Holy hells.

Abreigelle blinked, and she was swept away from everything. Rashtar took her to the center of the dancers, right in front of the orchestra where the music was loudest. Right where everyone could see.

Whatever game Rashtar thought this was, he wanted it visible to all, even his father. The High Councillator stood nearby assessing them with a treacherous gaze. He was clearly displeased.

Before she even realized it, Rashtar had his right hand on Abreigelle's waist and his left intertwined with her right. He didn't frown or flinch when she scuffled her silken slippers around to get into the proper dancing position. She must have looked so inelegant next to him, her movements so stiff and jerky. Still, he was patient and held her hand like a potter might hold his most treasured vase.

In her eighteen years of life, she had never experienced something quite like this. The twenty heartbeats that they stood there together, still as two statues, felt like a moment frozen in time. Motion continued around them, but in center of the room they just waited...waited for the right moment. If he was faking this whole thing, it surely wasn't written on his face.

When the crescendo rose, Rashtar took off, and Abreigelle stumbled into rhythm with him. For a few seconds, she shook with nervousness, but that quickly faded as they finally became a pair, and their moves flowed naturally out of the music. They weren't two individuals, but a single being.

It was her father who had first taught her to dance. Years and years ago, at the very distant verge of her memory, she recalled standing on her father's toes, and him leading her through the motions. It hadn't been very elaborate--just a simple step-and-slide which was enough for a little girl to handle without getting overwhelmed. They bobbed back and forth for hours it seemed like, before he reached down and took her into his strong arms and slung her onto his shoulders. As he strode inside the servants' quarters, she remembered tugging on his crimped flaxen hair and calling for her mother and for Lenore, so that she could show them all that she'd learned.

That was just a memory though. If any of them could see her now...

Abreigelle glanced around the room using the corners of her eyes, careful not to let Rashtar notice. Many of the people who had been idly standing nearby had condensed into a circle around the couples. Everyone was staring at them, whispering, their eyes darting between the human servant girl and the dominant Neurean aristocrat. Abreigelle didn't want to know what they thought of her, she just kept her chin held high.

Between twirls, she caught glimpses of Monfreid up on the balcony, shaking his head despairingly. She didn't care what he thought either—that Mr. Politician. It was so strange to think that he had been watching this entire time.

Rashtar, however, looked calm and collected. There was nothing wrong in his eyes, and if there was, he was awfully good at playing the illusion. His face just appeared so serene, like he had done this countless of times before—like this was nothing to him.

Yet, it was everything to her.

As the music's temp began to slow, Rashtar pulled her closer, close enough that he could plant a kiss on her face whenever he liked.

Her face felt like a furnace. Even though the music had changed he didn't decide to switch dancing partners.

Rashtar finally whispered, "Your name, Miss?"

She had to think about it for a moment, trying to collect herself. "Abreigelle."

"Abreigelle," he echoed, "You are a lovely dancer."

"Thank you, my Lord." she said immediately. "I don't often get to dance like this."

He squeezed her hand ever so slightly. "You are a natural, though I would admit, not the most experienced. But that is nothing that practice cannot fix."

"Of—of course," Practice? Did he actually want her to practice, then?

"That is who you serve—Lord Varner's daughter—isn't it?" Rashtar pivoted his head to the side where Beshna was standing, his gaze following her as he rocked back and forth. Beshna just stood awfully still, with her eyes wide and both hands clenched at her side. That was anger all right...

"Yes, it is. Though I must admit that she is a bit unpredictable at times, and emotional." Abreigelle held her breath as she realized what vileness had just come out of her mouth. How would Rashtar take it...that she—a human—just implied that she was better than Beshna? It was Beshna who should have been standing here...I've failed.

This was wrong, this was all wrong.

"You are absolutely right." He said, his voice etched with distaste. Abreigelle's stomach dropped. He agreed with me? "Did you know that I have attending nearly fifty of these wretched balls, and I have danced with nearly all the eligible women in Shah Neurn? I never wanted to...in fact, my father forces me to. Just because I am the son of the most powerful man in the country does not mean that I get all the freedom, does it?"

Abreigelle shook her head quickly. What could she say to that?

"I hate it. Someday, I want to choose my own path, and marry someone I love. But in the meantime, I have to show all of those crazy women that I am not some prize to be won...not some trophy that they can use to brag to all of their friends." A insidious grin crossed his face. "And tonight when I saw that silly disc that Lady Varner was practically waving in my face...I had to do something. I snapped."

Uh oh. Rashtar whirled her around all of a sudden, but Abreigelle wanted to be sick. He knew. He knew...

"I had to show her...show them all that they do not have my permission to treat me like an animal and use lures." He sniffed.

