Alya's eyesight was the bane of her existence.

Not only were spectacles so unfashionable that they were considered the kiss of death to any Lady's beauty, reserved for wallflowers and old maids, being reliant on them jeopardized her very destiny. Hunters were meant to be as sharp-eyed as eagles. Having spectacles knocked off her nose in the midst of battle could be her end. A very blurry, unfocused end.

So she had refused to acknowledge her rapidly deteriorating condition. Alya would have nothing to do with those ugly, thick lenses – she would learn to navigate the world without them. It had delayed her training, her family thinking her inept rather than blind, but one could be overcome while the other doomed her to being nothing more than a Lady. She might have raised little sons and daughters who'd become hunters, but that was not what she wanted for herself. This was her destiny.

And she'd done it. Eventually. She'd earned the butterfly pin, even though it had taken her twenty years when most of her cousins on this path had earned their magical weapon by age fifteen.

With the numerous trinkets in her family's possession, wielding the butterfly was considered somewhat of a pity prize. It was a support weapon used to create champions greater than oneself, forcing its wielder to avoid the frontlines, leaving others to earn glory.

Was that why her mother had chosen it for her? Had she seen the untapped potential?

The butterfly transformation not only gave Alya strength and speed, it also restored her eyesight. She'd nearly wept with joy the first time she'd used it and seen the world as it truly was for the first time in years. Each transformation reversed the damage time had done to her eyes a little more. In the last year, trees had traded their vestments of vaguely green blobs for blurry leaves.

But the process was a slow one, and so Alya still walked through life squinting more than she'd have liked.

She'd 'tripped' into two gentlemen at this point, neither of them Lord Lahiffe.

The golden eyes of the third one blinked down at her, somewhat obscured by thick spectacles. Another reason they were her bane – men were not considered unfashionable for wearing them. No, they were worn almost as a badge of honor by those who prided themselves in having ruined their eyes by reading too many books by the shine of candlelight. While not precisely considered handsome, they were the mark of highly educated men.

Although this one did look a little handsome, even with that thing sitting on his oversized nose. It was his smile that did it, lighting up his face with the sort of genuine kindness that no amount of practice could ever fake.

"It's quite alright," he murmured as he gently tipped her back until she stood on two feet again. "The dancefloor is crowded tonight, it's easy for a stray elbow to disrupt a Lady's balance."

Alya nodded, batting her eyelashes, and dropped into a curtsy. "Lady Alya Césaire."

He returned her introduction with a half-bow, hand on his heart. "Lord Nino Lahiffe."

Yes! At last the right one. Her smile widened into a grin. "Thank the Gods for your quick reflexes, my Lord. I don't think I could have born the shame if I'd sent us both tumbling to the ground in front of all the court. 'twould be a tale to be whispered in my wake wherever I go."

"Ah, worry not, it's my reputation that would have born the shame, not yours." His eyes twinkled even as the corners of his mouth tightened. "See, I'm known as somewhat of a rotten scoundrel. I'm certain that by the end of the evening, the tale would be of me dragging an innocent maiden to the ground in a fit of debauchery."

She arched an eyebrow. "You? A scoundrel?" He could not look more like a friendly puppy if he tried. The Changeling's lies must have been quite convincing – but then, mind magic always was.

"Alas." Lord Lahiffe shrugged as if to say 'it is what it is'. "You're not from Franeaux, are you?"

"I'm Esparian."

"That would explain why you've not yet heard of my dastardly deeds."

Alya opened her fan, smiling coyly as she fluttered it. "Surely they can't be as dastardly as all that."

"Hm. By last count it's eight deflowered virgins, three devoted wives lured into adultery, three duels on account of that and one broken engagement, leaving a Lady in ruins."

"You've been a busy man, my Lord."

"The secret is keeping tight control of one's schedule. You can fit a deflowering between luncheon and supper if you commit yourself to it."

Alya burst into most unladylike laughter. He smiled, but there was an edge of sorrow to it, so she sobered quickly.

"Lady Césaire, it was a pleasure to keep you from falling, but if you have a care for your reputation, I believe it's best you stop talking to me now."

She fluttered her fan again, cursing the fae who'd ruined this sweet man, stealing not only his fiancé but his social standing. "May I confide a secret? You're the third gentleman I've tripped on at this point. I am not going to leave this ball without acquiring at least a little ill repute, and I'd much rather have them whispering about me talking to a rogue than about my accursed clumsiness. Promise not to deflower me in full view of everyone?"

His lip quirked with amusement. "I'll endeavor."

"Wonderful. Dance with me?"

The Lord stifled his laughter. "Is it the Ladies who ask the gentlemen to dance in your country? Because here…"

"No," Alya said cheerfully. "I'm fully committed to being scandalous tonight."

