The day of the ball has finally arrived and the Palace is a flurry of activity.

I walk down the third-floor hallway, keeping my head lowered as I dodge the servants streaming past. The Palace maids and stewards seem preoccupied with their chores and no one pays me any notice as I make my fourth trip back from the laundry room, a sack laden with stolen dresses and tunics flung over my shoulder.

Pushing back a lock of hair that has escaped my maid's kerchief, I skip lightly down the narrow set of servants' stairs. I tread the familiar path down to the east exit and toward the gaol, feeling a line of sweat trickle down the back of my neck. I push through the exit and hurry along the side of the courtyard, sticking to the crowds of servants and guards. Heading for the alley behind the gaol, I check once over my shoulder before ducking into the shadowed passage in behind. Prying open the lid of an ale barrel, I dump the sack of clothes inside. The barrel is mostly dried out, but unfortunately there is nothing I can do for the smell of soured drink. I shut the lid and secure it, thinking that it may help to cover the odour of the soon-to-be-released prisoners.

I slip out of the alley and back into the throng of people, glancing up to check the position of the sun. I estimate that we are only a couple of hours from when the first of the guests are expected, giving me a small window of time to get ready. The other ladies have been primping since the early morning, locked away on the fourth floor with their handmaids helping to style their hair and prepare their outfits. Sera protested only a little when I sent her on an errand, but she understood well enough that I have no interest in wasting hours on styling. As soon as she left, I donned my maid's disguise and began stealing back and forth from the laundry.

I re-enter the Palace through the servants' door and make my way back up to the fourth floor, ducking my chin and striding quickly back toward my room. I feel a headache coming on at the sound of a dozen high-pitched voices. Girls in various states of undress, sporting elaborate, precarious-looking hairstyles, cross back and forth through the hallway, exclaiming over one another and laughing gaily.

I arrive at my room and slip inside; closing the door behind me, I lean back against it. I feel my heart thudding heavily in my chest and concentrate on relaxing, drawing deep, calming breaths as I try to clear my thoughts.

There is a tapping of knuckles directly behind my head and my eyes fly open.

"Miss Abby?" Sera's voice calls through the door.

"Just a moment!" I say. I strip off my maid's uniform as quickly as I can, dropping the articles to the ground and stuffing them under my bed.

"We really need to start getting you ready," she insists.

I look around desperately for something to cover myself with and grab a sheet off the bed, wrapping it hurriedly around my torso.

"You can come in!" I call.

As the door knob turns, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I snatch the white kerchief off of my head and drop it to the ground, kicking it behind me as Sera opens the door, her arms laden with swaths of coral fabric.

"Are you just getting out of bed?" she exclaims as she takes in my appearance.

I must look a sight, a blush creeping up my cheeks and my hair standing out at all angles.

"I took a nap," I say, arranging the bottom of my bedsheet around the discarded kerchief. "I wanted to be refreshed."

Sera tsks under her breath, leaves the coral bundle draped over a chair and makes a beeline for my washroom. A moment later I hear water running and she re-emerges, gesturing for me to get into the bath.

I drop the sheet and obediently get into the tub, grinning a little at the stubborn set of Sera's chin as she arranges my soaps in an efficient line along the edge of the bath.

"I am perfectly capable of doing this myself, you know," I tell her.

"With all due respect, miss, we are running very far behind schedule and I think it best that I take it from here."

I barely have enough time to shut my eyes before she squirts soap over my scalp, gathers my hair into her hands and starts rubbing vigorously.

"Whatever happened to my meek little handmaiden?" I ask, shivering when a bucket of cold water is thrown over me.

"Your impertinence must have rubbed off on her," Sera replies; she hands me a cloth, indicating that I should finish up.

I scrub and rinse again, accepting a towel from Sera as I step out of the bath. She hustles me over to the vanity and presses gently on my shoulders until I am seated. I allow her to arrange me as needed and take the opportunity to think through my plan for the millionth time as she begins to pat my hair dry.

