Chasing a little bit of warmth as her breath turned to fog, Marinette readjusted her shawl by drawing the velvet tightly around her shoulders.

Unlike the ball to celebrate the prince's return, which had been held in the palace's balmy grand hall, the New Year's Festival was celebrated outside in the royal gardens to culminate in a night sky lit up by fireworks. The guests had traded their fine sheer silks for elegant fur coats and heavy frocks.

Yet even draped in several layers of petticoats – more of Alya's extravagant dresses hastily altered to fit Marinette's narrow frame –the winter's bite gnawed at her skin.

But the splendid sight before her more than made up for her mild discomfort.

In the handful of days since she'd sat in the bare gardens at the prince's side, the courtyard had been transformed. Rows and rows of long tables had been carried outside, lavished with fine food and finer drink. Ice sculptures stood guard, glittering in a thousand lanterns' light.

Wide-eyed, Marinette stepped closer to an ice statue twice her height, carved to resemble two birds in flight.

The artist had carved an ornate design into the feathers of their long tails. A familiar one.

"Alya," Marinette said excitedly, tugging at the noblewoman's sleeve. "Are these peacocks?"

Hazel eyes blinked, then squinted. "I suppose so. Why?"

"I've always wondered what they looked like." A blush rose just as a memory did the same.

He sneezed as he thrust the vibrant feather toward her, holding it as far from his body as it would go.

"I know you like to sketch, so this is for you," Adrien said, sniffling. "The finest quill and ink in the kingdom."

Her hands reverently closed around the precious parting gift, pressing it close to her chest. Then, following an impulse, Marinette reached to brush away the wetness from the corner of his red rimmed eyes, yet he jumped back.

"I – I'm not crying! It's just – it's feathers. They make me break out in hives, that's all." He wiped his sleeve along his runny nose.

"Of course, my prince," she said, imbuing her curtsy with just the slightest hint of playful teasing. "Men as noble and strong as you never cry."

"Exactly." He sniffed again, trying to make it haughty, and failing. "Besides, there's no need to cry when we'll see each other again soon."

"Will we?"

He smiled. "I hope so."

Fingers snapped next to her ear, startling Marinette out of her reverie. She cast Lady Alya a guilty look, to which the noblewoman responded with an amused one.

"So where were you just now?" she asked, a note of mischief in her voice.

"N-nowhere at all."

"Mhm. You know, I'm rather fond of daydreams, too. By the expression on your face, your nowhere must be a rather impressive place."

Marinette could only muster an incoherent stutter in response, and Alya laughed, linking their arms together as they strolled through the frozen garden. She could not help but turn her head this way and that, admiring the impressive craftsmanship and the sheer effort it must have taken the servants to arrange all this in such a short timeframe.

And yet few others were sparing their magical ambience so much as a glance. They were surrounded by labors of love and skill, yet nobody but Marinette seemed awed.

"Lady Alya? May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why do nobles consider it a virtue to be bored?"

A sardonic grin tugged at Lady Alya's lips. "I've asked myself the same thing many times. It seems almost blasphemous, doesn't it? To be born in a world as marvelous as this one and, instead of exploring and discovering, to make a sport of scoffing at it. But then one day, I realized I was asking the question the wrong way around."

Marinette cast a questioning glance her way and Alya's smile faded to a melancholic one.

"They don't act bored, they are bored. High society is meant to be just that – higher. Better. So they convince themselves that their ennui is a sign of sophistication. In truth, it's evidence of lacking purpose." Alya's steps faltered for a moment. "I think I'd go mad if I had to lead the life intended for a Lady."

Marinette nodded, turning over the words in her head to make sense of them. She'd dreamed of being carried away on a white steed to the life Lady Alya rejected, and so did most of the servant girls she'd ever talked to. Compared to the daily drudgery she'd had to look forward to, a noblewoman's lot in life appeared like a distant heaven.

Lady Alya must have seen the direction of her thoughts, for a faint blush darkened her cheeks.

"You must think me spoiled."

