The rest of dinner passes slowly. Lord Blackwood is engrossed in conversation with an old wolf on his right, while the woman to my left suddenly decides I'm worthy of her attention. Morgana catches my eye as dessert is being served and this time she is smiling. I lift my glass of sweet, sparkling wine toward her and she nods. Setting the glass down, I stare at the tiny slice of pound cake on my plate. I could eat this whole slice in one bite, but instead, I pluck out the absurdly tiny fork the servants stuck into it and carve off a piece with airy whipped cream. The bite is barely enough to cover my tongue. I chew slowly, glancing around the table.

"You will tell Her Majesty about my atelier, won't you, Lady Isabel?"

I glance at the old she-wolf next to me. For three courses, all she's done is talk about her dress shop in the town outside of Crimsonshadow Estate. Clothes, especially the crafting of them, do not interest me, but she is Alpha Thorne's aunt, so I listen while wearing the most polite of masks. "Of course, Lady Chloe," I say for the sixth time.

Lady Chloe beams and carefully carves another thin slice of cake with her tiny fork.

I'm nearly done with the cake when Alpha Thorne rises and taps his glass with a knife. Conversation trickles into silence as all heads turn toward the head of the table.

"Let us all head to the ballroom for some music and dancing," he announces. "Your Majesty?" Alpha Thorne extends his hand to Morgana, who rises gracefully and takes it.

Immediately, we all stand as the alpha, queen, and the alpha's family exit.

"Lady Isabel?"

I push back my chair and look up to see Lord Blackwood offering his arm. "May I escort you to the ballroom?"

"Hmph," old Lady Chloe snorts behind me, grabbing the arm of her husband. So much for being grateful for an introduction to the queen.

I glance behind me as the older wolves begin filing out. "Why not?" I say, laying my hand in the crook of his elbow.

Music greets us as we enter the ballroom. As soon as we cross the threshold, Petra and Letitia swerve in front of us. "Lord Blackwood, would you sign my card?" Letitia inquires, holding out her wrist. A dance card cut in the approximate shape of a ram and a tiny pencil dangle from a red and black ribbon.

"And mine?" Petra echoes, thrusting her hand up. Her dance card and pencil sway like windchimes, clashing against each other.

Lord Blackwood glances at me and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "I'd be delighted with one dance," he says, taking each card and scribbling his name on the second- and third-to-last lines. The girls' looks of triumph fade as they lift the cards to read his placement. Daggers practically sprout from Letitia's eyes, their sharp points aimed at my face.

"Let us get your dance card, Lady Isabel," the alpha's nephew says, tucking my hand back into the crook of his arm.

I don't know where the cards are located, but Lord Blackwood leads me to a table in the corner of the ballroom. Lady Chloe and her husband are seated nearby, heads pressed together. I reach for a card, but Lord Blackwood takes one and writes his name on the first and last lines before handing it to me.

"Oh!" I exclaim. In three years, I've never had a man put his name on my card twice. Every ball I've attended has had dance partners begrudgingly sign my card under Morgana's watchful eye.

His blue eyes twinkle. "I hope you—"

"Lord Blackwood."

I pivot to see Morgana standing there, a glittering snowflake in the middle of a desert. I dip into a curtsey while Lord Blackwood bows.

"Your Majesty," we murmur in unison.

Morgana smiles, folding her hands together. "I want to thank you for being such a kind dinner companion to Issa tonight."

Lord Blackwood straightens. "It was no trouble, madam," he replies. "Your handmaiden has been excellent company."

A strange look crosses Morgana's face as he says this. I cock my head slightly. There it is again. I step up to Morgana and lean close to her ear. "Is there something wrong?"

She rears back, earrings swaying. "No. Why?"

My eyes dart around the ballroom. All eyes are on us. "Are you feeling well?" Werewolves rarely get sick and I know she can't be pregnant; unlike humans, we can choose whether to conceive or not. "I just noticed you've had this look on your face all evening."

Morgana's eyes narrow and she fixes me with a stare that sends a shiver down my spine. Tendrils of compulsion round my shoulders. My mouth forms an "O" and I glance up at her in shock. In an instant, Morgana releases her control and I snap upright. Her face is a picture of calm.

