After my crash course in perfect-form curtseys from all seven kingdoms and our own, I was able to bluff my way through the afternoon test without anyone so much as suspecting I might not have had the gentile upbringing of a lady.

That night Jules must have been given the memo about it being a dance as well as dinner because she had the most absurdly elaborate gown waiting for me after my shower.

“Seriously?” I questioned her, eyeing the offensive garment. “No, you're joking. Aren't you?”

Juliana looked almost offended as she folded her arms over her chest and glared at me. “Are you questioning my fashion sense, Rybet Waise?”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” I hastily replied, backing right the fuck down. Jules was as vicious as a street cat when she thought she was being insulted.

“Good. Now get dressed.” Her stern scowl was enough to make me drop my towel and scramble into the scarlet, beaded creation.

It was no better on my body than I had expected.

Full length sleeves skimmed the backs of my hands and covered the sticky bandage on my shoulder wound. Beaded fabric cut severely across my throat, entirely covering my front, but the back more than made up for that small level of modesty. Just a thin strip of red glass beads held the sleeves together across the top of my back, leaving the rest of my flesh exposed all the way down to the crack of my ass. In the front, a dramatic split cut up the left leg, stopping barely short of the red lace thong Jules had provided me with.

“Babe, how the hell am I supposed to move in this without flashing my vagina to every man and his friend?” I pouted as I turned back to my best friend, but the look on her face said it all. I was wearing this dress whether I liked it or not.

“You're sneaky. You'll make it work.” She waved off my concerns as she held out a pair of matching high-heeled shoes. “Come on, you'll be late if you keep fucking around.”

I sighed heavily but didn't waste breath arguing. High heels weren't something I'd a lot of experience with, but given I could balance on a wire when required, they should really pose no serious challenge.

“If someone tries to cop a feel tonight, it's on you,” I muttered at her as she quickly styled my hair into a simple updo. “I can't promise I won’t break his hand.”

Jules scoffed. “Uh-huh, unless it's Lee the gardener or Ty the soldier?”

My face flamed, but I shrugged. “I guess their hands might survive.” If I were being totally honest, I hoped they would be in the invited guests for the night—and that they'd try to cop a feel. That I'd allow.

While Jules finished my hair and makeup, I let my mind wander onto that scenario. But for some gods-cursed reason, when I was picturing those hands on me... there was a third set. Zan's. Ugh!

“Done,” Juliana announced, snapping me from my sordid thoughts. “Now go and impress. I have to pop into the city to take care of... business. But I should be back before you, so no more late night make-out sessions, okay?”

I rolled my eyes at her and smiled. “Yes, mother. Have fun with your 'business' tonight.” I threw her a knowing wink and headed out of our rooms to make my way to dinner.

The walk from my room to the great hall actually worked well in my favor, giving me time to adjust my gait to the new shoes and heavy dress. Every damn inch of the thing was crusted with beads, including the train, which trailed on the ground behind me. Hopefully there would be some way to pick it up if I really did need to dance.

I paused just outside the great hall. Shit. Dancing. How could I have let that slip my mind? I didn't know court dances! I only knew bawdy tavern dances, which were usually danced to dirty, offensive songs like “The Bonnie Princes’ Whore Woman” and similar catchy tunes.

Actually, that would have been a strangely appropriate choice of song during the Royal Trials.

“In or out, Callaluna,” an annoyed-sounding girl prompted me. “Some of us have a royal husband to woo, you know.”

Stepping aside, I allowed the pretty redhead to brush past me. I couldn't place her name, but recognized her as being close with Gracelin.

“They're all yours,” I muttered, sneering at her back. “I wish you all the happiness.”

The girl turned slightly to give me a baffled look, then sniffed, tugged her mask down, and tossed her hair as though dismissing me. I followed her because what other options were there? Refuse to play this sick game any longer and suffer who knows how painful of a death thanks to the binding oath magic?

Stupid me for not thinking that one through.

Inside the great hall, the long banquet table had been removed and a handful of well-dressed, masked gentlemen mingled with the ladies who'd already arrived. We were down to eighteen now and would be losing another one tonight.

“What do you think this is all about?” Agatha asked, coming up beside me and bouncing slightly on her toes with what I could only assume was excitement. Strange girl.

I shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Looks like they're mixing it up tonight with a dance.” I nodded to the string quartet in the corner playing gentle background music. “Because poisoning an innocent girl at a dance is so much more acceptable than the dinner table.”

Agatha's lips twisted into a grimace. “Maybe they've decided to skip it tonight, seeing as we're already one down from the first night?”