"No," Marinette said with a slow shake of her head. "I think there must be things about a Lady's life I don't understand if you consider fighting monstrous nightmares an improvement."

A most unladylike snort escaped Alya's lips. She unfolded her fan with a flick of her wrist, hiding her laughter behind it.

"That is a very charitable interpretation."

Marinette smiled. "Everyone deserves charity."

Alya's gaze softened and she leaned a little closer into their linked arms. "Sweet Mari, have I told you how fortunate I am that fate chose you to be my unexpected ally? I was in dire need of one, and I could not be more pleased."

Flustered, Marinette smiled uncertainly. "I've hardly been much help yet." And, from what the fae hunter had laid out, her usefulness was likely to further diminish past this point. The odds of smuggling the entirely fictional Lady Mariposa into more exclusive gatherings were practically nil.

As were her chances of infiltrating the castle staff. Not only were the positions so coveted that they required the highest qualifications and references, they were also subject to strict security measures, courtesy of the king's understandable concern for his son's safety.

"You saved my life," Lady Alya said firmly. "And I sleep easier knowing I have you to guard my back. So, may I borrow your sharp eyes for a moment? Tell me if you spot Lord Lahiffe."

Marinette nodded, her searching gaze sweeping the garden even as she murmured, "I think we might be too early." Lady Bourgeois had always considered arriving less than an hour after an event's scheduled beginning to be a dreadfully stodgy faux pas.

"More time for me to strategically place some of my little helpers," Lady Alya said with a wink.

"Won't they be noticed? Not many butterflies during winter…"

She shook her head and lowered her voice. "All fae magic carries a… compulsion, of sorts. People avert their gaze, memories slip their mind, and their thoughts will tie themselves into knots trying to find mundane explanations for what they saw. It's part of the glamor I once told you about – the one only shattered by witnessing a fae in its true form." Lady Alya paused, humming thoughtfully as her gaze darted to Marinette. "There are those select few who are resistant to such mind games. Those strong of will, like you, if they notice that there is a compulsion they must resist. Children see what adults cannot, though they lose that ability with age. And…"

"And?" Marinette prodded curiously as the noblewoman trailed off.

"If you enter a bargain, the truth is unveiled as well. But by then it's far too late."

Adrien eyed the lute with great trepidation, like he expected it to lunge forward at any moment. Nino paid his tipsy friend little mind. Plucking at the strings, he concentrated on matching the pitch of the pristine instrument taken from the royal collection to the well-loved one he kept at his manor.

"It's not finished," Nino warned. "I've just been working on this on and off the couple of months."

"It's fine. Doesn't have to be purr-fection on first try."

Nino hid his grin. Even though Adrien had – petulantly – slowed down his drinking after Nino's warning, he'd outpaced the effects of the liquor. Now the prince's perfect diction was growing subtly slurred as he rolled and elongated his 'R's.

Adrien would get to know his limits the hard way. Despite his initial reticence, he'd quickly turned out to be a happy drunk. Which was exactly what Nino would have expected – drink had a way of revealing true character. What he hadn't expected was the way Adrien was continually attempting to drape himself over Nino's shoulders.

Still, it was nice to see that his old childhood friend was still there underneath it all, even with the mercurial changes the imprisonment had wrought in him. Nino would never admit it out loud, but he'd missed the stupid cat puns. They'd largely disappeared as Adrien had grown up. While he'd still had his occasional flashes of mischief, age and responsibility had caused the prince to cultivate an air of rigid formality, his ideas of proper royal behavior clearly influenced by King Gabriel.

"Well, it's more like my hundredth try. The composition never sounded quite right," Nino said absently as he thrummed the strings to create a clear chord progression, listening for dissonance.

Adrien cocked his head. "What was giving you trouble?"

"Kept stirring the wrong emotions."

Nino had tried turning to music to work through the fallout if his broken engagement. The half-finished pieces he'd written had been flawless on a technical level, yet they'd always sounded wrong to his ears. Too angry, too bitter. Never quite capturing the sorrow.

Go back to that moment when everything was simple.

