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Oh, she didn’t care what they said about her. She had known for years that she could never fit into high society—and she’d known from her first arrival in Vienna that she wouldn’t be making any friends while here. That was a miracle reserved for far less glittering places.
However, protective rage overcame all other considerations. Opening her mouth, she prepared to make clear to these giggling fools exactly how much more civilized her husband was than either of them could ever hope to be...
Just as the orchestra struck up a new waltz—and Margaret’s whole body thrummed with the power of its first chord. The greater din of the room faded away; only vaguely, somewhere in the back of her brain, did she note that every other guest had fallen silent around her.
That music...!
It was a powerful river current, sweeping her up without conscious thought. Even as it locked her in place with sheer wonder, dark forests and rippling streams took shape all around her. At first, she thought they were mere fantasies hinted at by the music, but then—there! Just before her: giant, twisting, black oak trees rose within the ballroom of the Hofburg where other guests had congregated only an instant ago. More and more trees appeared until they filled the room with their unnaturally dark, spreading branches, ebony draped with glinting gold and silver leaves.
The rich, distinctive scent of a forest floor rose through her senses. Margaret knew that scent from years spent exploring eastern European forests as a child with her beloved, adventurous parents before she was sent back to England and locked within its borders for decades; she knew it, too, from her last few months sheltered in the Black Forest, finally free—as a respectably married woman—to study the peculiar magic of that area, invested centuries ago by the legendary supernatural artifact known as the Seed of the Forest.
...And that recognition was enough to break through the trance brought about by the music.
This has to be another artifact at work. Nothing else could ever be so powerful!
When she tried to lift her feet, they again refused to move—but not, this time, due to any regrettable impulses of her own nature. No, it was an external force that fixed them in place now; gritting her teeth, she cursed her own helplessness.
The music wouldn’t allow her to feet to move forward—but as she struggled in place, her body swayed with effort.
The closest black tree branch hung tantalizingly close, with metallic gold and silver leaves dangling from its tip. Perhaps, if she stretched and leaned as far as she could go...
Snap! One solid gold leaf broke off from its branch into her hand as her feet remained fixed to the floor and her body leaned precariously forwards...
And then the music came to a shuddering halt, releasing her compulsion and sending her crashing forward into the closest cluster of guests, once more revealed where that broad, gnarled black oak tree had stood only an instant before.
“What—?”
“How—?”
“Ahh—!”
Cries of distress broke out from the guests that she knocked off balance, but no one else even noticed in the greater turmoil of the room at large. Panting, Margaret scrambled backwards, away from the panicking crowd, still clutching the thin metal leaf in one closed fist while holding her cloak tightly closed with the other.
One woman’s voice rose piercingly above all the rest in a wail from the center of the ballroom: “My shoes!”
Margaret leapt to her feet, ready to make her way through the crowd and investigate more closely—but a flash of color in the corner of her vision stopped her just in time.
It was the colorful sash of the emperor’s equerry, who stood by the door she’d used earlier, holding it wide open as he prepared to step inside. There was no panic on his face to match the mood of the rest of the room, but there was a narrow-eyed and dangerous focus as he surveyed the chaos of the ballroom, as if searching for something—or someone—in particular.
Damned imperial etiquette! Grimacing, Margaret abandoned the hunt. Instead, she gathered the skirts of her gown and cloak and ran as quickly as she could along the side of the room, aiming herself at that open door.
She had to angle herself sideways to slip past his tall figure, holding her breath and clinging tightly to her cloak to keep it from brushing against him for even a second. The moment she was past, she sprinted through the first sitting room and pulled open the next door just far enough to squeeze through it. She was already pulling off the cloak as it fell quietly closed behind her—and when it opened once more, less than a minute later, she was sitting in the chair where he had left her, the cloak safely squashed into her reticule...and the gold leaf hidden there, too.
“Well?” she demanded. She felt horribly out of breath, but she arched her eyebrows as haughtily as any jaded courtier, tucking her fan—which had bent badly in her fall—carefully out of sight behind her reticule. “Is the emperor finally ready to meet with me?”
The equerry’s gaze dropped to the empty glass before her and then returned to her face for a long moment of uncomfortably keen examination. Finally, he shook his head. “I’m afraid His Imperial Majesty will not, after all, have time to receive you tonight. You may return to the ball, Lady Riven.”
“Hmph.” She lifted her chin and flared her nostrils as she rose, smoothing down her gown. “May I assume that His Imperial Majesty will at least see that I’m allowed into the court library tomorrow, as requested by King Thomas?”
“Ours is not to say.” Holding the door open, the equerry bowed politely. “However...Lady Riven?”
“Yes?” Her gaze darted guiltily downwards, but fortunately, the cloak was still hidden in her reticule; no visible hint of gold showed, either, through the tightly closed drawstring top.
“You may wish to rearrange your hair before returning to the ballroom.”
“What?” Her free hand flew to the top of her head. Oh, curse it! Strands fell loose in all sorts of inappropriate places; her careful chignon must have come undone in her fall. How much of a disaster did it look? Under the equerry’s probing gaze, she felt heat creep up her skin. “Ah.” She swallowed, thinking quickly. “I’m...afraid I have a habit of running my hands through my hair without thought whenever I’m left at loose ends as I have been tonight.”
“I see.” His thin lips twitched, as if he were forcibly repressing a sneer.