By midnight the King and his guests will be deeply entrenched in their wine and ale, leaving them suitably occupied and providing me with the ideal opportunity to disappear. I will enter the gaol dressed in my soldier's garb, slip Will's dried mushroom into the guards' drink and wait for them to doze off. Then, with Marc's help, we can pass the stolen clothes to the prisoners and escort them out a few at a time, leading them from the gaol, across the courtyard, into the Palace, through the front door and into the waiting carriages. I have paid off a carriage-master with enough coins to silence his questions about driving Palace guests into the Commons, and in return he has promised to have four carriages ready for me at half-hour intervals. I will recognize the carriages by the green flags displayed at their front.

Sera finishes towelling my hair and begins to separate the curls, twisting them in her fingers and draping the tendrils over my shoulders to finish drying. She turns my face toward her and applies dashes of kohl and lip stain with a practiced hand.

I close my eyes and try to relax as she moves back to my hair, relishing the feeling of her nimble fingers massaging my scalp. My thoughts drift to Meg and how she must also be getting ready at this very moment, likely dreading this ball as much as I am. The King has arranged for Lord Lynal Grayson to attend tonight and I know that the Princess is apprehensive about seeing him. Meg once confessed to me that it's the pretense of propriety for the sake of appearances that she hates more than anything. I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying that I knew exactly what she meant.

My eyes open when Sera taps my shoulder. She pulls me away from the mirror and stands me up in the centre of the room before moving to fetch the pink dress. I obediently put the towel aside and step into the skirt she has held out.

Sera flitters around me, adjusting the folds of the dress here and there before darting over to the closet and rummaging through the drawers of jewellery.

"Nothing too heavy, please," I call over.

I think I hear a small grunt of annoyance but my handmaid emerges almost immediately, her selection made.

She slips a coiled bracelet over my wrist and pushes it up to my forearm. I turn my arm over to admire the design as she clips on my earrings. If I wasn't so determined to hate these unnecessary adornments, I might enjoy the beautiful, unique craftsmanship.

Finally finished, Sera takes a step back. She regards me as I stand uncomfortably before her, fiddling with my bracelet. She arranges a few pieces of hair around my face and nods with satisfaction, the tight line that pierces her brow finally disappearing.

"Well? Do I meet your approval?" I ask impatiently.

"See for yourself." She steps aside and gestures toward the full-length mirror. I walk over to the glass and my eyebrows rise in surprise.

The dress is something I never would have chosen for myself, but I have to admit that it is absolutely gorgeous. Light and airy, it sports a dramatic neckline that cuts deeply between my modest breasts before gathering at my natural waist and seeming to float down my thighs to my feet. Sera has gathered my hair into an elaborate, twisting rope that coils over my shoulder, spilling a few strategic strands. Slender gold earrings reach nearly to my shoulders and offset the bright colour of the dress and the red of my hair. My lashes have been outlined in kohl and a light dusting of gold, their green colour jumping out dramatically from my wide-eyed stare.

"Pleased, are you, miss?" Sera's voice cuts through my thoughts.

I spin in place, unable to keep the smile from my face. "I love it. Thank you, Sera. You've outdone yourself."

"You look absolutely beautiful, Abby. If I do say so myself."

I smile wider at her forgetting to address me formally. Sera moves to open the door and ushers me through, arranging the drape of my skirt behind me before I join the train of ladies headed for the stairwell.

I keep my chin up as I glance around at the girls. We chatter excitedly, taking in each other's appearance and dashing off compliments, laughing as we grip arms companionably.

Vitrola is waiting for us at the top of the landing, her rolls of parchment clutched in a death grip as she walks among us, adjusting a strand of hair here, a dress there. She looks lovely in a long, royal-blue gown, unfortunately obscured by the unsightly papers.

"Right then, ladies, you all look gorgeous," she finally calls out, standing back to give us a last once-over.

The girls shift nervously around me and I force an eager smile.