All that fear that had just washed over her, hardened into anger. This was just a stupid game he was playing. None of it was real. "So you decided to just ruin your reputation tonight while also making Beshna look like a fool?"

Rashtar frowned at her tone. "That was the plan. A last-minute plan albeit, but so far it appears to be working. After this, not a single Lady in the kingdom will want to claim me."

That was it, then. That was it.

Perhaps she wasn't thinking straight or perhaps all the dancing had gone to her head, but Abreigelle ripped out of Rashtar grip right in that instant. She wouldn't tolerate being used, especially against those she deemed her friends. There came a point where she had to draw the line...

Abreigelle intended to storm off and just leave him there, but decided to whack him in the face instead. She had already insulted Beshna quite badly...so she was practically doomed anyway. "You want a bad reputation? Well, why not make it more public? They'll never want to dance with you after this!"

Rashtar staggered backwards despite her not even hitting him with that much effort. Damn...he is good at acting.

The chatter all around her fizzled out as she stomped away, brushing aside the fancy Ladies and Lords whose mouths were all hanging open. She didn't care about slapping the most desirable bachelor in the room, or about the consequences. Rumors would be welcomed at this point.

What she had done though...Beshna would never forgive. Beyond that one cluster of people back near the dance floor, the ballroom looked rather normal, as if nothing had happened at all. Where was Beshna anyway—she had disappeared from the circle before Abreigelle had ended the dance. It would be nearly impossible to find her now, given Beshna's habit of hiding away after she became embarrassed.

How would she even explain all of this to her? Would Beshna even believe her? It's my fault...I should never have accepted Rashtar's offer in the first place.

Finally, Abreigelle fell onto the seat of an empty chair near the back of the ballroom, feeling a headache coming on. She was shaking, and her mind racing in a million directions. She leaned over with her hands on her knees, staring at her reflection in the floor. Beshna will look at me and see a traitor, she will never allow me to serve her again.

The smell of Rashtar's musky cologne still reeked on her hands--she needed to make for the restroom so that she could scrub off that blasted cologne, but two voices caught her attention. Two people sitting at the other end of the table, who apparently had not noticed her.

They weren't talking about the party, or even about the maneuverings of the government as many of the others usually did. So Abreigelle listened.

"...lock my doors. It's not safe anymore after what happened at the Tower."

"The Tower...you mean in Rvyn?"

"You haven't heard? By the hells, Dallit, I swear you are the most out-of-touch Lord in this entire country. If the High Councillator himself passed away you wouldn't even hear about it!"

The other Lord—Dallit—snorted. "Are you going to tell me about it then?"

"An Eternity Disc was stolen, you idiot! And worse it was snatched by a kid, a human child."

"What! You mean--."

"That is exactly what I mean. Keep them on a short leash. If the humans find out, we will all be doomed...there will be a rebellion for sure. And even if we do survive, who will run our estates, who will guard our families? It will be a catastrophe!"

Abreigelle didn't dare raise her honey-blonde head. They were talking about humans. Humans. Some human kid stole a disc in Rvyn. But he said Eternity Disc. She didn't have the faintest idea what that meant.

"Yes, yes, that would be very disturbing indeed," Dallit continued, "But, you overlook one crucial detail."

"What?"

"The fool's prophecy. Trystan said we would have a profitable year, and—"

"You believed that idiot? Dallit, you disturb me sometimes. I wonder why we are even allies. That idiot only said what we wanted to hear. If he said anything ill of this coming year he'd be executed."

"Ahh. Right. But..."

Their voices faded as Abreigelle slipped away. She had heard enough. Well enough. So, she crouched and walked until she was out of their possible range of sight.

Those Lords had sounded very, very concerned about whatever situation was going on in Rvyn. But that was miles and miles away from here. Somehow that fact made it even worse—that the Lords would act so worried about something that happened all the way out in the Rvyni countryside.

Abreigelle slunk to the very, very back of the ballroom, finding an alcove between two enormous marble pillars to rest. It was dark here, and hopefully no one would be able to see her break down into tears. Everything that had happened...everything that she had heard in the last twenty minutes was overwhelming her to the point of breaking. She swore she had never felt this anxious, this shameful, in her entire life.

It seemed like an hour had passed before a familiar silhouette appeared, blocking what little light she had to herself. Seeing him there gave her so much comfort.

"Evadrian?" Abreigelle muttered, wiping the wetness from her cheeks.

Evadrian bent down and knelt next to her, his eyes completely black in the shadow of the columns except for the green ring which shone through like the light of a distant fire. "Abreigelle, you're crying."

She sniffed, saying firmly, "No. I'm not." She straightened and lifted her chin. "What are you doing here?"

"You know why." Gently, he interlocked his hand in hers. "Come on. I'm taking you home."