Overall, I looked . . . good.

She stood behind me now, preening at her own reflection over my shoulder. A fitted black gown accentuated her every curve—the high neckline and tight sleeves adding to her allure—and she’d pinned her wayward curls into an elegant chignon at her crown. I eyed her with a familiar pang of jealousy. I didn’t fill out my own dress quite so well.

She smoothed the rouge on her lips with a finger and smacked her lips. “We look straight out of the Bellerose. Babette would be proud.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” I reached into my gown to lift each breast, squeezing my shoulders together and frowning at the results. “Those courtesans are so beautiful people pay to be with them.”

Ansel entered the bedroom a moment later. He’d trimmed his mop of curls and smoothed them away from his face, emphasizing his high cheekbones and flawless skin. The new style made him look . . . older. I eyed the long lines of his body—the sharp cut of his jaw, the full curve of his mouth—with newfound appreciation.

His eyes boggled at the sight of Coco. I didn’t blame him. Her gown was a far cry from the oversized healing robes she normally wore. “Mademoiselle Perrot! You look—er, you look very—very good.” Her brows rose in wry amusement. “I mean—er—” He shook his head quickly and tried again. “Reid—er, Captain Diggory—he wanted me to tell you—I mean, not you, but Lou—that, ah—”

“Good lord, Ansel.” I grinned as he tore his gaze from her. He blinked rapidly, dazed, as if someone had clubbed him in the head. “I feel a little insulted.”

But he clearly wasn’t listening. His eyes had already gravitated back to Coco, who stalked toward him with a catlike grin. She tilted her head as if surveying a particularly juicy mouse. He swallowed hard.

“You look very good as well.” She circled him appreciatively, trailing a finger across his chest. He went rigid. “I had no idea you were so handsome under all that hair.”

“Was there something you needed, Ansel?” I gestured to the room at large, sweeping an arm past Coco’s impressive bosom. “Or are you just here to admire the general decor?”

He cleared his throat, eyes gleaming determinedly as he opened his mouth once more. “Captain Diggory requested I escort you to the castle. The Archbishop insisted he go on with him. I can also escort you, Mademoiselle Perrot.”

“I think I’d like that.” Coco slid an arm around his, and I burst out laughing at the alarmed look on his face. Every single muscle in his body tensed—even his eyelids. It was extraordinary. “And please—call me Brie.”

He took great care to touch as little of Coco as possible as we walked down the stairwell, but Coco went out of her way to make the endeavor difficult. The Chasseurs who had been forced to stay behind stared unabashedly as we passed. Coco winked at them.

“Might as well give them a show,” I whispered.

Coco grinned wickedly and pinched Ansel’s backside in response. He yelped and leapt forward, whirling mutinously as the guards snickered behind us. “That wasn’t funny.”

I disagreed.

Ancient and unadorned, the castle of Cesarine was a fortress befitting its city. It boasted no intricate buttresses or spires, no windows or arches. It loomed over us as we joined the throng of carriages already in the receiving line, the setting sun tinging the stone with bloody red light. The evergreens in the courtyard—tall and narrow, like two spears piercing the sky—only added to the grim picture.

We waited for what seemed like hours before a footman in Lyon livery approached our carriage. Ansel stepped out to greet him, whispering something in his ear, and the man’s eyes widened. He hastily took my hand. “Madame Diggory! Captain Diggory has been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

“As he should be.” Coco didn’t wait for the footman to help her down. Ansel scrambled to catch her elbow, but she brushed him off too. “I’m anxious to see if this Chasseur of yours is as doting in public as he is in private.”

The footman looked startled but said nothing. Ansel groaned under his breath.

“Please, mesdames, make your way to the antechamber,” the footman said. “The herald will ensure you are properly announced.”

I lurched to a halt. “Properly announced? But I have no title.”

“Yes, madame, but your husband is the guest of honor. The king insists on treating him as royalty tonight.”

“Potentially problematic,” Coco murmured as Ansel tugged the two of us forward.

Definitely problematic. And not the fun kind.

