I had long before accepted the fact that my ball had never happened. There wasn't much to accept there, my ball merely having been one of the many perks of an engagement and wedding. Balls and dances and their social ilk never had held much attraction for me. But I could not deny there was something dazzling about them. At least, dazzling about this particular ball. I stared on from the shadows, and it would have been a lie to say that my heart was not in its own way thrilled and pounding. No wonder so many girls had gone giddy at the mere mention of the ball. The lit palace sapped at the mind and then filled it with the same light that streamed from the windows. Music of the orchestra, carried by the night breeze, intentionally struck the ear and whispered all sorts of ideas into it. And the people! The crowds of people, theoretically the entire city (though I highly doubted everyone came), talking and laughing and flowing into the mass infectious madness.

For a moment I had no idea who I was. The moment sense returned I carefully plucked that sensation and tucked it away for later for my own personal enjoyment. Now was the time to be focusing upon Christine. She looked the happiest I had ever seen her, like a child being put on her first pony, her hand lightly touching that of her attendant.

I had done well. Her dress was the finest there, at least that I could see, and I had no intention of properly examining the other dresses for a real comparison. As far as I concerned no other dress was as beautiful or anywhere close and it was going to remain so in my mind. Her dress reflected every beam of light that fell upon it until she was blinding. Gazes fell upon her, lingering longer than the average passing glance, and smiles of appreciation and even jealousy appeared in those many eyes.

Oh, I had done well.

Invisible, I joined the flow of the crowd and entered the palace.

So it was the royal family had a ballroom. I wondered how often Wyatt used it or even thought of it. That night, however, there was no other room in the palace. It smelled of recent cleaning, scrubbing and polishing that must have left dozens of servants grateful for their beds that night, a pure scent that no amount of perfumed guests could cover. The walls were gilded, lined with primly potted flowers, and seemed almost alive. I was sure it was the effect of dazzle, but who cared?

Christine did not look a thing like Christine. She was another girl entirely. The town had seen her only as a servant of Melissa, striding through town with her wild hair and eyes. She was a lady now, and she carried herself like one. She entered the room, smile taking up her entire face, and I knew she had immediately become an intention of many men there. I could hear her laughing as she accepted her first dance.

"She's beautiful."

I turned around to find the person I was not surprised to see there. "Hello, Bernard."

His appearance was less dim, his hair a little neater, his eyes completely on his daughter. "You did well with her. This is always what I imagined for her."

I still despised his presence, but the harsh anger did not exist anymore. "I'm so glad my death made it possible." All right, so I could still not resist a small chide.

His smile was grim. "And for that I suffer. You've spoken to him, though, haven't you? Prince Wyatt."

I nodded. "Of course I have."

"He's a very good man. I was wrong to make my Prince suffer."

I decided not to reply to that.

Bernard continued, the whirling form of Christine on the dance floor never leaving his sight. "He cares for Christine, though. I don't think even with all I've done that I ever really expected that. I had hoped, I had fantasized, I had plotted, as well you know, but I never expected it."

"Did you love her mother?" I asked.

With that question his smile warmed. "I loved her more than I ever loved Melissa. Far more."

"I can't comprehend how you could have ever cared for Melissa." I knew it was a stupid thing to say. Who was I to judge what others felt? Did I have the only claim upon love? Love was the only good thing so many people knew. I was half-surprised I wasn't struck down for my words.

"I know how you see her now. Cruel, conniving. I suppose she always was. But to me she was exciting. Beautiful, interesting, darker than the typical good woman of the household. I'm a historian, I deal with the messy as well as the good. The messy makes things exhilarating. But she has lost people, too. Her husband. Me. She loves her daughters and wants what's best for them. She isn't entirely incapable of love no matter what you think. Forgive me, but I would have expected an angel to know more."

"I do know more. I suppose I was just asking a personal question. Your response was too good for me."

He laughed. "Maybe I'm learning."

I found myself laughing, too. "Maybe you are."

The ball continued. It was a wonderful chaos of color and pure joy. No wonder so many people loved the things. I soon found Wyatt, handsomer than I had ever seen him. He always had cleaned up well. His parents, seeming as relaxed as a couple on the verge of retirement should look, joined in the dancing, slower than the guests, enjoying simply each other.

Wyatt danced, too. Of course he danced. It was his coronation ball and he was expected to dance. And he looked like he enjoyed it. He talked with the blushing women, moved them gracefully, and did an excellent job of making it look like he was not looking for someone else entirely.

