The door to the carriage swung open and on the other side stood the driver, a fladline with a curled mustache and a matching toupee. He stepped to the side and folded his hands behind his back, appearing to stare off into nothing as both Ilian and Faine descended the carriage steps.

The heels of Ilian's boots clicked on the cobblestone layered intricately through the palace's courtyard. In the middle of all that stone, curved towards it, was a giant fountain reaching towards the sky. Water poured off from the many tiers and fell into sea-shell shaped bowls at the bottom. The white stone matched that of the palace itself, and the gold ribbons tied around each resembled the glittering stretch of velvet rug that snaked up the stairs to the large, open doors of the white palace.

Light streamed from the many arched windows over the front, some were blocked by the trees or bushes trimmed into perfect circles. Silhouettes of bodies moved by those windows, carrying goblets of wine in their hands or a porcelain plate full of small, finger-sized desserts.

The first thing Faine heard when she stepped out of the carriage was laughter. She looked toward where the harsh sound came from, discovering that a woman with a black shawl was tipping her head back in false hilarity to the rich-looking man standing at her side. It was shrill and too noticeable to the point that the rest of the courtyard had turned to hear what animal was dying.

At the hands of the gentle evening breeze, mist sprayed onto Faine cheeks from the loose water pouring off the fountain. It pooled into the bottom where a young gadigator was leaning over the edge and attempting to reach one of the copper coins at the bottom. Her arms were too short and her mother, too busy chugging wine, wasn't paying any attention at all to the possible drowning about to take place behind her. But it didn't matter, the young girl's brother had more sense by taking her by the back of the dress and pulling her away from the gentle ripples on the surface of the fountain's bottom pool.

The towering spires of the palace darkened from the night, but the windows told direction and height. They reached as high as the clouds in banisters, balconies, and railings. Doors to private chambers opened and a man and a woman higher than the sky locked together, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears.

In every banquet or celebration, there was always one room for the couples. Sweet smoke poured out from the walls themselves and put the mind into a lost state, so deep that a hole formed in their heart. The only repair was love, and it wasn't until the fog cleared that one had to come face to face with their mistakes...or accomplishments.

Faine made a note to avoid that room. If immortals couldn't stand up to the test of that sweet smoke, Ilian didn't have the fortitude to. The ground floor, along with everyone else in the great hall, was where Faine wanted to remain.

She linked her arm with Ilian's and they walked toward the palace together. Already, he applied that mask of cold indifference, like a blind man that was unlucky to have the inability to see what was before him. When he blinked, the motion didn't belong to him. Each breath appeared to be caused by Faine herself like he was under a geas, and she was having a hard time believing he wasn't.

Ginevra met her eye from across the courtyard, from where she stood with a group of other members of Silver Willow. If they were smart, they'd break off. Though the fladline wasn't attempting to get her attention, Ginevra was searching for Ilian's eye. She knew the plan, and as a result, knew she wouldn't get what she wanted, but was trying anyway. Anything to ruin what was at stake.

So far, Faine recognized none of the faces she passed. They didn't bother looking at her, either. But she had never dived this far into the Palace District to the point of being swallowed by its finery, and indeed they were submerged in it. The gowns, she realized, were fancier than her own and the jewelry—she'd never seen so many exotic gems.

The two of them slid in behind Ginevra's group heading towards the front doors. The skirts of the fladline's dress were wide around her body, anyone nearby had to walk at a grand distance to avoid being sucked in or stepping on them entirely. With each step she took, they swayed against her thin hips, unrecognizable underneath all that fabric.

The corset tightened everything together to the point she couldn't breathe, or at least she was losing considerable space with her breasts. All of it, down to the white gloves on her hands, looked uncomfortable and unnecessary. If they had to make a grand escape, Faine was looking forward to watching her attempt to run while holding those skirts.

Two men in silver armor, their staffs tipped with curved blades, guarded the front doors. Faine examined their faces, how they studied everyone that came through but didn't look long enough to miss the person coming right after.

As if this palace was meant for banquets of such a kind, the front doors led into a large room, the great hall. Chandeliers hung at different lengths from the ceiling, raising and lowering along with the women that descended on ribbons hanging from the rafters. Their dresses were near invisible, but their moves to achieve the dance up and down a single ribbon was distracting enough.

Servants—mainly mortals—carried around silver platters with goblets of wine or small appetizers for each individual beast. They blended in with the crowd but were easy to pick up by their black suits and white shirts, ruffled at the collars, with red roses pinned to their chests. They, like Ilian, appeared to be underneath the influence of a geas.

"I've never seen a place so beautiful," Faine said. Underneath that false geas, Ilian couldn't speak a word that might come from his own mind. Instead, he stared straight ahead, towards the wall of arched windows at the back of the room, mingled in with towering pillars wrapped in bright red ribbon.

A section of the great hall stood as a dance floor and the musicians, one playing the violin, another a flute, and then a pair of lyres and lutes towards the back. The music blended together into a soft, melodic tune, and Faine found herself swaying as she walked further and further onto the marble floors of the great hall.

There were so many people to navigate around that she didn't know where to start, but one quick scan had her figuring out everything she needed. On the second-floor landing of the great hall, matched with what hid underneath the winding staircase with a golden banister decorated with bright rubies, were private rooms veiled behind thin curtains. Translucent, but heavy enough to block out what was going on behind the mesh.

Those rooms would have more use than intimate encounters between two bodies. That was where Faine needed to focus, because the meetings she needed to have with these criminals, along with eavesdropping on them, were supposed to happen away from the prying eyes of everyone in the great hall.