I had no intention of being announced to a room full of strangers. There was no telling who could be in there watching. I’d learned my lesson with Estelle. There was no need for a repeat performance.

I took in my surroundings, seeking a discreet entrance. At a ball held in my husband’s honor, however, I had no idea how I might remain discreet—especially in such a ridiculously sheer dress. I cursed inwardly as every eye turned toward us as we passed. Coco’s sinful figure didn’t help matters.

Richly dressed aristocrats milled about the antechamber, which was as dark and dismal as the exterior. Like a prison. A prison with candles flickering in gold candelabras and wreaths of evergreen and holly draped across the doorways. I think I even spotted mistletoe.

Ansel craned his neck to find the herald. “There he is.” He pointed to a short, squat man with a wig and scroll who stood beside a large archway. Music and laughter poured from the room beyond. Another servant appeared to take our cloaks. Though I held on to mine for a second too long, the servant succeeded in tugging it from my hands. Feeling naked, I watched it disappear with a sense of helplessness.

When Ansel pulled me toward the herald, however, I dug in my heels. “I’m not being announced.”

“But the footman said—”

I jerked out of his grasp. “I don’t care what the footman said!”

“Lou, the king insisted—”

“Darlings.” Coco smiled wide, looping her arms through ours. “Let’s not make a scene, hmm?”

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to smile and nod at the eavesdropping aristocrats. “I’ll be entering from over there,” I informed Ansel through clenched teeth, gesturing across the antechamber to where servants were coming and going from a smaller, secondary set of doors.

“Lou,” he began, but I was already halfway to the doors. Coco hurried to follow, leaving Ansel behind.

The ballroom was much larger and grander than the antechamber. Iron chandeliers hung from the beamed ceiling, and the wooden floor gleamed in the candlelight. Musicians played a festive tune in the corner next to an enormous evergreen. Some guests already danced, though most preferred to stroll around the perimeter of the room, drinking champagne and wheedling the royal family. Judging from the loud, slurred voices of the aristocrats nearest me, they’d been hitting the bubbly for hours.

“Yes, Ye Olde Sisters, that’s what I heard—”

“They’ve traveled all the way from Amandine to perform! My cousin says they’re quite brilliant.”

“Sunday, you said?”

“After Mass. Such a fitting way to end the weekend. The Archbishop deserves the honor—”

Scoffing, I marched past them into the room. Any person who chose to string together the words the Archbishop deserves the honor wasn’t worth my attention. I scanned the sea of blue coats and sparkling gowns for Reid, spotting his coppery hair at the far end of the ballroom. A group of admirers surrounded him, though the young woman clinging to his arm drew my particular attention. My heart plummeted.

Anxiously awaiting, my ass.

Even from a distance, I could tell the woman was beautiful: delicate and feminine; her porcelain skin and raven hair shone in the candlelight. She shook with genuine laughter at something Reid had just said. Uneasiness flitted through me.

This could only be one person.

One boring, docile, wretchedly inconvenient pipe dream.

Coco followed my gaze, wrinkling her nose in distaste when she too spotted Reid and the raven-haired beauty. “Please tell me that’s not who I think it is.”

“I’ll come find you later.” My eyes never left Reid’s face. Coco knew better than to follow this time.

I’d just descended into the ballroom when another man stepped in my path. Though I’d never encountered him this close, I recognized his tawny complexion and hooded eyes at once. Black hair styled to perfection, he wore more diamonds on his crown than were in Tremblay’s entire vault.

Beauregard Lyon.

Damn it. I didn’t have time for this shit. Even now, that stupid cow was probably sinking her claws deeper into my husband—reminding him of her beautiful lips, and smile, and eyes, and laugh—

“That is quite the dress.” His gaze swept up my body lazily, and he smirked, arching a brow.

“Your Highness.” I dropped into a curtsy, clamping down on a slew of more appropriate honorifics. He eyed my breasts appreciatively as I leaned down, and I straightened at once. Bloody pervert.

“Your name.” It wasn’t a question.