I wonder if any of them actually like him.
     Nicholas suppressed the need to yawn as he glanced around the crowd of young women that had swarmed them as soon as they reached the base of the stairs. All of them were gazing at the Crown Prince with adoration, as if he were the center of the universe and they could not look away. 
   Well, several theoretical alchemists had put forth the theory that dense celestial objects had an invisible force that drew lesser objects to them, to spin around them for eternity. He couldn’t hold back the snort as he thought that he was watching proof of those worthies theorems right in front of him. Heavens knew that Erik was probably the densest object currently in the room, surrounded by his ‘petticoat brigade’ and their mindless chatter.
     He engaged in his own round of meaningless small talk, keeping one ear on the conversations happening on his right. While the Prince could usually be relied on to avoid any serious scandals at such public events, he had been known to go off script if he took a particular fancy to a young lady. He had no idea why Erik seemed set on wrecking the engagement that His Majesty had worked hard to set for him. For the past two years, ever since it had been announced, it was as if the very sight of Lady Anastasia irritated him. Before that, he had always thought that His Highness had at least some affection for the young lady. Erik had always acted with a casual protectiveness for the little girl they had known in their youth. Ever the pragmatic father, Nicholas had been pressed into service by His Majesty to ensure that his son danced his first dance with the daughter of the Duke of Wellsbridge, his ostensible fiancée. Or, if, as was more likely, he couldn’t force the Prince to act in his own best interest, then at the very least the dance should be with the daughter of Count Blanc. 
    He wrapped up the usual pleasantries he was exchanging with the marquess and turned his full attention back to his companion. Currently, they were making slow progress through the ballroom, stopping every few moments to listen to another young miss compliment His Highness on his choice of attire, or his hairstyle, or the fact that he was upright and breathing. After a moment’s consideration, realization dawned on him. 
   He isn’t… He IS. He’s posing!
   Nicholas barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at His Highness’s behavior and lightly rubbed his temple before subtly steering him in the direction he needed him to go. He had spotted the fiery auburn hair of Lady Anastasia Stark, only daughter of the Duke of Wellsbridge, not too far away. With any luck, he could swiftly maneuver those two onto the dance floor and then move on to his real objectives for tonight. 
As if on cue, he had his hopes dashed as the Prince slowed to a halt about halfway down the ballroom. He had obviously realized the direction he was being herded and decided to make his stand. As could be expected, they were quickly surrounded. Sighing internally, Nicholas resigned himself to a difficult evening. Glancing over at Lady Anastasia, she held his gaze for a moment, then smirked before flicking open her fan lazily and returning to her conversation.
   Dressed in a sapphire blue gown trimmed in white lace, with her waves of sunset hair tamed into a sophisticated style accented by pearls and feathers, she exuded her usual casual elegance. She was surrounded by the expected circle of elite young lords and ladies, all members of influential houses. The Dukes of Wellsbridge had been loyal Imperialists for generations, with the latest Duke enjoying an especially cordial relationship with the Imperial Family. Of course, His Highness seemed to be dead set on ruining that single-handedly. Every time he acted out in public, it put further strain on the relationship, costing more and more political capital. Anastasia had never been slow, so he was sure that she was fully aware that His Highness intended to snub her this evening, and was already planning ways to use this to extract more concessions from His Majesty. 
Of course, like father, like son, and the royal pair left details like that to Nicholas and his father to deal with. All while Erik continued to do exactly as he pleased. As usual.  
Well alright. Plan A is scrapped, time to move on to plan B.
   Nicholas scanned the ballroom for the Count and his wife. To be allowed to move on to his own, much more vital, business, all he had to do was have His Highness dance his first dance with one of the approved young ladies. Since he couldn’t be maneuvered into dancing with the Duke’s daughter, he would just have to find the Count and hope his daughter was up to snuff. The whole Blanc family was known to dote on the young lady, and she had been kept at the country estate since childhood. It had caused a substantial stir when gossip had leaked that the reclusive young lady had finally come to the Capitol. Opinions were currently split on the Count's youngest child between those matrons who saw her, and her sizable dowry, as a threat to their own daughters’ prospects and those hoping to secure a rich wife for their sons.