“No harm in wishing,” I murmured with a sigh. “But I doubt it.” The mousey girl said nothing in response, and I glanced down at her. “You'll be fine, though. I imagine your test went okay today?” We'd been tested in private, so no one could cheat by using someone else's knowledge, but Agatha just had that studious, bookish look about her.

She nodded. “Of course, Zan gave us all the info we needed during the class section. I spent the lunch break taking a nap.”

Despite the fact that one of our peers was staring down death, I couldn't help snorting a laugh. I wondered how many of the other ladies had worked out that their lunchtime “assignment” had been a wild goose chase. When Zan had done the initial introductions of each dignitary, he’d given us a key piece of information pertaining to each person’s country of origin. That was all that had been required to pass the test.

“Do you think the princes will ask us to dance tonight?” she asked me, her voice devoid of all emotion so I couldn't get a read on how she felt about that.

My teeth nipped at the inside of my lip in a nervous habit as I thought about Zan's confidence that one of the princes would ask me to dance. “I'd say so,” I responded to Agatha's question. “The whole point is to get to know their prospective brides, isn't it?”

“Or make them feel better about killing us all off,” she muttered under her breath, but it was enough to make me raise a brow under my mask. It was sort of comforting to know I wasn't the only one horrified by the brutal form of “elimination” that these trials required.

I sighed. “Something like that.”

Any more conversation between us was interrupted by the arrival of two tall men in black fabric masks. They made some polite greeting that I paid little attention to and handed us each a glass of wine.

My attention was elsewhere. Despite my common sense telling me not to, I found myself scanning the room for our tutors. It was a pointless endeavor though. In the dim, candlelit room, it was impossible to identify them based on hair color, and several of the “gentlemen” even wore hooded cloaks. Damn them.

“Looking for someone in particular?” the gentleman who stood in front of me asked but sounded like he didn't really care about the answer. “The royals will be arriving soon, if that's what you're waiting on.”

When I automatically wrinkled my nose and frowned, I was thankful for the red, beaded mask I wore. At least no one could see my honest reactions to the pond-scum we had for a royal family. I'd never met the woman—she’d died when I was a baby—but I could safely say I wished Queen Ophelia were still alive. Everyone who'd lived during her reign spoke nothing but good of her, yet here we were—our own king poisoning ladies every night for his own entertainment.

“I wasn't,” I replied without elaborating, then changed the subject. “Apologies, where are my manners? I'm Lady Callaluna, and you are?”

“Oh, er,” the man stuttered, his eyes darting around the room as though looking for answers.

Shaking my head, I waved it off. “Secret identities tonight, got it. No need to come up with a weak lie.”

“Right,” he sighed, sounding relieved.

I sipped my drink and inspected his hands, clutching nervously at his own wine glass. They were calloused, and his nails were cut to the quick. Servant of some sort for sure. “Makes sense,” I agreed. “Forces all the ladies to assume they're engaging with nobles, regardless of whether their companion lives in a mansion or”—I took another look at his hands and then his shoes— “or the stables.”

He visibly startled at my guess, and I allowed myself a smug smile.

“How'd you know?” he demanded, his shoulders slumping slightly.

I shook my head again and took another sip of wine. “Don't worry; it was a lucky guess. You have a piece of hay stuck to your boot.”

His scramble to unstick the offending piece of hay was covered by a flurry of motion as the main doors flew open and the royals made their grand entrance. Looked like tonight, unlike the last two nights, we were all expected to show the correct level of respect as they made their way to the thrones at the end of the room.

Biting the inside of my cheek so hard it almost bled, I tucked my foot and sank into the customary Teich curtsey—deep enough to befit our monarchs’ presence.

The five of them—King Titus, Queen Filamina, and their three sons—swept past me in a flutter of expensive silks and floral perfumes. My pose wobbled slightly, and for a second I saw a vision of myself faceplanting at the queen's feet.

Thankfully, that clear image was enough to scare me into freezing on the spot and successfully staying on my feet until we were permitted to stand once more.

Releasing a long breath, I almost forgot my “gentleman” companion until he spoke.

“Nerve-wracking, isn't it?” he murmured, and I glanced up to see his attention glued firmly on the royals. “Queen Filamina frequents the stables, and it never gets easier.”

I gritted my teeth, thinking of their callous disregard for life in the Royal Trials. “They're certainly not what I expected.”

“That's one way to put it,” Agatha agreed, tapping me on the elbow to announce her presence. “Callaluna, there's a buffet over there if you want to eat anything before you lose your appetite.”

I smiled at her and gave a polite nod to the stable hand before following Agatha to the food table. She had a damn good point. Once I saw someone foaming at the mouth and convulsing on the floor in a pool of sequins, beads, and silk, I really wouldn't feel like eating.

