Page 23 of Within the Hollow Heart

He strode from his suite and toward the grand ballroom, every part of the castle alive with bustle and conversation that only grew as he neared the hall. So much anticipation surrounded the event, and delight at its secrets and masks, that Nickolas had no trouble slipping through unnoticed. He was slowed only when an older man bumped into him, as the man was jostled by the crowd that was gathered where the princess awaited entry. Lords and ladies clamored to catch a glimpse of her court, making the corridor overhot and heavily scented by perfumes.

He steadied the man then adjusted course to walk closer to the wall, weaving around statuary and a man in a deep-blue coat. Nickolas recognized him as the lord who’d attempted access to the chancery. The man had the look of a guard, gaze sharp as it traversed the crowd, and Nickolas wondered how many of Mireille’s entourage were not mere courtiers. Surely William was not the only person who had eyes on interkingdom relations, trade or otherwise.

The doors to the ballroom opened, finally allowing the milling guests to go inside, and Nickolas’s way became clearer. He glanced over his shoulder before releasing the lever to a small room adjacent to the corridor, where he was to meet Jules. Across the crowded space, the chancellor of Westrende watched from his place beside a pillar. Nickolas could not help the smirk that tipped the edge of his lips upward, as Gideon might be masked and attired in something other than his customary uniform coat, but Nickolas would recognize that stuffy posture anywhere.

Gideon frowned.

The latch clicked open, and Nickolas stepped inside.

Across the space was the familiar figure he’d encountered for the first time only days before in a midnight garden. Everything else in the room fell away. Jules was radiant. Lady Roth had outdone herself with a fine silk gown in the palest shade of blue and topped with a sheer layer dotted with embroidery and jewels. The bodice was trimmed with a delicate strip of lace, cut lower than Jules’s usual gowns to reveal a single ring hanging from the end of the familiar golden chain. Her arms were bare above a pair of long white gloves, smooth skin luminous in the candlelight. In the corner of the room, Ian cleared his throat.

Nickolas swallowed hard. His gaze rose to Jules’s face. “My lady,” he said with his grandest bow, “you are exquisite.”

Jules’s mouth was in a strange line, her brow knit beneath a delicate mask of white and blue and not a single feather on her person, thank the fates and Lady Roth.

“Lord Brigham,” she said.

He stepped closer, unable to prevent the flash of his smile when he added “Enchanting” with a closer look at her mask. Saints, her eyes were wild and dangerous things.

“And you,” she said, though he wasn’t certain the words were a compliment, given her consternation.

He lifted a gloved hand to take hers. He held it for a moment too long. They both knew it. He said, “Thank you, my lady, for not bringing along your bird.”

Her dark eyes narrowed.

“I trust your man has something to occupy him while we are gone.”

Jules glanced at Ian. “Oh, he will be attending with us.”

“Notwithus,” Nickolas said.

The man’s only reply was a speaking glance. The words it spoke were something likeI know well how to perform my duties, andI will be watching you precisely as much as I dislike you, which is entirely.

Nickolas gave him a friendly smile. “Splendid. Happy to have you along. At a substantial distance.” Nickolas turned his smile on Jules, who seemed slightly nonplussed. He’d had that effect on women before. He released his charm with full vigor, leaning closer as he moved to her side, and she appeared to force her gaze away. Keeping hold of her hand to press it over his arm, he said, “Come now. The ball awaits.”

* * *

Jules’sevident trepidation did not ease as they entered the ballroom. She held herself stiff, seemingly unmoved by the lights and the music or the midsummer decorations scattered throughout the lavish space. Her gaze stayed on the crowd, as if scanning faces in spite of the masks. Nickolas wondered if she was anxious to see someone in particular. “Shall we attempt to catch a glimpse of the royal Norcliffe party?”

“No,” she gasped. “That would be the worst possible thing.”

Nickolas had been raised attending Westrende events, and even he found himself dazzled by the grandness of their special occasions from time to time. Perhaps he’d misunderstood her mood and she was uncomfortable. He dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “Would you prefer to leave, my lady?”

A shiver seemed to roll through her, and she drew back to look up at him. He had the sensation of seeing her for the first time, but he was not unaware that every eye in the room was on them. Like Gideon, Nickolas was not a figure a simple mask could disguise.

“No,” Jules said determinedly. “We must meet with Lord Beckett.”

Nickolas nodded toward the far wall, angling Jules for a better view by gentle pressure on their connected arms. She had not, thus far, let go of him. “That is Lord Beckett there. The tall, handsome fellow in the impeccable black coat. Dark skin, white pants, standing beside the lady in the yellow gown who seems to—saints, yes, that is a half yard of dyed feathers protruding from her wig. Best not to let these ladies near your Frederick. They’d have him plucked and bare before you could sayquill. Just there, see. Can’t miss it.”

Jules’s gaze no more than landed on Lord Beckett before she started toward the man.

Nickolas held her arm. “My lady, the queue surrounding Beckett looks hours long. Let us enjoy the festivities while we wait for a more opportune moment.”

She glanced at him, the mask slipping down a fraction with her brow.

Nickolas reached up to tip it back into place. “I promise, love, you will have your chance at him, even if I have to battle every lord in this room to see it done.” He rested his free hand on the hilt of his sword. “But let us take the more decorous route if we can.”

“What are we to do for those hours?”

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