I track her through the glass. Curls that I know would reach her waist are tied up, twisted into an elegant swirl at the back of her head. The deep brown of her hair is striking against the jade jewelry and pearls she’s decorated herself with. Her earrings swing a little, catching chandelier-light as she searches the ballroom. The movement jostles her barely-contained mane, a single stubborn curl falls over her eyes, tucked behind her ear by a pale hand. My attention is ripped from her to him. He stands a head taller than her (and nearly everyone else in the room, for that matter). Waves of tousled sand-colored hair fall over his blue eyes and stick to his neck with sweat. His cheeks, ears and neck are flushed a warm pink; he’s thoroughly drunk. A lazy, boyish smirk paints his handsome features as his hand lingers behind her ear. She smiles up at him, eyes sparkling. She says something I can’t make out, and he grins harder. I survey the rest of the room, desperate to look away from them. Butlers have only just begun serving platters of glasses- bubbling champagne and dozens of shades of wine. No ball-goer looks drunk just yet, a few a little tipsy. I frown. With further scrutiny, I find a knot of tall, broad-shouldered young men by the door, looking as flushed as the blonde boy is. I recognize one as the guard who stamped my (fake) invite and let me in. Guards. Seemingly just let off duty- and had been drinking long before the party.

“He’s a guard, then?” I ask smoothly, stepping from behind the tree I’ve leaned against. Maella startles so hard I’m afraid she might attack me. She tiptoed past a sea of bodies into the rose garden- for some fresh air, I assume. She’s only had a glass or two, but she’s flushed all the same. The flash of recognition in her eyes when she sees me has me swallowing. “Your ‘friend’. The one who stood you up when I found you.” I continue, amused at the anger building in her features. “You don’t know anything.” She speaks the words carefully, dark eyes narrowing at me, like I might disappear again. The music from here is muffled — still hypnotizing — mixed with a symphony of merry chatter and clinking glasses and shoes against a marble dance floor. “ I know more than you think I do, my lady.” I offer a hand, brow quirked, lip twitching. She swivels her head, and when she sees nobody paying attention, she takes my hand with her own reluctantly, but she isn’t afraid. I almost smile. She wears sheer gloves dotted with pearls like drops of morning dew, stopping at her wrist with a gentle ruffle. I hadn’t noticed them. I wonder with rather alarm if that boy had gifted hem to her. I pull her deeper into the shadows of the trees, where the moon is filtered through a canopy of willow leaves. With her free hand, she bunches her lilac gown up off the ground. The girl studies me with a burning intensity. She’s gauging whether I’m a threat. I may be forward, but I am no arrogant fool. Wealthy, powerful people sway not a few feet from us, accompanied by well-trained guards. It would be suicide to harm her — here, at least. She lets my hand go.