"Before we head down, I want to stress that, yes, this is a party, but I do expect you all to be on your best behaviour. Remember, a true lady always conducts herself in a manner befitting the Princess. Keep that in mind and have fun!" Vitrola stands to the side and ushers us down the stairs, gesticulating grandly.

In pairs of two we descend the staircase. I can hear the swelling of music and the excited chatter of guests; feeling my heart begin to beat harder. Our feet tread lightly in perfect unison against the plush crimson carpet laid out especially for the occasion.

"Her Royal Highness Princess Megra's ladies-in-waiting!" The herald's voice booms out over the din and I keep my eyes trained straight ahead, gripping Blinky's arm to keep from tripping on the long folds of my dress.

I have never seen the main hallway so flush with people. Bright colours reeking of wealth and indulgence flash from every corner of the expansive space as the guests move among each other like peacocks. Men and women, all dressed in their finest, mill about the room, walking in and out of the Great Hall beyond the staircase and dancing in the open area directly in front. White-gloved servants carry trays of food and drink through the crowd.

I feel a clench in my stomach at the display of excess. Pristine white linen, bunches of flowers and tall candles in gold candlesticks decorate the space. With a single, cursory glance I spy enough jewellery to supply the entire market with a year's worth of food. As we walk through the crowd, my fingers twitch with the urge to pocket a few pieces.

A tray of wine floats by and I grab a glass, sipping carefully as I join a circle of ladies, keeping one ear on their chatter while I covertly scan the room.

I find Will almost immediately. He is standing on the other side of the dance floor, wearing a tight expression as he converses with a Board member. As soon as I spot him, his piercing gaze flicks up to meet mine, arresting me entirely. I tear my eyes away and turn back toward the ladies, struggling to grasp their conversation.

A moment later there is the lightest graze on my elbow and I turn to see a familiar, tall figure striding past me, heading for the far end of the dance floor near the musicians.

I murmur something about more wine and slip away. I catch up with Will as he lounges against a wall, sipping a drink and looking out at the couples on the dance floor. I take my time walking toward him, using the opportunity to study his appearance. He is wearing a formal leather vest over his familiar linen shirt, buttoned high with a kerchief tucked in at his throat. His boots appear new and shine without the familiar telltale scuffs. He looks good.

"Cousin," he says at my approach, extending his drink and tapping our glasses together.

I take a sip. "I must say that you are looking unusually dashing this evening, young William." I notice that his chin is freshly shaved and feel a strange tug at my chest.

"And you look...incredible."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "I know."

He chuckles, angling himself so that his arm brushes mine, directing my gaze across the room.

"Do you see that man there? With the gold jacket?" He speaks from behind his glass, leaning his head closer to me so that our words are covered by the riotous music playing behind us.

"The one by the table? Yes, I see him."

"That's Lynal Grayson. He's the Lord from the Outer City, the one our king intends to marry to the Princess."

I squint toward the man, noting an arrogant posture and the obnoxious way he projects his voice over the men and ladies gathered around him.

"Notice all the medals on his breast? I bet the King is positively salivating over Grayson's army." Will's voice takes on a note of derision, and I nod.

"Without a doubt, I can imagine that a man such as him would derive a lot of pleasure from having such a large army," I observe.

"It isn't just the having. With a force that size, the King will finally be able to launch an all-out attack against the Wastelanders," Will confirms, glancing over his shoulder. "The scale of this war could take on a whole new meaning."

He is interrupted by the sound of the herald tapping his staff on the ground. The chatter dies down as everyone turns to face the staircase.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the herald's voice booms out across the space, "her Royal Highness, the Princess Megra."

Along with everyone else, my eyes flick to the top of the staircase. Meg's voluminous silver gown positively sparkles under the lantern light and an ethereal smile lights up her face as she waves graciously. Only I know how much she must hate this.

"Nice dress," Will remarks under his breath.

I feel an unwelcome stab of jealousy and nod, watching as Meg reaches the bottom of the stairs. She steps to the side, situating herself between the two sets of staircases and clasping her hands delicately together.

