Sandry was bored. I mean, it was interesting seeing the layout of the hall, and the different ways people were acting, but really… Been to one ball, been to them all, and Mila knew she had been to plenty of balls. They descended, just as Cythera and Sandry had been taught, heads held high; Sandry overheard a bemused Daja asking Tris, "Are all balls this boring?"

All four of the girls giggled, glad for the release from tension. To Sandry's mild surprise and definite relief, the rest of the arduous journey down passed without event, or more specifically without any of them falling over. The presentation ceremony was familiar to the one standard in most courts; the only unusual thing was this whole idea of having somebody to vouch for you. Dangerous times, Sandry supposed. It was rather funny really; poor Numair had to vouch for all three of the girls from Emelan. At least he got a break with Cythera, who had got one of her relative to do it. Sandry watched with mild interest as all this happened, but she had slipped in to automatic Lady mode; she was the image of feminine nobility without actually thinking at all. Unfortunately, her friends hadn't got the knack of it.

Luckily, they were the last of the Ladies to be introduced, so they didn't have to wait for any more, but only had to put up with the fanfares to announce the beginning of the dances. Unluckily, the moment Daja and Tris realised what was about to happen, they were clamouring at Sandry through their mind-link.

Sandry! Daja shrieked mentally. I can't DANCE!

Tris was in a panic too. They never taught me how to dance at court!  She wailed. Sandry winced. The mental combination of hot coals and lightening shrieking was not pleasant. She tried to soothe them.

Look, she said calmly, it's really not difficult…

SANDRY!

Oh, so you're not going to dance. You should have said.  Sandry's mental voice was amused. I think there's a balcony over there.  She nodded her head casually to her left. Try it.

Muttering some intelligible excuses, the two girls made their escape. Sandry chuckled, making Alanna frown.

"What's so funny?" the violet-eyed girl enquired, curiously. Sandry shook her head.

"Those two. They're running away form the prospect of death by dancing."

Alanna joined Sandry in the laughter. "I can't blame them, but how did you know…" She was interrupted by a young man who swept over to them. Glancing up at him, Sandry recognised the prince. Had she not had iron-self control at these events, her jaw would have dropped. Alanna smiled at him, performing the introductions.

"Jon, this is Sandry-Lady Sandrilene. I'll tell you what she told me- you don't want to know the titles." Alanna rolled her eyes appreciatively. "Sandry, this is Jon-Prince Jonathon of Tortall, heir to the throne."

Jon bowed elegantly. "A pleasure, my Lady. Might I have the honour of this dance?" He smiled disarmingly, sheer charisma and charm shining out of his sapphire eyes. His features were regal, but kind; Sandry was intrigued. She curtsied perfectly. She had spent hours getting that right.

"It would be a pleasure, Sire."