But I could see them. I had full view of the ballroom. Christine and Wyatt moved almost in sync, slowly making their way towards each other with each dance partner until to the untrained eye it seemed only natural that Christine would be the next partner of the Prince.

I knew he recognized her. He was the only one who possibly could. His invitation to her did not seem out of the ordinary. No pause, no extra smile meant only for her. She was merely the next lovely girl lucky enough to dance with the soon-to-be-King. And for her part Christine was just as demure. The smile etched on her face was no different from any other girls. She was smart enough to not even wink at him as she graciously accepted his hand.

Why was I so adamant no one recognized her? I thought about it as I watched them dance and decided it was partially logical. I wasn't sure what fit Melissa and her daughters would throw at the sight of her. But the rest of it was a game, one that appealed to my ridiculous obsession with story. I wanted her to be mysterious, I wanted her to be an enigma. It was fun that way.

Next to me Bernard let out a long breath. "Here it is," he said. "You've done it. She's with him."

"And just when do you hope he'll propose?"

He did not reply for a long time, but his eyes sparkled as he watched his daughter and Wyatt. "This is all I wanted for her. I don't care what happens next."

I wondered if that meant the end of trying to kill Grace.

The song ended, and Wyatt and Christine stopped their dance. Their parting was near seamless, but I detected the briefest wait time as their hands unclasped.

I was sure they would make their ways back to each other shortly.

Somehow, I did not feel jealous.

I soon spotted Grace lounging upon a cushioned chair next to her mother. She did look beautiful, and her injury was working to her advantage. Already she had several young men about her. She laughed and chatted with them, but her eyes were obvious in their search for someone else. Was she really hoping Wyatt would make his way to her side? Of course it would be the proper thing to do, but Wyatt had plenty of guests to greet. Far more than plenty.

Except… except somehow he had escaped.

Taking leave of Bernard I set out into the crowd.

Somehow Wyatt had managed to slip unnoticed from the ballroom. That, or his subjects were polite or distracted enough to let him be. I found him down the hall from the grand doors, wiping sweat from his brow and speaking with Evan.

"Does she know?" Evan asked. His tone was serious. Desperate, even. He was demanding something.

"I don't know," Wyatt replied. His ball-ready smile was gone. "I would think not, if I had to make a guess. She would have been a child then. What father would involve his little child in such a thing?"

"Can you even trust her?"

Dear protective Evan.

"I'd trust her with my life." Wyatt stared back to the ballroom.

"She could be plotting something."

Wyatt laughed at that. "And exactly what would she be plotting? You're being ridiculous. We can't prove a thing."

"Go to the house. Lady Melissa has to show you any documentation they have in there. Prove this claim!"

"No. Evan, the man is dead. He's been dead for years. I should let it go."

The desperation faded from Evan's face. "I think you're a fool, but I can't say part of me is not happy to hear that."

"And Christine is not her father." The sentence was final, and the hall rang with it.

Wyatt took a deep breath. "Speaking of fathers, I should probably get back in there."

I followed him back into the ballroom. He had found my paper. He knew. And he didn't care. I wasn't sure what to make of that. But he was right. Bernard was dead.

Re-entering the ballroom was like stepping back into a warm bath. I released the mindless delight I had reserved from earlier and breathed it in with full acceptance. This was a good night, a beautiful night, and it possibly meant my job here was nearly over.

Christine was in the arms of a man who looked all too delighted to be holding her. She herself looked all too delighted to be held. I was happy for her.

I could see Amelia about. Had she noticed Christine? How jealous of other women did women get in these situations? Having noticed her stepsister or not, she seemed to be having as marvelous a time as anyone else.

And Grace still had her suitors. I toyed with the notion they were men incapable of dancing who had found a loophole in the injured young woman.

But there was one among them… I blinked and raced back through my memories. Change the clothing, clean up the body, remove from a terrifying moment in the woods…

Grace's mystery man. From whom we had fled in the woods.

I stared.

She gazed at him like a simpering puppy, though I could not imagine why. He knelt at her side, her hands in his.

I moved closer. Did Melissa suspect anything? She wasn't the type to approve of her daughter involving herself with someone who stalked the forest.

But Melissa didn't seem to care one way or the other. She just seemed happy to have her daughter surrounded by men.

"Stay with me," Grace was saying. "I fell. I know you wanted to dance, but…"

"I can't give too much attention, Grace. You know I love you, but…" He shoved her hands away.

"Please!"

"I'll be back! We'll have much to discuss!"

"You're supposed to stay by me!"

But he stepped away with a smile doused in coldness, though I doubted Grace saw as much.

And then he stepped among the dancers, walking toward Christine.