One of the servants handed her a goblet of wine without a second glance but offered nothing to Ilian other than a quick, sympathetic frown. Him not meeting their eye was enough of an answer as to what his condition was, and Faine's insanity to bring a mortal on her arm. He was a handsome trophy, to say the least.

She took a sip from the wine to steel her nerves, and to bring herself to a resting spot, stood against the back wall near the windows to examine the faces of the many immortals and mortals entering. Faine wasn't the only one that brought along a prized pony in the shape of a human, but at least she hadn't made them crawl on the floor wearing nothing but how the immortals treated them. Faine looked away as others laughed.

Ilian stiffened at her side; a sign he was watching every disgraceful act in the room. It was inevitable; despite being hated throughout the land of Pinedon, they were rarely seen at such events. When they showed their faces, as pets or as standing mortals, the beasts took notice.

Something flickered out of the corner of her eye and Faine looked toward one of the veiled rooms, bringing the chalice to her lips. The wine was sweet; she knew the flavor. Designed to hit her all at once, and with such an effort she wouldn't be able to resist the music on the other side of the hall. What kind of banquet was this?

The light flickered again and Faine squinted. She caught a flash of dark skin and purple hair, and suddenly remembered that Celestia was here, too. She hadn't revealed her part of the plan, but anyone would be foolish to think she would do anything other than disguise herself as someone that no one had a care to see.

Faine tugged Ilian in that direction, interlacing their fingers together, and made it appear as though she was checking behind the curtain first before stepping in. Her own intimate meeting with the mortal she brought along with her.

On the other side, rugs overlapped onto the floors, and on top of that, a low bed with rumpled sheets and tossed pillows. Someone, whether Celestia or another before them, had already used the room. Faine scrunched up her nose from the reek of body sweat and passion.

"How is it going so far?" Celestia asked immediately. It was so dark in the room that Faine hardly spotted her behind the stone pillar in the corner. "Have you noticed anyone on the list?"

Faine shook her head. "Not yet. I suspect they're on the second floor or have yet to arrive. We're still early." She peeked out the side of the curtain to the crowd; Ilian was on the other side, doing the same.

"I wish for you to target Saskia Wilhelmina. I forgot to mention that she only trusts felirams, and you're one of the few I have available, and with Ilian's silence at your side, she won't think anything of him." Her eyes darted between them both. "She deals in explosives and is looking for a new merchant guild, but there's also suspicion of her attempting to bomb this banquet or another in coming weeks. I'd like that info for the high elf father."

Faine nodded. "What are you going to do?"

Celestia's mouth quirked to the side, and she looked to the low bed behind her. It occurred to Faine that the scent in the room included blood as well. More recent than the intimate meeting that happened here. She squinted into the dark despite her immortal senses and made out the lump of a body spread out on the sheets.

Her eyes widened. "Don't tell me you—"

"I only hit her upside the head, I did nothing more. There can't be two of her walking around, can there?" Her dark brow arched and she exposed her palms in innocence.

Ilian, unable to see from his distance, stepped towards the bed and pressed his hand against the side to lean over her. "She's not the first mortal I've seen in terrible circumstances tonight," he grumbled. "Take care of her, at least. Don't leave her here, ripe for the taking. You know what these immortals are capable of."

Before their very eyes, Celestia transformed herself into the unconscious woman lying on the bed. She grinned at them both, her teeth now perfectly straight, without fangs, and her eyes a gentle blue. She didn't carry herself the way a mortal did, with hunched shoulders and innocent eyes. The mortal she was portraying couldn't be older than sixteen. Even more reason to hide her somewhere instead of leaving her unconscious body to fend for itself. It wouldn't.

"I'll take care of everything," Celestia promised in a voice that wasn't her own. "Go find Saskia. She'll be around here somewhere."

Faine extended her hand out to Ilian and his warm skin folded over hers. "Good luck," Faine offered as she pulled back the curtain and collided once more with the bright glow of the flame chandeliers.

By that time, Celestia had already hidden back in the dark. Ilian transformed his features into a soulless mortal, modeling his expressions after the servants he saw around the hall. They moved in unnatural ways of stillness, a skill he mastered within seconds on their way to the dance floor.

"Do you wish to dance?" Faine asked Ilian. She leaned into his warmth without reason but spoke loud enough for those around them to hear.

Few turned, noticing Ilian, and watched carefully. If anyone noticed she was on the arm of a mortal man—willingly—they'd riot. They'd drag Ilian out of the palace and string him up by his coat. The fountain was too close to see use as a weapon.

Ilian's neck turned slowly. The light in his eyes wasn't there when he looked at her, and his frown remained as he said, "Anything you wish, my lady." Even his voice didn't sound like his own.

The crowd snickered at his inability to defend himself as Faine took both his hands and backed him towards the dance floor with a proud smirk on her face. Anyone watching her would see the sinister look of a leader, rather than the false show she was putting on. Faine knew what she was doing as she stopped in the middle of the crowd on the dance floor and took Ilian's hand in hers, draping the other along the back of his neck.

The motion of his hand pressing against her waist was unnaturally still, too. Like her, Ilian completely invested himself into a geas, what he'd tried to prevent from happening and accomplished with Faine's help. As the world turned around them, the laughter and loud voices of the guests being drowned out by the increasing tune of the music, Faine stared into Ilian's eyes and received a blind look in response.

It was all a show for everyone around her. She wasn't looking at them, but they were watching her. And a small, fickle part of Faine hoped Ginevra was out there somewhere, upset with the fact that she was grazed by Ilian's touch instead of her.