But maybe Cyrus knows how to be clever after all—because another golden fox steps out from the shadows behind the first one.
Then two more behind them.
Then four more after that.
Eight identical golden foxes line up behind the balustrade and bow in synchrony. Seven imposters and only one prince.
They’re swarmed as soon as they descend to the ground floor. A tune swells from the orchestra, luring them to the dance area, wide-eyed hopefuls in tow, mooning, clinging, tittering.
There’s going to be atleastthree more hours of this.
I eye the exit.
“Tryto stay until the next chime of the clock,” Camilla says, as if she can see through the back of my head.
Grumbling, I head to the dessert table.
Nine bells toll. I conclude: the lights are too bright, the flirtations are horrendous, and one of the pastries I eat crumbles into the bodice of my dress, so if the Fates are watching, eventheydon’t want me to be here.
I can’t keep track of the fox-masked gents, but anytime I get too close to one, I’m dragged into a whirlpool of shoving and squealing, and I’m one breath away from screeching to all of them,None of you toad-brains will marry Cyrus, you’re all being duped!
I flop onto a seat in the shadow of a swan ice sculpture that’s melted into something better resembling a duck. There’s so much food piled onto these tables, entire cakes are left untouched. On another table, there’s a life-sized dragon made out of bread, its belly pouch stuffed with fruits and chocolate coins. I start cutting slices of my favorite cake—a triple-stacked blueberry and lemon monstrosity topped with meringue.
Camilla spots me as she’s stealing an entire tray of drinks. “What are you doing?”
“Eating three slices of cake and five slices of regret, what does it look like I’m doing?”
After my second slice, I spot the only other person I don’t want to kill. Wine flute in hand, his curly hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a simple ivory mask and an outrageous lime feathered hat—Dante Esparsa, partner in misery.
He’s with his own circle of friends from the university. “Esparsa, what are our chances?” I hear one of the gents say. “His Highness will certainly choose a bride, but there hasn’t been enough discussion about his choice of lovers. I wouldn’t mind these events if we had an opportunity.”
“It’s slim to none, I’m afraid,” says Dante.
“You must admit to us lowly outsiders that it’s unusual that you’ve been Cyrus’s favorite for so long.”
A grimace flashes across Dante’s face. The implication is clear, even if his friends meant no ill: why else would the prince favor a foreign bastard over the rest of them, if he isn’t sleeping with him? “Are you implying my conversation is so boring that I must be good in bed? I don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered.”
His friends guffaw. I touch his elbow, and Dante gladly tears away from the circle when he sees me. “Well, well, well—look what the fairies dragged in. Trying to give Camilla a run for her coin?”
Flushing, I cover my chest with a hand. “Shut up.”
“You look nice.”
“I don’t feel like myself.”
“I assure you that you can still be petty in petticoats.” He glances over his shoulder. His friends have moved on to raiding the charcuterie without him. “Thankyou. I would’ve gone mad if I didn’t pass out drunk first. The gents aren’t hooking and the ladies have Cyrus to find.” Dante takes my gloved hand and leans down to whisper conspiratorially, “So you found Cyrus’s true love, eh?”
“Hopefully.” I flash a pale smile. I don’t like lying to Dante.
“Patently unfair. You dream of kissing and it’s a prophecy.Idream of kissing and it’s,Woke up wet, did you?”
I waggle my brows. “Well, did you?”
He also waggles his brows.
The dance area is crowded with waltzing foxes andtwirling gowns, like I’d seen in my patrons’ threads. As the music quiets, a new set of dancers shuffles onto the floor.
Dante tugs me forward. “Shall we?”
