His eyes examined the amber liquid with extensive detail, but his mind was miles away, a verse on replay.

"Hidden comes the Lady,

Eyeing the yet Unseen.

Hidden she comes, deadly,

Beware, her mind's too keen."

Months had passed since that last message, months of growing desperation and losing of hope. The members of the resistance had never been so anxious; lack of news is worse than bad news.

He, too, was succumbing to lower spirits, especially since the new addition to the highest class. Just as he was thinking of her, she enters the room, the perfect example of a Lady bred in the New Rules: submissive and mutedly alluring. The arm she was holding belonged to the Lord of Imharve, a Dreo'y serving Lady Kermijs, and his stomach revolted at the sight.

The man she came to the ball to was all but repugnant. Cold anger ran down his spine and he had to control himself. Lord of Imharve was more than responsible for the destruction of villages, his fondness for young girls was more than evident and very brutal.

However, it wasn't only the man that disconcerted him. His rage toward Lord of Imharve was also due to the fact that he came with her. Every time he saw her with another Lord, a fury overcame him. What was it about this woman that affected him so much?

Suddenly their gazes locked, the bright green of her irises twinkling under the dozen candles Lady Heerundly had scattered around the ballroom for the event of the year. His breath caught up in his throat.

Damn her! With a swing, he emptied his glass and stood up to fill it up again. The only way he was going to survive tonight was in a state of inebriety.

To his complete demise, the host intercepted him, her clammy hand clawing into his well-tailored suit. "Dear Lord Swangard, have you met Lord Imharve and his lovely companion Miss Sephir?" Her smile didn't reach her eyes, a distaste evident in them. Lord of Swangard almost tipped on jealousy – Lady Herrundly's beauty hadn't simply faded with age and added weight, she hadn't ever been beautiful. Resentment and envy weren't uncommon in the circle he was in.

"I don't think I ever had the pleasure," he trained his gaze on Miss Sephir and took her hand to his lips just to spite the host. Lady Heerundly's grip on him tightened. Goddess, was the high society an easy prey!

"Lord Swangard," the Lord of Imharve offered him his hand, which he took. He tried not to think about the sense of loss he felt after letting Miss Sephir's hand go.

"Lord Imharve, wonderful to meet you. I must say I admire the adjustments you did to your land," his tone exuded enough enthusiasm to compliment the Lord. The latter would have probably boasted about his horrible methods, weren't it for the host.

"Oh my, it is too good of a night to talk about business," Lady Heerundly proclaimed, her grip still too present on his coat. It irked him, her possessiveness, but if it weren't for her and her little circle of so-called friends, he wouldn't have come this far.

"Aren't you right? Maybe I could persuade Miss Sephir to join me getting some drink for us." The host's dismay was expected and he was sure there would be consequences, however his current relief to leave the old matron's side was certainly worth it.

Like a trained Miss, the young woman looked at her companion, who nodded curtly. "I'd be delighted." She took his arm and he led her to the refreshment table.

As to be expected of him, he dwelled into small-talk. "How do you find Franciesse?" His tone was polite.

Her head tilted slightly to the side, a sign of pondering. "The city is very interesting." She hesitated, before adding with a smile, "There's so much to discover."

Surveying the expression that followed such odd statement, he found nothing but youthful innocence and a fresh curiosity; both certainly enticed the high-standing men. Not him, though. Still, he was the epitome of courteousness, when he inquired, "Hadn't you been to the city before?"

"Only as a little child," she confided, the same sweet and distant smile etched on her lips. "There's so much one doesn't see when one is unknowing."

Again, the wording disturbed him, but before he could probe further, she asked him: "What about you, Lord Swangard? What are your thoughts about the city?"

Studying her carefully, he pondered if he should answer truthfully. Her pure façade could be just that: a façade. There is only so much one could do to simulate virtue. Once one was corrupted by the poison of Dawnerry, virtue was far, far from reach. Still, he chose his words carefully. "As a man of the country, the town life seems a bit… toxic. Of course, that it has its benefits," he forced himself to said that word, "but nothing compares to life close to nature."

If only she truly understood what he was saying… A Lady bred into the vices of Dawnerry would never come close to comprehend what nature he meant. The natural give-and-take dance of Vrya'as and Dreo'ys was completely sullied by greed and cruelty and Miss Sephir had known just that. She would never understand what he meant.

"Nothing really does," was her soft reply, so soft he thought he had imagined it, as he had imagined the slight change in her perfect smile.

Finally, they reached the refreshment table and she took two beverages, a strong malt for the gentleman and a mild champagne for herself. When he too had gotten a glass of red wine for the host and refilled his own with the same strong amber liquid, they made their way back silently.

He couldn't help but survey her again. The seamless grace with which she carried herself and the youthfulness that went beyond features were the envy of any Lady or even Miss of the courts. He'd expected her to bore him to tears with chatter about superficial things like the other Misses did. However, she was mostly silent, a demure companion that had only spoken when spoken to, though still polite.

She was so much the perfect depiction of what a decent Miss is supposed to be that it couldn't be true. There must be something amiss, although he couldn't see it.

They were just a few steps away from their company, when she turned to him to tell him. "There is still so much to see." Again, there was an edge in her smile, but it quickly disappeared as she joined Lord of Imharve and Lady Heerundly. After slightly hesitation, he too followed suit, her statement plaguing his thoughts, so that he couldn't concentrate on the conversation.

What was there to see? What did she mean? Who was Miss Sephir? Their conversation replayed in his mind time and time again, but nothing new came from his ponderings.

He examined the amber liquid with extensive detail. There wasn't enough of it, damn him. After the encounter with the exquisite Miss he was only sure of one thing: the only way to survive this night was in a state of inebriety.