Most of the people Beshna passed stopped to look, with confused expressions on their faces. They were probably unsure why they needed to look at Beshna, and to Abreigelle's knowledge they didn't look like they had found her secret out yet. Perhaps they were so dumbfounded as to why they were staring at the most ordinary young woman in the room.

Abreigelle followed swiftly in the path created by Beshna. Even though no eyes were on her, Abreigelle still felt a twinge of regret for letting her Lady actually go through with this stupid plan. Beshna's disc-triggered aura seemed to only stretch a few feet in either direction, which was a relief, but still it seemed like the entire ballroom had their eyes on Lady Varner. Abreigelle bit her lip and lowered her head, trying to hide the appearance of distaste on her face.

Still keeping her head down, Abreigelle stopped a few feet back from where Beshna now stood and too a long step to the side. She had spotted him. Hopefully. Abreigelle tapped her foot silently on the marble floor. The quicker she got his attention, the quicker Beshna could stop using that absurd disc.

The music of the orchestra seemed to soften for a moment, and Abreigelle decided to risk a peek at the action. She lifted her head for just a moment. That was all she needed to take in the entire scene.

There he was, every bit as handsome as Beshna described him to be. Rashtar stood in front of a group of less-finely dressed men, and he was looking directly at Beshna. Noone else was looking anymore, and even Abreigelle felt the the supernatural urge leave her. Beshna had found a way to narrow the disc's power to just focus on him...if that could be done.

Abreigelle could barely breathe, and snapped her head back down. This is the moment that she and Beshna had so carefully planned tonight. Everything boiled down to this moment.

Steps. Crisp, clicking steps against the cold marble tile sounded nearer. He was approaching Beshna. Ask her to dance. Ask her to dance.

The world seemed to stand still. Abreigelle fought down the urge to look up at this pivotal moment. She gazed downward at the polished floor, staring at her reflection on the tiles. Any second now.

"A dance, My Lady?" Rashtar voice was loud and sharp, elegant like artisan leather. Abreigelle could even smell him now—his cologne was thick and musky, the kind of scent that would take weeks to wash off of you.

Yes. Say Yes, Abreigelle almost said it herself.

"I would love to, Rashtar. I would be honored." Beshna couldn't have spoken with more yearning. It sounded completely stupid.

Silence.

"Unfortunately, I wasn't talking to you." he chided.

What? Abeigelle jerked her head up. Rashtar was standing...right there.

No. He wasn't holding out a hand to Beshna...he...he was holding out a hand to Abreigelle. To Abreigelle. To me.

Abreigelle gaped at him—Rashtar was a work of art, rivaling Asfounder. But if Asfounder was the earth, this man was the sky. His entire face seemed like it had been chipped out of stone by a master craftsman, His eyes were wide, his hair was swept back beneath that cap, and he wore a deadly smirk. Sure enough, he even sported a golden strand of ivy pinned on his velvet cape.

And he still held out his hand.

Abreigelle glanced quickly to either side, making sure that he wasn't asking someone else, but there was no one around. They had all back away from her, with their mouths wide open. Beshna looked like she had seen a dead relative, there was fear in her eyes. She trembled.

But he raised his groomed brows, and he looked straight at Abreigelle.

What?! Rashtar wasn't serious. He couldn't be...but gazing into his bone-white eyes she saw only a serious longing...serious...holy hells, the man was beautiful. Her heartbeat quickened.

In that moment, Abreigelle forgot her duty to Lady Beshna. She forgot Monfreid or Asfounder or the other Swordfellows. She forgot her sister. She forgot the party or Trystan or even her servitude. There was only the High Councillator's son. Only Rashtar. Everything else faded away...and she took his hand.