“No.” I blew out a breath. “It’s the invitation to the Feast of the Wolf.”
“So soon?” She shot up from the divan, thrusting her hand out with excitement she couldn’t contain. “Who’s hosting this season?” I gave her the card and her mouth formed a perfect O of surprise as she scanned it. “House Gluttony. Interesting. His parties are legendary for their debauchery. Envy and Greed must have removed their requests to host.”
“I imagine the Prince of Gluttony’s got quite a bit of food.”
“Not only that. His House is indulgence on every level. Alcohol flows from fountains, clothing is optional in his twilight garden, and trysts are often done in glass rooms lining the ballroom. There is no such thing as clandestine in his world. All is available for consumption: flesh, food, drink, carnal desire, and any manner of vice. This should be quite an event. Did you already know he’d be hosting?”
“This is the first I’ve heard anything. Have you attended one of his parties?”
“No. Last time he hosted, I was too young. I’ve always been curious. Some of the stories have taken on a surreal, fablelike aura. It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s pure fantasy. Especially with what that writer printed about him in her latest royal exposé.”
“I imagine columnists have much inspiration.”
“Oh, they do, and she does in particular. She positively detests him. Rumor claims he ruined her cousin’s chance to marry into the nobility, which is why she took up the cursed pen. So much scandal!” She happily sighed, then drew her brows together as if a new thought suddenly rained on her sunny daydream. Her focus moved over the invitation once more. “What fear do you think will be wrenched from your heart?”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be horrible.”
“Maybe we can work on something that won’t be too awfully bad.”
“If only worrying about how to dance at a ball without stepping on toes and causing a scene was my biggest fear.”
My nerves about dancing weren’t exactly a lie. I’d never attended a royal ball or formal dance. We’d only danced at festivals with other people of our station. Everyone here would be watching, judging. It shouldn’t matter what they thought or if they laughed at me, but when I thought of standing there, feeling raw and exposed, my stomach clenched.
“You are a genius!” My friend slowly turned to me, her face splitting into a huge grin. “We can look into a spell or potion for you to take. We will make you the worst dancer in all the Seven Circles, worthy of your biggest fear.”
“Fauna,” I warned. “I was only teasing.”
“No, it could work. If you drank a potion to make that fear come to life in an out-of-proportion way, it’s even more likely to be wrenched from you while at a ball.”
“And if our ruse is discovered, what then?”
“We’ll just have to make sure we use an expert spell or potion.”
“Even so, the royals might sense treachery and lies.”
“We’ll simply need to practice to ensure it’s perfect.”
“There’s no need to worry about that because we’re not deceiving anyone, Fauna.”
“We should ask the Matron if she can—” Fauna dragged her attention away from the invitation and took in my expression. “Oh, angel blood. You look like you’re in need of a serious distraction. I have just the place in mind. Come. Let’s go at once.”
Without giving me a chance to object, she took my arm and raced us from my rooms, the invitation falling from her hand, forgotten for the moment. For her, at least.
Fear beat like a drum against my chest, the rhythm steady and unrelenting. And I suspected it would remain that way until the dreaded feast.
Fauna’s idea of a distraction couldn’t have been more fitting for me. She half-dragged me through the royal hallways, down several flights of stairs, into the servants’ corridor, and finally burst through the doors to a bustling kitchen. I stood there, drinking in the sights and sounds.
The kitchen was bursting with life as the staff prepared tonight’s dinner.
Several tables ran down the length of the room, with clusters of workers assigned to different tasks. Some were cutting vegetables, others carving meats, more kneading dough for breads and biscuits. Still more people stood over saucepans and skillets.
Tears threatened, but I choked them down. It would do no good to cry in front of the inner workings of House Wrath.
The cook ran his gaze over us, then nodded to a table near a wall of windows. They’d been thrown open, letting out warmth from the oven fires. “You may use anything you desire, Lady Emilia. If you don’t see something you need, simply ask.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank his highness. He instructed us to secure anything you wished.”