The herald taps his staff on the ground again. "And now, please raise your glasses to your host, your king and your protector. Presenting his Royal Eminence, King Francis."

Trumpets sound as the King approaches the top of the stairs, blinding in the layers of jewels he has draped over his trademark crimson jacket. I raise my glass along with the rest of the guests and loudly declare my allegiance, feeling my heart twist sickeningly in my chest as I do so.

The King and Megra link arms and begin to make their way through the room as the chatter picks up again.

"We better go mingle." Will nods imperceptibly toward Grayson. "See what you can find out."

He steps away before I have a moment to reply. I take another small sip of my wine before discarding the half-full glass and then making my way back into the crowd. Gods willing, the next few hours will pass quickly.

I wander over to a banquet table near Grayson and look over the variety of wonderful-smelling dishes. I sample a biscuit topped with heavy cream and strawberries off a gold plate, popping it into my mouth and closing my eyes to savour the heavenly taste. When this whole mess is over, I swear that the only thing I will miss is the food.

"Delicious, is it?" A voice speaks close to my ear and I jump, forcibly swallowing the remainder of the biscuit.

"I am so sorry, are you quite all right?"

"I'm fine, thank—" I pat my throat, turn and freeze when I recognize the insipid lout staring down at me. "You."

A blindingly white smile creases Lord Lynal Grayson's face. His wavy hair is the colour of a peach and has been combed back and up, moulded into place artfully. His brows are darker, offsetting light brown eyes. If I didn't know that he intended to send thousands of people to their deaths, I might think him handsome.

"You startled me." I say.

"My apologies, I have a habit of catching people off guard." Grayson extends his arm past me, hovering for a beat near my shoulder before he picks up a biscuit and samples it. "Divine."

He chews thoughtfully, his gaze raking over my figure and making my skin crawl. "You know, I don't believe I have seen you before." His accent is refined with a trace of superiority.

"I'm new to the Palace. I only arrived last month."

"And how are you finding it?" He leans casually against the wall next to me, examining his wine as he swirls it in his glass. I am impressed by his ability to appear so attentive and so disinterested at once. "Are the specimens to your liking?"

I drum a finger thoughtfully against my lip. "They're not quite what I expected."

"How so?"

"For one thing, they're a lot more forward than I'd consider gentlemanly."

He laughs, but his caramel eyes show no trace of merriment. "You're a straightforward little thing, aren't you?"

"So I've been told." I accept the drink he lifts from a passing tray and offers to me. "And what about you? You strike me as the kind of person who enjoys all facets of Palace events."

"Some parts more than others." He looks over my head and I turn to follow his gaze, spying Meg and her father talking to a gaudily dressed woman.

"Ah, the Princess," I say conspiratorially. "Are you a romantic?"

He laughs again. "I suppose you could say that. I do have a great interest in the Princess and her affairs."

"The Princess has a great many admirers." I watch him over the top of my glass as I sip delicately. "Why should she choose you over another?"

Grayson looks at me closely. "Do you know her?"

"I'm one of her ladies-in-waiting."

"In that case, I assume you are in her confidence and I will tell you exactly why her marrying me would be a wise decision." He leans in close and I catch the scent of old tobacco mixed with wine on his breath. He taps one of the shiny medals decorating his chest. "I command an army three times larger than her father's. I hold the outcome of his little Wastelander problem right in the palm of my hand. If she and I were to be wed, this city would be powerful enough to take anything it wanted."

I wait impassively as he finishes his drink in one gulp and grabs another.

"Are you a soldier?" I ask.

"I'm a lord," he sneers, peering into his glass.

"Yes, I gathered that." I nod toward the medals. "But are you a soldier as well? Do you fight?"

"Fight?" he scoffs. "No, I don't fight. I have commoners to do that for me."

I open my mouth to speak again and then feel Meg's familiar hold on my arm.

