Page 29

Still, Margaret stepped away from her husband with a final, reassuring pat of his strong arm. “This is our best chance to stop this scheme in its tracks and avert a war. Isn’t that worth a bit of risk?”

“Not to me,” he said starkly. “Not if the risk is to your life.”

Before they’d met, Margaret had never expected anyone to put her—spiky and eccentric as she knew herself to be–above everyone and everything else in the world. Now, her heart squeezed with a poignant mixture of gratitude and wonder at that ongoing miracle...and yet, she shook her head firmly at him. “I listened to you when it came to working out the right order of revelations for tonight, but now, you need to listen to me—because I’m choosing this risk for my own sake as well as for everyone else. If war does break out across the continent, our friends’ lives will be endangered, our dreams for the institute shattered, and the two of us may well find ourselves trapped at Shadowcroft for years.

“I spent over a decade confined under my aunt and uncle’s control. I can’t bear to face that fate again so soon after our marriage finally granted me freedom! But I promise...” She reached up to stroke a lingering caress across his face, damning propriety. “I will take care tonight for your sake, my love.”

His broad chest rose and fell in a long sigh as his gaze clung to her face, red sheening in rapid waves across the light brown of his irises. Then he stepped back, inclining his head gravely. “Very well. I must respect your decision, my love, as always...but tonight, once this venture has ended one way or another, we will share a long conversation about our future. I’ve put it off for too long already.”

“I beg your pardon?” Thrown off guard, she blinked up at him. “What sort of conversation do you mean? Is something amiss? Between us? What⁠—?”

“Later,” he said, “we’ll talk through all of it together. For now, only focus on the task ahead—and do, my love, keep yourself safe for everyone’s sake, if you don’t want a bloody massacre of vengeance to end this peace conference tonight.”

Good Lord. There were moments when Margaret was still taken by surprise by the reminder of how brutal a warrior her debonair husband had originally been trained to be...

And by the time she’d recovered from that final, deceptively calm statement, his tall figure was already cutting a smooth course through the crowd, away from her.

Oof. She let out a shuddering breath of exasperation. So much for Riven’s vaunted skills at diplomacy! Between that absurd warning and his alarmingly vague note about their upcoming conversation, she would be simmering with background anxiety for the rest of the evening...

Much—she had to admit—as he must be too, as he attempted to pursue his own tasks for the evening whilst worrying over her safety.

Marriage was so much more complicated than supernatural research!

Shaking it off as well as she could, Margaret started forward across the ballroom, wriggling her way through the crowd in the direction of the orchestra. Once again, a new set of musicians played in the corner tonight, directed by a new conductor; with the fresh infusion of eyebright that she’d applied to her eyelids tonight, it was easy to confirm exactly which baton the man was waving now.

She was still a good fifteen feet away from them when an all-too-familiar voice rapped out behind her. “Lady Riven.”

Remembering her own earlier directive—raise no suspicion—Margaret heaved a pointedly weary sigh as she turned and found Prince Metternich glowering down at her with impatient distaste. “Let me venture a wild speculation,” she said dryly. “Does the emperor claim to wish to meet with me privately again this evening? Despite not having uttered a word about it in the reception line?”

The slight curl of his lip turned into an outright sneer. “Emperor Florian never speaks untruths. If you were not a foreigner, you would know as much already.”

“I had heard that rumor,” she said, “but after my own experience of the last two balls...”

“Enough. I am busy on the empire’s business and can wait no longer. If you’ll follow me?” He gestured commandingly in the direction of the hidden door.

“Do I have a choice?”

His eyes narrowed over his hawk nose. “Must I physically escort you once again, madam?”

“Absolutely not!” Drawing back, Margaret curved her left arm defensively across her chest, pointedly protecting both herself and the beaded reticule that hung from her wrist.

“In that case...”

He set off briskly, and she followed with unhidden irritation. A few covert whispers sounded from observers nearby as they passed, and Margaret heard one high-pitched, grating giggle, but as always, none dared impede the progress of the former chancellor.

When he held the hidden door open for her, she hesitated for one moment on the threshold, glancing searchingly back across the ballroom—but her husband was nowhere to be seen.

Good, she reminded herself. He trusts me. She had, after all, sworn to him that she could manage this part while he saw to his tasks for the evening.

Even so, she felt a sudden, prickling wave of nerves run across her skin when the door clicked shut behind her, leaving her alone in the first inner chamber with Prince Metternich.

She never let herself show any nerves in public, so she drew herself up with a veneer of haughtiness. “I do know my way by now,” she said as he strode before her to the next, closed door. “If you are so very busy, you needn’t bother escorting me the rest of the way.”

At that careless offer, he stiffened, drawing to an abrupt halt. Then he slowly turned to look at her, for the first time that evening, with the full, unsettling focus of his raptor gaze...and her stomach sank.

Curse her own pride! She should have acted cowed and afraid. Then he would have moved on with the evening, perfectly satisfied with his victory over her.

Now, though, he paced back towards her, studying her face far too closely. “Are you so impatient for me to leave you unobserved then, Lady Riven?”