    Those who had no stake in the matchmaking frenzy, who had caught a glimpse of her going in and out of the shops in Frontreau Street, had merely praised her beauty and quiet elegance. Not that anyone had engaged in an extended conversation with the Lady. She seemed to still cultivate a reserved demeanor.
    Spotting the striking pink hair of the Countess, her husband’s dark purple head bent to whisper something in her ear with a tender look on his face, he made his way through the crowd, sending up a fervent prayer that the young lady would be as quiet and reserved as advertised. The last thing he needed was Erik acquiring another admirer or making an enemy. All Nicholas could hope for was that she was sensible enough, in the time it takes for one dance, not to fall in love or make a scene if His Highness did something untoward. 
   His gaze focused on the Count, whose financial acumen had become legendary in the Empire. It was said that in a business deal, Count Blanc knew exactly how much money you had in your pocket before you walked in the door, and would have at least eighty percent of it off of you before you left. Though it was also said that he was honest and above board in all his dealings, never leaving a competitor destitute unless they crossed the line. Those who employed underhanded tactics, however, were met with sheer ruthlessness. 
   Nicholas respected the Count’s stance, as well as his talent. So did His Majesty. They could use an aristocrat like him, and so the Emperor, despite the Count’s long-standing political neutrality, had been looking for ways to draw him closer. Hence, having the young lady of the Blanc family as the backup for the first dance with the Crown Prince tonight. An honor that would raise her standing, while hopefully serving as a bridge for further talks with her father. A standard plan, really, and one that Nicholas would have had normally have had no qualms over. If it wasn’t public knowledge that Erik was dead set on blowing up his engagement. Mix that with his capricious temperament, these past few years, and putting the Imperial family in the middle of a fight between a duke and the richest man in the Empire would be something that his friend would find exceedingly amusing. It would, however, do nothing but cause him endless headaches. While he knew that her parents would be well aware of the political realities of the situation, they also famously doted on the girl, so if she were to be persistent, who knew how they might react.
   Speaking of which, where was the girl? As he had drawn closer to the group gathered to chat with the couple, he didn’t see any young ladies who could be the young lady in question. Other than vague references to her being beautiful, he had never heard a detailed description of her, but a scan of the ballroom did not reveal any promising young ladies who resembled the Count’s family.
    In a lax moment, while he debated having someone search the retiring rooms, he accidentally let his eyes meet his mother’s across the ballroom. He saw the obvious summons in her look, and a shiver went down his spine. To avoid his mother’s attempts to draw him into the matchmaking frenzy, he headed towards the edge of the crowded room, blindly grabbing a fluted glass of champagne from a passing servant’s tray. He saw some of his intended marks for the evening gathering towards the other end of the room. He needed to find this girl and move on to the real work for tonight. He mentally shot a few curses his old friends' way as the group he had been watching spoke for a few moments and then split up once more, spreading out throughout the ballroom. He took a sip from the glass in his hand to cover his continued observation as he noted who the men moved on to chat with. 
   Blech! Sparkling lemonade. Why on earth do they even serve this? Who actually likes it?
    Fighting his impatience with it all, he looked around for somewhere to relieve himself of the glass, accidentally glancing through the glass on doors that led to the terrace. A furtive movement at the top of the stairs captured his attention. A pale face caught the reflected light of the ballroom before turning and descending the stairs leading into the gardens.
   It was not uncommon for guests to leave stuffy, overcrowded ballrooms to take advantage of the Capitol’s mild spring weather, cooling off and finding some relief from the crowds. However, the Imperial ball was the first major event of the social season, and few, if any, would have already sought its refuge. His Highness had also yet to bestow his first dance of the evening, so it was exceedingly odd for a young lady to venture out into the deserted gardens alone this early in the evening. It could be explained away with any number of plausible excuses, but something about the way the girl moved set off his intuition. 