Nino closed his eyes, letting his finger's muscle memory guide him through the bright and playful melody slowly slipping into grief. He'd tried to build it around some grand and bombastic break at first, but the haunting decline managed to capture his mood far better.

The last few notes faded into heavy silence.

Adrien had grown utterly still, staring at him with half-closed eyes.

Nino smiled crookedly and shrugged, laying the lute on his lap. "Our talk last night had me rework the leitmotif. It's still fairly rough around the edges, so I'm probably going to keep–"

"I liked it," Adrien whispered, blinking slowly. "A lot. When did you get so good?"

"Had a lot of free time lately. Plus, it felt like the thing to do." His smile turned self-conscious. "I'd rather be the Lord known for writing melodramatic songs for his lost love than my current predicament. How much, uh, have you heard about that, by the way?"

Adrien snorted dismissively. "Enough to know it's all lies."

Relief eased the tension in Nino's shoulders. Of course Adrien would take his side, he never should have doubted it. "Good. Great! I'm glad." He paused, and then, because he had practiced his defense so many times, he found it spilling from his lisp. "I never did anything she accused me–"

"I know."

"And the rumor with the widow was–"

"More lies, yes."

"And I never meant to–"

"Nino." Adrien sighed, bumping his shoulder against Nino's. "I know. You're a good man who didn't deserve what happened to you."

More tension drained away as Nino briefly allowed himself to indulge in a half-hug.

"I just wish I knew why," Nino murmured. "Why she did it. Did she tire of me? Did someone else whisper those lies in her ear? That was the worst part of it, lingering in doubt. It's why I was never able to compose even a single note for you."

Adrien blinked, drawing back as his expression went blank. "Me?"

"After you–" Nino gestured vaguely, leaving the word disappeared unspoken. "Chloe – before things broke between us – she kept pushing me to write something in your honor. But – that would have made it real, you know? Final. Like you were truly gone. And I just had this gut feeling that…" He trailed off, and then laughed. "Like as soon as I was done writing down the last note, you'd come strolling through the door and start mocking me relentlessly for composing something so sappy."

Adrien didn't respond right away. Then his unreadable expression slowly gave way to a Cheshire grin. "You wound my honor. I have manners, I'd have pre-faced the mockery with pleasantries."

Nino snorted. "Of course, Your Grace. I would never question your impeccable manners. That is how I know that rumors of you being seen using the oyster fork for the entrée are but vicious slander."

"Horrid defamation. I would never."

"And you would certainly not overload your plate with meat and send it toppling over."

"What kind of savage animal would do such a thing? You know I am the height of decorum."

"Indeed." Nino's cheeks hurt from the wideness of his grin. "Speaking of, I believe we are now sufficiently late to be considered right on time."

Adrien made a noise of disgust. "What are our odds of making it the new fashion to not attend at all?"

"Poor. Very much so." At Adrien's dejected sigh, Nino added, "Not in the mood for celebration?"

"Father's ill," Adrien muttered as he reached for yet more wine. "And it's my fault."

Nino straightened his back. "No. It isn't." Grief might have brought King Gabriel low, but that was not his son's fault. "From what I hear his disposition's been much improved since your return."

Adrien fidgeted and said nothing, merely taking another deep sip from his goblet.

"We don't have to attend," Nino said. "Just showing your face for a minute or two will do. But…"

"But?"

"To be quite honest, I was looking forward to celebrating the new year with you." He laughed self-consciously. "Call it superstition, but I'd like to put the past year behind me for good and look forward to a fresh start."

"A fresh start," Adrien repeated with a thoughtful hum. "I suppose I could attend for that. Clearly, both our reputations have suffered terrible, unjust injury and must be set right." His best friend's eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "I'll have your back if you'll have mine."

Nino laughed. "As if you even need to ask."

Adrien's answering smile was as smug as the proverbial cat who'd caught the canary.

…the Lord ask me to dance? Hopeful tremors flutter in the belly, oh, I should not have eaten those macarons, maman says men do not like wives who like sweets, it ruins the figure…

"Ah!" Marinette's squeak drew Alya's attention away from her butterflies' whispers. "They're here."