"I'm fine, Issa," she says, patting me on the arm. Her tone is light and airy as if she hasn't just used compulsion on me. Humiliation burns my skin. How could she do this to me? In front of Crimonshadow Pack—and those damn beta girls, no less!

Confused thoughts swirl through my head. I can only stand there stupidly as Morgana presents Lord Blackwood with her dance card.

"I won't take less than two dances from you, Alaric," she says, smiling.

Lord Blackwood licks his lips and glances at me, a quick flick of his eyes. "Of course, Your Majesty," he replies, penciling his name in.

Morgana smiles and lifts her wrist to examine the dances he claimed. "Who has your last dance, Lord Blackwood?" she asks conversationally.

The card weighs heavily on my wrist; I clasp my hands at the front of my dress to hide it.

"Lady Isabel," Lord Blackwood replies slowly.

Morgana cocks her head a fraction. I can feel the air around us grow heavy. Across the ballroom, Alpha Thorne turns around to watch the tableau. "Indeed? Well, my poor Issa has never had such a fine man for her first dance. I appreciate your courtesy."

"It is my pleasure, Your Majesty," Lord Blackwood replies smoothly.

She glances at me, turning the dance card back and forth. "I shall see you both later. I need to go claim your uncle for the opening dance."

Taking up her skirts, Morgana sweeps away as we quickly bow and curtsey. The oppressive air above my head fades away, but it brings no sense of relief. I don't know what's gotten into her. Is it stress? I know the council has been making demands of her lately, but that shouldn't change her attitude, should it?

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I ... don't know.

I just don't know.

As if on cue, Elaine and Thara converge on our corner of the ballroom, eyes shining with eagerness. "Care to fill our cards, too, Lord Blackwood?" Elaine asks, batting her eyelashes. They surround him, boxing him into the corner, effectively pushing me away.

Anger curls in the pit of my belly. I clench my fists into the fabric of my skirts, wishing it was their necks instead. It is bad enough to be humiliated by my friend and queen in public, but to have these two social climbers do it as well?

"Lady Isabel?"

Startled, I turn around to find an unfamiliar member of Alpha Thorne's pack waiting patiently nearby. I dip a brief curtsey to cover the faux pas. "Good evening, my lord ...?"

The beta's lips curl in a crooked grin. He has shiny black hair pulled back into a short queue, heavy eyebrows, a strong jaw, and sharp blue eyes. Muscles strain against his cobalt-colored jacket. My nose twitches, picking up the scent of old blood and authority beneath his cologne.

Enforcer.

"Frederick Bluefire, my lady."

Goddess, he's built like a bear. His warrior form must rival that of alphas. I duck my head under the pretense of fixing my skirts and take a deep breath to center myself. When I lift my chin, I feign polite interest. "Lord Bluefire." I curtsey again. "Are you enjoying tonight?"

He shrugs, heavy shoulders testing the integrity of his jacket. "It's all right," he replies, eyes scanning the room. "I'm not much for formal parties."

"I see." I fold my hands politely, eyes locked on his face. "We have that much in common."

"Yes, well ..." He clears his throat. "Might I sign your dance card?" It comes out in a rush.

I glance around his mountain peak of a shoulder to where Morgana converses with Alpha Thorn and Luna Amelia. She doesn't even turn her head this way. "Of course," I tell the enforcer, holding up my right wrist and handing him the pencil.

His fingers swallow the tiny implement. Furrowing his brow and biting his lip, Lord Bluefire writes his name in big block letters on the second line. "Thank you," he says before lumbering off, revealing an older wolf waiting behind him.

"Lady Isabel," the old wolf says, bowing.

The remaining five slots on my dance card are filled by two of Alpha Thorne's cousins, the pack physician, and Russell Crimsonshadow.

Once successfully extracted from Elaine and Thara, Lord Blackwood joins me by one of two lemonade tables. "Freddie?" he exclaims with a low whistle, examining my card. "That man doesn't dance."

"Should I fear for my feet?" I ask in jest, sipping the cool lemonade.

Lord Blackwood chuckles. "Feet and hands. Freddie is used to flinging people around, not being graceful."

Wonderful, I think. In one corner of the ballroom, the quartet Alpha Thorne has hired for the night is finished warming up. Silence descends as Alpha Thorne leads Morgana to the center of the room.

