“You’ve grown soft Snowy,” Dione rolled her eyes, “When I was her age I was luring men with the most disturbing of tendencies.”

“Riyah is different,” Snowy folded his arms over his broad chest, “She is far more sheltered than you ever were.” Riyah didn’t know if she should feel offended or not. On the one hand, she was just as much a part of F.O.T.O as anyone else. She wasn’t as sheltered as Snowy thought. On the other hand, she didn’t much like the idea of interacting with a pervert.

“You do not give her enough credit,” Dione argued, “Besides she could just as easily talk to the fiance. I’m sure Lady Mayfield isn’t ignorant to what her soon-to-be husband does behind closed doors.”

“You think she would know and still agree to marry him?” Riyah asked appalled. Dione traded a knowing look with Snowy.

“Oh dear,” she said with a soft smile, “Maybe she is too sheltered.” Riyah’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“This world is about money, power, and status, sweet girl,” Dione sat down next to her and cupped her cheek, “It’s best you remember that.” Riyah nodded.

“Do what you do best, you will be fine,” Dione said this but made it a point to look back at Snowy who still looked like he wished to argue the subject. With a slap on her thighs, Dione stood up. She held out her hands and pulled Riyah to her feet as well.

“The carriage should be ready,” Dione said as she pulled Riyah’s hand to the crook of her arm and started escorting her out of the room, “Do you think you will be okay? It should only be an hour carriage ride.” Riyah took a deep breath and nodded. Riyah did not do well with travel. She easily suffered from motion sickness. Riding in a carriage for longer than an hour or two often ended up with her emptying her stomach on the side of the road and a drain of all her energy.

Dione, Snowy, and Riyah exited out of the main entrance of the building that housed the F.O.T.O guild. The front was a working bakery shop run by a baker with the strange ability to bake messages directly into the bread. The building was large and meant to look like several buildings clustered together. There were several other businesses to the left and right of the bakery, all working as legitimate businesses as well as aids to the guild. A carriage was parked in front of the bakery. It bore a majestic owl as its crest. Dione decided on the crest when she bought herself a title after becoming the head of the guild.

Dione handed the coachman a slip of paper, instructions for him to follow since they couldn’t depend on him to remember who his passenger was and where she was going. Snowy opened the carriage door for her. He held out his hand and he helped her in.

“I know you will be successful tonight,” Dione said, “So try to enjoy yourself while you are out.” Riyah rolled her eyes. She didn’t enjoy balls or parties. They were much too noisy. Besides the point of such events were to socialize with friends and loved one. Riyah didn’t have any of those and despite her actions tonight, she wouldn’t be gaining any of them either.

The carriage ride felt longer than an hour. By the time it stopped in front of Calloway Manor, Riyah’s stomach was in knots and she felt queasy. The coachman opened the door and assisted her down. He looked at her with an indifferent stare. Indifference was the best Riyah could hope for.

She climbed up the stairs of the mansion’s entrance. There were a few couples ahead of her waiting for a servant to check their invitations.

“Invitation,” the servant droned when she reached him. She handed her an invitation. It didn’t belong to her of course. It belonged to her Aunt Beatrice, who often declined social gatherings. Her husband did not believe in being social. He took no interest in other people and instead spent his days working. He encouraged his wife to reject society as well, stating that he did not care for a silly wife who went to party after party. This left Riyah with the opportunity to claim all of her aunt’s party invitations.

“Enjoy your evening, Madam,” the servant said, though he did eye her up and down. She was much too young to be the Duchess of Rembrooke but the servant didn’t feel the need to kick up a fuss. Riyah entered the grand manor. Nobles were scattered about talking and laughing and drinking champagne. She could hear music playing from the ballroom to her right. She wandered in. The room shone brightly. It was much prettier compared to Rembrooke’s vacant ballroom. The floors were shiny and white. The ceiling had several ornate chandeliers. There were tables filled with delectable food. A chamber orchestra was in the corner playing beautiful music that filled the air and led many couples to dance.

Riyah wandered over to the food table. She picked up a strawberry tart and turned to face the room. She needed to find Derek Hughes. A servant passed by with a tray of drinks. She plucked one off the tray and took a sip. She hated the taste of champagne but it helped her blend in more if she looked like she was enjoying herself. She looked up toward the second level of the ballroom, a balcony-type landing that opened out to terraces. There were a few groups of people up there engrossed in conversion up there. They were mostly men. It would look odd if she went up there but if the lord wasn’t entertaining his lady in a dance then he would probably be having conversations with his fellow men.

Riyah scanned the men. It was a shame she did not know what Derek Hughes looked like other than a vague description. He was of average height and build. He had sandy brown hair brown eyes and a fair complexion. He pretty much looked like every other young noble. She spotted at least a dozen men who could match such a vague description.

A sudden feeling of being watched washed over Riyah. It was such a rare feeling for her. Her curse made her as good as invisible in a room of strangers. Who was looking at her? It didn’t take long to find out. A man stood with his hands placed firmly on the railing as if he were watching over the dancers of the ballroom. Something long and thin hung from his mouth. It was too skinny to be a cigar nor did any smoke float up from it. She wondered what it could possibly be. He was dressed all in black but even from a distance Riyah could tell that his clothes were top quality, made from the most luxurious of material money could buy. He was tall and his stance conveyed only confidence and authority. Even the men around him seemed too intimidated to approach him but rather stood back trading looks and whispering. Riyah couldn’t quite blame them. The man was staring down at her. His eyes were piercing through her as if he was trying to determine her purpose. But she was just a partygoer. There was no reason for a man of his station to be staring at her.

It was a long moment before Riyah realized she was staring back at him, examining him just as he did her. He had scruff on his face, an insult to every gentleman’s clean-shaven face. It stood out because his hair was so dark. Black scruff, black thick eyebrows, and black hair that fell long and loose about his shoulders. Most men kept their hair short or at least pulled back out of their faces. This man seemed to not care about the hair on his face or on his head. His lips held a ghost of a smile as if something amused him. He wasn’t handsome, Riyah thought, but he was the embodiment of a man. Though despite his fancy clothes he looked more like a wild man raised by wolves rather than humans.

“Where did you get that brooch, Lady Mayfield? It looks beautiful with your skin tone,” someone said. Riyah instantly forgot her stare down with the intimidating man. She ripped her eyes away from him and followed the voice to a group of women nearby. Riyah shoved the rest of the tart into her mouth and then downed her champagne, placing the empty glass on the table. Riyah made her way to the group of women.

“Did I hear the name, Lady Mayfield, as in Mary Mayfield,” Riyah said pushing her way into the circle. The women scowled at her, not appreciating the interruption.

“I am Mary Mayfield,” a girl answered looking slightly perturbed. She was a pretty blonde girl with ringlets in her hair. She had crystal blue eyes and pink rosy cheeks.

“I’ve just been dying to meet you ever since my cousin wrote to me about your engagement!” Riyah gushed.

“Cousin,” Mary repeated confused.

“Derek must have mentioned me,” Riyah lied, “After all, I am his favorite cousin. We practically grew up together. He wrote to me and told me that I had to come visit so that he could introduce us.”

“Oh yes yes,” Mary plastered on a fake smile, “You’re Derek’s cousin.”