"My Lady, I would gladly accept this dance, but you did just tell me of your terminal clumsiness. I fear for my toes."

"My dearest Lord Lahiffe, surely you are not a coward?"

"Ah, you have me there. I shall bear the pain of being stepped on like a man." He held out his hand just as the last notes of the current dance faded, a new one about to begin.

Her gloved fingers entwined with his bare ones as the violins played a single, gentle note, signaling the beginning of a waltz. Perfect.

"Such valor," she said breathily as he stepped close. A waltz was a slow, intimate dance, all but designed for conversation. Or interrogation. "But I have something even more scandalous to confess."

"Oh?"

"I lied. You need not fear me stomping on you, for I'm merely shortsighted, not clumsy. You're within my range now and quite safe."

A chuckle escaped him – and it must have escaped, for a moment later he looked startled that he'd made the sound. They easily fell into the dance, never missing a step. "I know it's not the fashion for Ladies, but spectacles really do help."

"Alas," she said. "I'm quite vain."

"Well. You have reason to be, Lady Alya."

Heat spread to her cheeks and she resisted the impulse to giggle. Focus. This is business, not pleasure. "Hm, I do not remember giving you permission to use my first name, Lord Nino. Are you reneging on your promise not to deflower me tonight, to be taking such liberties?"

"Ah, but see, you only made me promise not to do it in public."

"You are wicked, my Lord. Are the rumors true, then?"

His lips thinned. "No. They are not."

Sensing his shift in mood, she softly said, "I believe you."

"Do you?" The music swelled, and he guided them both into a whirl. Despite his thoughts being elsewhere, judging by the way his gaze darted to the podium, he still effortlessly kept track of the music's rhythm. "That puts you in rather exclusive company."

"Well, it's good company," Alya said, and meant it.

Warmth shone in his eyes as he turned his attention back to her with a smile. "Agreed." A beat of silence, and then he laughed self-consciously. "I mean – not that I'm calling myself good – I meant you. You are good company. As well." He squeezed his eyes shut as he trailed off, flustered.

Alya couldn't help the grin. "And you were doing so well playing the smooth gentleman."

"I know," he said with a mournful sigh. "Would you believe me if I said my nerves are entirely unrelated to a desperate need to impress a beautiful woman I'm dancing with?"

"I might. But be warned, I much prefer that interpretation, so you'll have to work hard to convince me to let go off the compliment."

"Well, far be it from me to deprive you of compliments."

"Ever the gentleman."

"Naturally." They shared a grin, before his gaze grew pensive, once again darting to the throne. His brows furrowed. "But in truth, I am nervous about something else. I hope to talk to Adrien tonight."

"Adrien? The prince? Are you dropping names to impress me, my Lord?"

"Perhaps. Is it working?"

"Perhaps," Alya said slyly. "You'll have to keep going for me to judge its efficacy. So, you're on first name basis with the prince?"

"We are close friends. Well, we were." His smile grew a touch strained.

"What happened?"

"The damage to my reputation occurred in his absence and he's not spoken to me much since his return."

"Not much of a friend, then." Or a Changeling as she suspected. As they twirled over the dancefloor, she, too, snuck a glance at the throne, mouth thinning when she realized the prince was gone. Well. Hopefully Mari was keeping an eye on him.

"One of the Ladies I supposedly treated with callous disregard is his friend as well. Her father played an instrumental role in his rescue. Still…" He trailed off.

"You wish he'd give you a chance to explain yourself?"

Lord Lahiffe nodded and they said nothing more over the next three beats.

"Let's find him," Alya declared and he blinked.

"Adrien?"

"Yes. I shall trip into him and hold him in place for you."

Lord Lahiffe laughed.

"I am utterly serious, my Lord. I pledge my shortsighted service to you."

"You are very generous, Lady Alya."

She nodded regally. "Indeed I am. Now, any idea where he might be?"

They twirled once more, then twice, while he raked his gaze over the room. "He might be outside."

"In this cold?"

"Adrien is not fond of having to give speeches, he might seek solitude to prepare himself."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I heard he's a skilled orator."

"He is. Doesn't mean he likes it."

"I see." Alya said nothing more as they danced the last few beats, sadness for Lord Lahiffe welling up inside of her. His reputation, his fiancée and his close friend – the fae had cost this Lord much, and he didn't even know it.

And now Alya would have to slay the beast wearing his friend's face just when Lord Lahiffe was hoping for reconciliation. Most likely in front of him. Hopefully he would react as level-headed as Mari.

They came to a halt and Lord Lahiffe smiled at her. "To the balcony then?"

"Lead the way, my Lord. It's best if he does not see my ambush coming."

"What a capable tactician you are," he said, a touch bemused. But already there was growing affection in his golden eyes. More than that when his gaze ever so briefly dipped lower before he turned to walk to the balcony.