"Your Majesties." I curtsy low to Meg and the King while Grayson offers up a cursory nod. He grabs Meg's hand and raises it to his lips before she pulls her arm back, giving him a tight smile.

"Lord Grayson, I am so pleased that you could attend our little event." The King cuts an imposing figure, with his great height and booming voice.

Will's warning rings in my head and I keep my head ducked low, looking to slip away at the earliest possible opportunity.

"It is always my pleasure to come to the City, my King, especially when it is for a party as splendid as this."

As the men speak, Meg shoots me a look, her eyebrows raised. I feel the urge to roll my eyes behind Grayson's back but somehow manage keep a placid expression.

As if on cue, the King turns back toward us. "Megra, isn't this your scholarly friend?"

"Yes, Father." Meg's voice is smooth and polished. "This is Abby Fellows."

"Abby, I have heard a great deal about you." The King's tone suggests that he has heard more about me than Meg has related.

"Your Majesty, it is truly an honour to make your acquaintance. This ball is fabulous—my compliments especially on the strawberry biscuits." I clamp my mouth shut, realizing that I have said too much all at once. A tight, angry ball of anxiety wells up within me, clouding my judgment. I can feel the weight of the King's, Grayson's and Meg's stares upon me as my cheeks begin to pinch with the stress of smiling.

"Thank you, they're my personal favourite as well." The King takes a biscuit for himself and I relax slightly. "My daughter tells me that you have been great company to her, which I should thank you for. She has always found her ladies to be a bit...what was the word you used, my dear?"

"Vacuous," Meg answers.

"Yes, well, nevertheless, I am relieved that you have been able to provide some stimulating conversation for Megra. Her ideas have always been rather...imaginative."

I sense that I am balancing on the fine edge of a very dangerous conversation.

"The Princess has been very gracious in making me feel welcome at the Palace," I say.

The King's eyebrows lower.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must go powder my nose. Abby, will you join me?" Meg breaks in, slipping her arm smoothly through mine.

"Certainly, Princess. Your Majesty, it was a pleasure to speak with you. And you as well, sir." I remember at the last instant that I am not supposed to know Grayson's name and allow myself to be led away by Meg, my knees fairly shaking in my relief to be done with the conversation.

Meg leads me through the Great Hall and out into the courtyard. The cool night air feels marvellous against my skin and eases my heartbeat back into its usual rhythm.

"So, was that him?" I ask once we are a safe distance from any potential gossips.

"The bag of hot air wearing the shiny medals? Yes, that was Lynal Grayson." She sighs. "What did you think of him?"

"He is..." I struggle to find the right words. "Confident, to say the least."

She releases an exasperated breath through her nose. "That is kind of you. I'd say that he is one of the most stuck-up, intolerant people to ever have graced the earth. And do you know what the worst part is? He is completely transparent. Everyone, including my father, knows exactly what Lynal's motives are but they still insist that we carry on with this...sham of a courtship." A high colour has risen to Meg's cheeks. "When my father looks at Lynal, all he sees is his giant army of commoners; he doesn't care that he is handing the reins of the City over to a spoiled, selfish prat."

"Can't you just refuse him?" I ask.

She laughs bitterly. "I have been refusing him. Father insists that I must think of the City and not just myself. He has told me that if I don't marry Lynal, he will have to overtake the Outer City by force. You know what that means: more fighting."

"My gods," I say, mostly to myself.

"It is so completely horrible, Abby. What am I supposed to do? I despise Lynal and I shudder to think of him occupying the throne, but regardless of what I say or do, there is going to be a war. I can't do anything to stop it."

We walk slowly now, our heads bent closely together as Meg's voice breaks.

I squeeze her arm, unsure of what to say. From here I can see the guards outside the east wall, making their first shift change. Soon, everyone will be at their designated posts and I will be free to slip in behind the gaol and change into my guard's outfit.

The time for risk-taking will come. For now, I remain still and let Meg lean into me; I rub her shoulder as she cries her silent tears.