As we filled our pathetically small plates, a herald made an announcement to welcome everyone to this “splendid affair” of a dance and instructed us to all “enjoy ourselves.” Like that was so possible under the circumstances.

Agatha was approached by another masked gentleman before she'd even started on her food, but she—unlike me—had been raised in an aristocratic household. She wouldn't have dreamed of turning him down to eat mini pastries and quiches with me.

“Lady Callaluna,” a husky voice spoke from slightly behind me, and I turned ever so slightly to see who had recognized me. Not that it was a hard task. Ladies masks and dresses didn't afford us anywhere near the anonymity that the men gained.

A quick glance at the signet ring on his gloved hands had me gritting my teeth and turning to face Prince Thibault fully. “Your Highness. How lovely to see you again.”

Praying to Aana that my fortune would hold, I sketched another quick curtsey and successfully returned to standing without any major incidents.

“How I wish I believed that.” The prince smirked. “Such a shame it sounded like you were eating broken glass as you said it.”

I sighed, giving up my attempt at cordial manners. “I can't imagine why,” I drawled sarcastically, letting my gaze drift over the crowd once more in a clear act of disrespect. “It's not like you and your family are a pack of mentally disturbed, bloodthirsty murderers or anything.”

Prince Thibault actually choked on the sip of wine he'd just taken, and I got the satisfaction of watching him cough and splutter for a moment before he replied.

“Lady—” He broke off, shaking his head and patting his mouth with a handkerchief. “You realize you could be executed for saying things like that?”

I shrugged and tossed another gulp of wine back like I really didn't give two shits. This was, in fact, news to me. I had been under the impression that our citizens’ right to free speech included insulting the princes to their faces. Guess not.

“At least I'd be dying having spoken the truth,” I told him, stubbornly defending my opinion, “as opposed to dying by my own hand with a glass of poison. And for what? Having a crappy day in combat class?” I was getting fired up again now and turned my death glare on the arrogant son of a bitch. Damn him for being so freaking huge, though. I was forced to look up at him, and that was a position I didn't appreciate in my current mood.

“From what I hear, that would never be a problem for you,” Prince Thibault muttered with an edge of... curiosity? Hard to tell. I'd already had way more wine on an empty stomach than I really should have had. “I understand you were injured, though. How is that?” His gaze raked over me, and I squinted to try and make out what color his eyes were under his mask. Damn candlelight made everything so difficult.

“Just fine,” I snapped. “Not that it makes a difference in the long run. Only one girl is surviving this game of yours, and I think it's a safe wager that it won’t be me.” Feeling depressed at the discussion once again about everyone dying, I gulped the last of my wine, then wiped my mouth off on the sleeve of my dress. Classy. Also, a dumb idea, as the beads scratched my lips.

Prince Thibault let out a long-suffering sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair. “We didn't ask for this, you know?” His voice had taken a somewhat bitter edge that made me do a double take. “Our family is not native to Teich, and the Royal Trials are. This was the only blend of customs that the high priests of Sal would allow.”

I rolled my eyes and snorted. Sal was our god of destiny and also the ruler of the other gods. But magic had abandoned us a long time ago, along with the gods. “Sure, you let those magicless windbags dictate something as important as this.” I gave him a sarcastic smile and hoped the effect wasn't lost thanks to my mask. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Highness. Now, if you'll excuse me...”

“You have somewhere better to be?” he challenged me, sounding surprised. Arrogant prick.

“Yes,” I responded in a haughty tone. “Anywhere but here.”

Replacing my empty glass onto the table, I whirled around to make a dramatic exit with the train of my red dress flying. Thwarting what I'd pictured as a very impressive moment, I whirled—as imagined—then walked straight into a hard man-chest.

“Oomph.” I groaned, rubbing at my forehead where I'd just collided into Prince Alexander's golden torque. Amazing. Another one to deal with. Could my night get any better?

“Lady Callaluna, how delightful,” the prince greeted me, and I sighed.

“Prince Alexander—I mean, Your Highness,” I replied through clenched teeth. “It must be my lucky night. To what do I owe the... pleasure?”

The oldest prince said nothing for a moment, and even under his mask I could tell he was scowling at me. The tight slant to his mouth said it all.

Looking past me, he asked his brother, “Why does it sound like pleasure means something totally different in Riverdell?”

Thibault barked a laugh and stepped forward to clap his brother on the shoulder. “It does. Good luck, brother.” With that encouraging sentiment, Prince Thibault left me alone in the oldest prince's intense gaze.

“Was there something I could do for you, Your Highness?” I pursed my lips and looked for some way to escape. Where was that stable hand? Surely I could attach myself to him for the rest of the night?