Alya's head swiveled as she narrowed her eyes to focus on two blurry figures in the distance. "Lord Lahiffe?" One of the blobs had the right coloring, but then, she'd once mistaken a potted plant for a man, so it was probably best to receive confirmation.

"With the prince," Marinette said, her voice breathy.

Oh, had they laid rest to their quarrel? Intriguing.

Alya's fingers closed around Mari's wrists, tugging at her to follow. But she resisted, squirming out of the grasp. "I – I should like to stay. I haven't yet had the chance to examine all the ice sculptures."

"They're inanimate," Alya said dryly. "They'll be here all night."

Marinette bit her lip and said nothing for a long moment, fingers digging into her voluminous skirts. "I should – someone ought to stay behind and watch for signs of fae."

A frown creased Alya's brow. "Why this reluctance?"

"I…" Marinette made a distressed noise somewhere between a squeak and a gulp. "I just like it here. This is a good spot. A great spot. The view is most magnificent. Perfect for spotting nefarious fae. And it'll be best if we have someone keeping an eye on the big picture."

Alya arched an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch to uncomfortable proportions. Quiet was an interrogator's most useful tool. As expected, Marinette did not last long before her nerves betrayed her.

"He didn't remember me," she said softly. "It was lovely to talk to him and to know that he's well, but anything beyond that would just..." Marinette absently touched her palm to her chest, fingers balling into a fist. Then she raised her chin high, looking as noble and dignified as the most high-born of Ladies. "I wish to guard him from afar."

"Of course," Alya agreed gently, entwining their fingers for a brief moment and squeezing in comfort. "I'll be back soon, hopefully with a new liaison. Seek me out if anything troubles you."

Marinette returned the squeeze and they shared a small smile before Alya slipped away.

Even with everything a blur, locating the prince was not difficult, surrounded as he was by a small throng of guests eager to gain his favor. Yet he strode past them with no more than a nod and a smile, neither slowing his steps nor interrupting his animated conversation with the man beside him.

Lord Lahiffe.

Something twisted in her belly at the sight of him, and Alya's mind went blank, her carefully planned strategies abandoning her. Should she try tripping into him again? Would he be amused by the jest? Or should she try gaining his attention through use of feminine wiles? But how to draw his gaze toward her in the first place? Did she even have functional wiles? She'd so rarely had the opportunity to test–

Alya took a deep, steadying breath.

Boldness. He'd liked boldness. And so did she.

"–perception is reality. It's their most fundamental attribute." The wind carried the prince's words as she drew closer, his blurry features slowly coming into focus. As if to punctuate his words, he bit down on something speared on a toothpick.

Lord Lahiffe sounded exasperated. "But it's the essence that matters. The body, the core. Even without his limbs, a man is still–"

"But it's not the core," the prince interrupted. "A man might be defined by his face, but a–" He abruptly trailed off, green eyes focusing on Alya. Tilting his head ever so slightly, he squinted, and then his face lit up. "Lady Césaire!" For some reason, he looked exceedingly pleased to have recognized her.

Well. This certainly made her approach easier. Alya curved her lips into her most coquettish smile, aiming it squarely at Lord Lahiffe even as she curtsied to royalty. "Your Grace. My Lord."

"My Lady." Lord Lahiffe's warm golden eyes met hers, a pensive expression on his face. Once again, her belly insisted on that most inappropriate sensation, twisting and churning with excitement.

"Perfect timing," said Prince Adrien, voice cutting the strange tension between them. "Help us settle an argument, we've been talking in circles for half an hour."

Lord Lahiffe's lips pressed together into thin lines, even as the corners twitched in merriment. "We ought not bother the Lady with this stupidity."

"Stupidity?" the prince echoed, aghast. "This a deep, philosophical question in need of answers."

"I do so love philosophical questions," Alya said, "What are we arguing about?"

Prince Adrien flashed a grin before taming his expression into a somber one, his tone grave. "What is the quintessence of squidness?" To illustrate the question, he held up a toothpick with a little slice of calamari, taken from the plentiful buffet.