Only for the prince to stroll over the threshold to meet them, Marinette on his arm. The servant in disguise looked alarmed and then subtly shook her head, though what she was trying to signal Alya could not say. Not to engage now?

But it was too late, for Lord Lahiffe only accelerated his pace, seeming determined to cut off the prince before he rejoined the crowd. Alya hurried after him, slipping her long iron pendant beneath her décolletage. It would not do to destroy his glamor while he was on the edge of the crowd.

She made the hand signal for 'Distract!' but of course, Marinette could not read it, only shaking her head more frantically. But that did the trick all the same, for the prince was alerted to the movement, slowing down to frown at the woman by his side.

Alya darted forward and tripped.

Unlike Lord Lahiffe, the prince did not catch her gently. No, he reacted far faster – jerking back and baring his teeth. Just as Alya was certain she was about to hit the floor, one hand shot forward to close around her upper arm, roughly pulling her to his chest.

"Careful," the prince said, as if he hadn't just bruised her.

Alya froze and stared at the chest only inches away from her face.

At the pendant around his neck.

Superstition had it that the triquetra warded against dark fae, though it did nothing of the sort. Was it made of iron?

"Sorry," she whispered, wide-eyed gaze darting to Marinette.

Marinette, who'd had her arms interlinked with the prince, iron bracelets pressed against him. Yes, the cloth offered some protection, but a fae would still have been in agony.

This was why Marinette had been shaking her head no.

But it made no sense! He'd disappeared on a solstice, and reappeared only a few days after another one, supposedly rescued by a household with a Changeling in it! It was – with all their recent activity, she'd been so certain that this could only be a set-up!

Nino inhaled deeply, his gaze lingering on the gorgeous noblewoman who, true to her word, was keeping Adrien in place for him. The prince was blinking down at her with a frown creasing his brows.

Then his best friend's expression went utterly blank, catching sight of Nino's approach.

This boded ill. But Nino was done dreading this. He was caught in some dreadful limbo, still one foot in the life he'd had a year ago. If it truly had all been destroyed beyond repair, then he needed to know that now so he could start building something new instead of hoping for a renewal that would never come.

"Your Grace."

Adrien's gaze slid to the side, to the black-haired woman on his arm, as if Nino had said nothing at all. Nino's breath caught. The cut direct? Would Adrien truly sink this low?

But then green pupils darted back to him, and the prince gave a curt nod.

"Lord Lahiffe. It's good to see you again."

"Is it?"

The prince fidgeted, busying himself with prying Alya off his chest. The Esparian Lady, not one to miss a beat, immediately dropped into a curtsy. "Your Grace. I am Lady Césaire, Lady Mariposa's cousin." She flashed a brilliant smile in the dark-haired girl's direction, and an instant later was leaning against her arm.

Nino blinked, focusing on the pale girl.

Mariposa?

Blue eyes met his, panic shining within.

But that was…

Adrien smiled brightly at both women. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Césaire. I would love to stay and chat, but I'm afraid I must give a horrifically boring speech now. Please do not judge me for it, I promise I'm normally the height of wit."

"Is that your head injury talking, Adrien?" The prince shot him a dark look that Nino returned with one of his own. He was done being ignored!

"Oh, surely it's not as bad as all that," Alya said in a clear attempt to defuse the tension.

"The king forbade the usage of puns," Lady Mariposa said softly.

"Just as I said. Horrific. Lady Mariposa, thank you for the company. I hope to see more of you at court. Lady Césaire. Lord Lahiffe." Adrien bowed stiffly as he took his leave, turning to walk back to the throne.

"Coward," Nino whispered under his breath.

The prince hesitated for a brief moment – though with the noise of the crowd it was impossible for him to have overheard – and then continued on his path. Nino balled his fist before gathering himself, exhaling, and turned toward the two Ladies who were fiercely whispering amongst each other.

"Lady Mariposa," he said, interrupting, and bowed with one hand behind his back. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

Marinette made a high-pitched noise of distress.

Lady Alya's sharp eyes narrowed. "My dearest cousin," she said, drawing up her shoulders as if preparing for battle, "is a recent addition to the family. Alas, her father failed to inform us of her existence."

Ah. So his ex-fiancée's handmaiden had been born on the wrong side of the marriage bed. "I congratulate you on the happy reunion, then," he said, gazing at Marinette. She was a sweet, if somewhat anxious girl. Good for her. "Lady Mariposa, Lady Alya. It's been a pleasure making your acquaintance. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I shall retire early tonight."

"Wait!" Lady Alya stepped forward. "The feast has only just begun, my Lord."

Temptation tugged at him, but as lovely as this woman was, Nino knew he'd not be good company for the rest of the evening. "I was only here to pay tribute to the guest of honor and now I've done just that. Thank you for the dance."