The prince made a fake-sounding cough and gave me a tight smile. “I was just coming to ask how the food was, but now I find myself wanting to dance. Must be this song.” His lips curved in a mocking smile, since the musicians were taking a break as they flicked through sheet music to find their next tune. “Would you do me the pleasure, Lady Callaluna?”

He held an open palm out, and I stared at it like he was presenting me a venomous drachen. Dancing with a freaking prince was sure to lead to disaster. “I—”

“I'm afraid I must insist, Lady Callaluna,” he interrupted my weak protest. “You've already rejected my brother's advances. Do you really want to draw any further attention by rejecting me as well?”

I was sorely tempted to call his bluff and tell him that yes, I would be willing to take that risk to avoid touching his bloodstained hands. But across the room, Lord Taipanus stared straight at me with his cruel, snakelike gaze.

Despite how foolish, brave, and reckless I was in almost every other situation, I wasn't stupid enough to ignore my instincts when it came to the King's Snake.

“Sure,” I snapped, reluctantly placing my hand on his. Of course, my reluctance to touch him was more symbolic than anything—given that he, too, wore soft leather gloves. Frustratingly, they wore those gloves as religiously as their masks and signet rings. How was a common criminal supposed to learn anything about a man when he was so carefully concealed?

The musicians began a new tune, and Prince Alexander expertly led me into the cleared section of the room, which already had several other couples preparing to dance.

“Calm yourself, lady,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to my ear as he tugged me closer into a dance hold. “An accomplished gentleman can lead any dance, regardless of his partner’s skill level. Just give up control for a few minutes and follow.”

I snorted a laugh at this advice, but what other options were there? Fight him and demonstrate to the whole damn room how utterly unaccomplished I was at court dances? Or maybe try and fake it and end up flat on my ass? Yeah... neither seemed like the most conducive route to maintaining my disguise.

So against my better judgement, I let him lead.

Our first few steps were a bit rocky, until Prince Alexander pointed out the little loop in my dress train which allowed it to be picked up out of tripping range. After that, well, it was strangely enjoyable.

Not my partner, obviously, but the simple glide and twirl across the floor, perfectly timed to the skilled instrumentals... it was soothing. For a short time, I let my mind wander away from my distasteful partner and pictured someone more desirable in his place. What would it be like to dance with Lee? Or Ty? Somehow though, I knew it would be Zan who would be the best dance partner. It was all too easy to imagine the prince's strong grip on my body as Zan's. Even if he was a cocky, overconfident jerk himself.

When the song started to draw to a close, I found myself almost wishing it had gone longer.

“Not bad, Lady Callaluna,” Prince Alexander murmured as he twirled me in close and pressed my back to his chest. “See how nice it is to relinquish control every now and then?”

A small smile arched my lips almost without permission, and I let him twirl me back out, then dip me low for the dying notes of the song.

Blame it on the wine or the fact that I'd just been picturing Zan in his place, but the memory of my deal with Zan skittered into my mind, and before I knew what the hell I was doing... my lips were against his. His. Prince freaking Alexander’s!

“Shit,” I breathed, breaking away almost as fast as our lips had engaged. “I'm so sorry; I don't—”

The rest of my spluttered apology was cut short as Prince Alexander shifted his grip on me, pulling me close once again and claiming my mouth in a bruising kiss. Suspended as I was in his embrace, off balance with my hair almost brushing the floor, I was as helpless as a kitten to fight him. Instead, I took his advice and let him lead one more time.

By the time he’d placed me back on my feet and released his grip, I was beyond dazed and confused. My lips tingled like they'd been stung by a hundred tiny bees, and my heart was racing fast enough to leap from my chest.

“Ah,” I started. “That was—”

Before I could finish my lie, claiming that was inappropriate and unwanted, the smashing of glass and a woman's scream jolted my awareness back into my surroundings.

Not five feet from where the prince and I stood, a silk- and chiffon-clad lady had collapsed to the marble floor. Her body convulsed in the throes of death, just as we'd witnessed the two nights prior.

Those bastards hadn't even given us the respect of a toast so we had some warning. They'd just slipped it in when everyone's guard was down, when—gods forbid—some of the ladies might have been enjoying their evening.

My belly full of wine lurched painfully, and I pressed a hand to my mouth.

Prince Alexander said nothing, but his hand on my chin turned my gaze away from the dying woman. Like that made a difference.

“I can't do this,” I gasped out, shoving his hands off me and dashing out of the great hall. Fuck the royals. Fuck their customs and traditions and etiquette. I couldn't bear to be in the same room as those murdering bastards a single second longer. And to think I had just kissed one of them! What the hell was wrong with me?

I kept running until I hit fresh air, then collapsed in a heap on the damp grass, sobbing.