Alya blinked. Then blinked again. "Pardon?"

"There are quintessential traits that define an animal. Certain shapes that make them instantly recognizable for what they are," Prince Adrien said. "Like a bird is not a bird without wings and feathers. So what makes a squid a squid? I say it's the tentacles, but Lord Lahiffe wrongly says it's the body."

Yet another slow blink. "…and you've been arguing about this for half an hour?"

"He's stubborn," two voices answered in unison.

"I, uh." Gathering her composure, Alya grinned lopsidedly. "I think I'd need to hear more of your arguments before committing to–"

"Don't encourage him," Lord Lahiffe said with a deep, longsuffering sigh. "Just run and save yourself."

"What happened to having my back?" Prince Adrien said, grinning despite his chiding tone.

Lord Lahiffe patted the prince's shoulder. "That's what I'm doing. You'll thank me in the morn' when you're sober and your reputation as a smart, educated man is still intact."

"Spoilsport." Prince Adrien huffed before turning to face Alya – or rather, to scrutinize her surroundings. Belatedly seeming to remember his sense of propriety, he smiled and said, "It's lovely to see you again, Lady Césaire. Are you enjoying the feast?"

"The royal winter garden is a work of art, Your Grace," Alya said with a smile as her gaze darted once more to Lord Lahiffe, gaze lingering. "And the company is most intriguing."

Yet instead of responding with the warm smile she'd hoped for, Lord Lahiffe's expression went blank.

Disconcerted, Alya forced her attention back to Prince Adrien's voice as he spoke to her.

"Speaking of company, is your cousin attending tonight as well?"

Not so forgettable after all? "She is, Your Grace. Lady Mariposa is quite taken with the artistry of the ice sculptures. I believe she's admiring them as we speak."

"Is that so?" The prince not-so-subtly craned his neck, searching gaze sweeping over the crowd. Yet suddenly his expression tightened with displeasure.

"Your Grace," a soft voice rang out, sweet and melodic. Alya turned to face a beautiful Lady in an elegant apricot gown accentuated with silver jewelry. Dropping into a deep curtsy, she spared neither Lord Lahiffe nor Alya a glance as she batted long eyelashes at Prince Adrien.

"Lady Rossi," the prince said, and it would have sounded perfectly polite, if the contrast to his playful tone just moments earlier hadn't been so jarring. He bent at the waist, his bow rigid and formal. "I'm glad you could make it."

"And I'm so glad to see you in such good health and company." Her voice was husky, yet demure. Her smile stayed perfectly fixed as the two of them stared at each other. "I've prayed for your safe return every night for the past year, my liege."

Green eyes imperceptibly narrowed as something unspoken passed between them. Then the prince's shoulders slumped in something akin to resignation.

"Lord Lahiffe, Lady Césaire, this is Lady Lila Rossi. And I believe I owe her a long overdue dance," Prince Adrien said, as enthusiastic as a dead possum. Casting an apologetic smile at the two of them, he held out his hand toward Lady Rossi, gloved fingers twining together. "I'll be back shortly."

Alya arched an eyebrow as the prince was all but dragged away, casting a glance at Lord Lahiffe out of the corner of her eye. He looked as puzzled as she, a faint frown creasing his brows.

So the prince's best friend appeared to be unfamiliar with a woman who'd all but compelled Prince Adrien to dance with her. Alya reached for the awareness of her butterflies, directing the nearest one to flutter after Lady Rossi to take a closer look. Then she inched closer to Lord Lahiffe with a smile, for Alya was nothing if not a multitasker.

"So… essence of squid?" She arched an eyebrow as Lord Lahiffe was startled out of his thoughts. "Dare I ask how this debate was started?"

"A rarely explored conversation thread, to be sure. The secret to unlocking the path to it is an excellent bottle of wine." He peered at her out of the corner of his eyes. "You'll have to forgive me for failing to ask you to dance as well, but while it opens up the mind to a host of debate topics, wine is not conductive to my sense of balance."

"Well, you braved the danger of my clumsiness. I'd have done no less for you."