   Nicholas had always trusted his instincts. As the figure descended the stairs out of sight, he took a look around the ballroom to ensure that he would not be followed himself, then slipped out onto the terrace and followed.
He crossed the terrace and reached the space where he had first spotted the figure in time to see her pause in a pool of shadow just out of reach of the lights illuminating the garden’s pathways. He noted the gown he had initially thought to be black in his initial glimpse of her was, in fact, a dark purple. Clever. If he had not caught that brief glimpse of her pale face, no one would notice her in the shadows outside. It was a common fallacy that black was the best color to blend in with shadows. No shadow was truly pitch black, though, and muted colors like browns, greens, and blues were much more effective to evade casual glances when hiding in the dark. He was glad that his irritation at the Crown Prince’s crimson colored vanity had him choosing a dark blue for the evening as he watched the girl pull a veil out of what, he had to assume, were cleverly hidden pockets in her skirts. He watched her affix the veil to her lavender hair, then pull on a pair of dark gloves, hiding her pale face and hands. His budding respect for the young lady’s cleverness rose. 
   He waited for a count of five after watching her disappear into the bushes beside the path before descending himself and following her. Watching from a distance, he followed her as she moved through the garden with stealthy efficiency. If she weren’t moving so covertly, avoiding every one of the guards stationed throughout, one might think she was merely touring the fountains sprinkled through the gardens. Which he figured might just be the excuse she had prepared in case she were discovered. At the third fountain they visited, she paused, then settled into the deep shadows cast by a nearby tree, obviously preparing to wait. He found his own concealment and also settled in to wait. 
   She appeared to be waiting for something. Or someone, though his gut was telling him this was not a simple case of a young lady sneaking off for a forbidden dalliance. She seemed too practiced, concealing herself off the main path. Too focused, her attention fixed on the fountain and path. Even now, as the time dragged on, she showed no signs of impatience or frustration. She stayed perfectly still in her hiding spot, not rustling so much as a leaf to let anyone know that she was there. If he had not followed her here himself and were strolling through the gardens, he would most likely pass by without ever noticing her. He thought of the covert deals and schemes that were often plotted or carried out under the glittering lights of society’s ballrooms. He had already been set on investigating tonight at the ball. Who knew what he might discover here in the dark?
  Time ticked by, and Nicholas allowed his mind to drift as he continued to wait. He was just sending up a silent prayer that His Highness was not causing too much of a scene in his absence when the girl suddenly moved. She crossed the lawn silently, stopping directly in front of the fountain. Stealthily creeping forward to observe more closely, all the muscles in Nicholas’ body tensed, and he froze as the veiled head turned, apparently surveying the path and nearby bushes. He swore he could feel her glance linger on the spot where he had concealed himself before turning back and focusing on the fountain. He moved forward, drawing as close behind her as he dared, hoping to catch a glimpse of what she was looking at before she noticed him. He assumed he had failed to evade her notice when, after a moment, he saw her freeze then look around, as if in some agitation. Then she reached up and whipped off the veil, then removed the gloves, stuffing them back wherever she had pulled them from. 
    Hoping to block any attempt to flee back towards the ballroom before he was able to question her, he crossed the last few steps to stand directly behind her, preparing to confront her. Just as he was about to speak, he saw her draw in a deep breath, as if preparing to scream. Feeling that summoning the guards at this point would just complicate things, he slid his arm around her slender waist, pulling her back against his chest and clamping his hand over her mouth and muffling the sound before it could escape. 
   He felt her stiffen and used the brief moment before she began to struggle to glance down into the fountain, searching for what she had been looking at, and found himself staring into the dead eyes of Viscount Torrington. Just as he registered the red tint of the water, a heel descended on his foot and an elbow connected sharply with his stomach, forcing his grip on the lady to loosen. She took the opportunity to slip free like an eel, quickly taking up an aggressive stance with her fists raised, just out of his reach.