The queen is cool and calm, her face betraying no emotion as the partners bow to each other. The opening chords of an old waltz spill from the quartet; I cradle my lemonade as the rest of the attendants gather around them. Morgana's white hair shines like a diamond as Alpha Thorne leads her around the dance floor, the gemstones in her tiara winking beneath the massive chandelier like tiny stars.

"So graceful," a woman coos to the man beside her.

"Perfection," the man agrees.

Not words I would use to describe Morgana. Yes, she is beautiful, but I have seen her stumble and struggle.

But the girl who whirls past me is not my friend—she is the queen—a woman carved from ice and snow whose spine is forged from iron.

A woman who seized the throne of Noctis by bloody force.

I grip the lemonade, feeling the delicate glass protest between my fingers. Is she even my friend—?

"Lady Isabel?"

I start, nearly spilling lemonade over my dress and the polished floor. A flush sweeps across my cheeks as Lord Blackwood leans close. "Shall I take that for you?" he asks, reaching for my glass.

"Oh, yes, yes—of course," I say, handing him the glass.

Lord Blackwood sets the glass on the table and holds out his hand. Music swells through the ballroom, a call to join the alpha and queen on the floor. Hastily stuffing those disquieting thoughts into the back of my mind, I rest my fingertips in his hand. He closes his fingers gently over mine and leads me to the floor, easing us into the sweep and spin of the waltz.

"You are light on your feet, Lady Isabel," Lord Blackwood murmurs.

I laugh softly. "Hardly," I demure.

"I should like to get to know you better—if you allow it."

His question appears out of nowhere. I stumble slightly, catching one foot on the back of the other. Lord Blackwood's grip on my waist is strong but firm, keeping me upright and allowing us to continue flowing with the music.

My eyes sweep furtively over the rest of the whirling pairs, wondering if anyone overheard. A beta courting a gamma is not unheard of—certainly more acceptable than courting an omega.

"Did we not get to know each other over dinner?" I temporize. My reputation has meant little to me, but I know it holds importance to the older, more noble packs. I would hate to cause irreparable harm to someone else.

Lord Blackwood grins, his white teeth flashing behind the blond beard. "I was hoping for deeper conversation, my lady."

The heat of his hand sears through layers of fabric. I can almost feel his touch on my bare skin. "Is that so?" I counter, lips turning up in a coy smile.

His mouth opens, but the music trails off, signaling the end of the dance. We break apart, bowing and curtsying. Lord Blackwood offers his arm; as I reach for it, Morgana glides over.

"A moment, Lord Blackwood?"

The alpha's nephew grabs my hand and tucks it into the crook of his elbow as I attempt to move away. "Your Majesty?"

Morgana glances at me, then fixes her sharp blue gaze on Lord Blackwood's face. "I've come to claim you for our dance."

Lord Blackwood glances towards the quartet, who are currently preparing for the second set. "Of course, Your Majesty. I would like to escort Lady Isabel to the lemonade stand first."

The queen waves her hand negligently. "Issa is smart; she can find it on her own." She takes a step closer, bringing the scent of her floral perfume and a crackle of power. "I am quite eager for you to entertain me."

She stares at Lord Blackwood as if I do not exist. I am frozen, rooted to the spot. My fingers clench on Lord Blackwood's arm as he scratches nervously at his collar with his free hand.

"Uh, of course, Your Majesty ..."

"And not just for this dance, if you catch my meaning, Lord Blackwood." Morgana arches a pale eyebrow and cocks her head.

Lord Blackwood's eyes shift nervously toward me. I clench my jaw so that my mouth does not fall open. Why is Morgana doing this to me? And in public, no less? What under the goddess's great moon is making her act this way?

"I ... uh ..."

Morgana's smile turns seductive. "I thought so." She reaches out and snakes her arm through Lord Blackwood's, pushing my hand away. My arm drops to my side; I can feel all the blood in my body rushing to my face, pounding in my ears.

My best friend, the person I left home to stand by her side—a woman who can have any man in the kingdom—is stealing a suitor right under my nose.

And there he goes, leaving with her willingly.

I swallow and stiffly turn away, betrayal sitting heavy in my heart.

"Lemonade, Lady Isabel?"

I look up—and up. Lord Bluefire extends a glass of lemonade toward me. A wild notion takes hold in my head. "Thank you, Lord Bluefire," I say, taking the glass and draining its contents in one gulp. "Shall we dance?"