"How gallant." He chuckled dryly. "All the same, I'd rather not shame myself on the dance floor. Instead, might I invite you to a walk through the gardens, Lady Alya?"

"Gladly," she said, heat blooming in her cheeks at the casual intimacy of being addressed by her first name. When he offered his elbow, she linked their arms. Peering at him through heavy eyelashes, she tried to read his subdued mood as they slowly ambled away from the crowd. "So I could not help but notice that you are on speaking terms with Prince Adrien once more. Did you mend the rift between you?"

His steps hitched almost imperceptibly. "Yes."

"And yet you do not seem pleased," Alya said softly.

"I am. Very much so. Adrien's friendship means the world to me." Golden eyes stared straight ahead and his voice grew so quiet she had to lean in close to hear it. "It's quite amazing how much can change in the span of a few days, is it not? Thanks to Adrien's public approval, I suddenly find myself being approached by the very same Lords and Ladies who shunned me a mere week ago.

"I know how the game is played, of course, but to see it so blatantly on display… well, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth." He turned toward her, gaze hooded. "It makes me appreciate those few who seek me out without ulterior motive."

Alya forced herself to smile even brighter as a yawning abyss of guilt opened in her belly. For but a moment she'd have liked nothing better than to yield to its pull and sink into the earth, for her interest in Lord Lahiffe was no less mercenary.

But it wasn't all ulterior motive. There was a reason she'd chosen to pursue him as her next avenue of investigation. Yes, perhaps her interest was not entirely wholesome, but she liked the man, had replayed their conversation in her mind for more than hints of fae.

"True friends are hard to come by for people of our station," she said softly.

"Indeed." He smiled, and yet there was no warmth to it. Or was that Alya's guilt twisting her perception?

They walked in silence, the lively music fading behind them as they moved deeper into the frozen gardens, and Alya pretended it was comfortable silence. Focus. She needed to focus and go back to her script. Thoroughly win him over and somehow charm an invitation to a rendezvous out of him. Maybe slip in a question or two about the prince.

Yet the words got lost on the way to her tongue.

Gods, why was this suddenly so hard? Their banter had flowed so easily last time, and it wasn't like she was a stranger to deception. It had been taught to her right along with how to swing a sword, a silver tongue as important in a hunter's arsenal as an iron blade.

Faintly, she grew aware of the butterfly she'd sent after the woman dancing with the prince as it signaled it had found its target. Alya froze as a mass of dark, writhing malevolence curled its tendrils around her heart.

…idiot cat, will have to take care of everything mys– annoyance mingles with surprise, suspicion on its heels –

WHO DARES

Pain shot through her chest as Alya stumbled, the connection to her butterfly abruptly cut off. Lord Lahiffe caught her before she lost her balance, the soft murmur of his concern barely penetrating her thoughts.

Struggling to smooth her composure, Alya choked out a small laugh. "I have to stop tripping around you, my Lord. It's becoming a most distasteful habit."

"It's quite alright. No harm done."

Murmuring an absent thanks, she turned to look back at the dancing crowd, belatedly realizing just how far away they'd moved away from the central courtyard. The palace's fortifications rose high above them, so close even with her terrible sight could almost make out the individual bricks of the walls.

"Oh, I love this melody," she said brightly, tugging at Lord Lahiffe's elbow to turn him back to the courtyard's center.

He didn't budge.

Alya frowned and he met her gaze with an arched eyebrow.

"Not enjoying our stroll?"

"I am! It's just – I…" She trailed off at the expression on his face, every instinct she had suddenly warning her of danger. "My Lord? I'd like you to let go now."

"Not just yet," he said softly, anger blazing in his eyes. "Have you heard the news, Lady Césaire? My ex-fiancée has disappeared. As did her Lady's maid. Which has left me with a number of questions, considering I just saw said maid the other day."

Alya's breath caught as his grip on her wrist tightened.

"I imagine the guards will have a number of questions for you, Lady Césaire. About what you know of Chloe Bourgeois. Let's hope your answers match those of your cousin."