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“I will once we reach your destination.” His fingers gripped her skin tightly enough to border on pain.

Margaret became uncomfortably aware of her own pulse thrumming against the wrist of her captured arm. This was absurd! They were in a crowded ballroom along with Europe’s highest royalty. There was no reason to feel any actual fear. “My husband—” she began.

“...Will be informed if necessary.” He pulled her sharply along with him as he turned in place, striding towards the same hidden doorway they’d used the last time.

Margaret tried to dig in her heels, but it was no use. She was not a tall woman, and this man’s strength was far greater than she would have anticipated from his lean build. As she struggled to free her arm from his grip, the small mirror in her hand twisted to face him—but no reflection of his sneering features appeared within its frame.

Aha. Margaret sucked in a breath. No wonder his strength was preternatural!

The equerry might share her husband’s vampiric condition, but he clearly possessed none of Lord Riven’s gallantry. Taking no heed of her resistance, he dragged her inexorably towards the door. The majority of the shifting crowd was facing unhelpfully away from them, but as Margaret peered through the mass of bodies, searching in vain for her husband, she saw two of the Austrian officers who’d been arguing over politics earlier glance in her direction. Eyebrows rose, mouths opened as if to speak up in gentlemanly protest—and then their gazes landed on the face of the man pulling her, and both men stiffened and turned away.

So much for good manners! There was nothing else for it. Squashing down her pride, Margaret drew in a deep breath, preparing to let out a scream so piercing that no one in the ballroom could ignore it.

“I shouldn’t make any sound if I were you,” said the equerry with cold disdain. “Causing a scene, as a foreign guest at an imperial ball, could only result in your own expulsion—and a ban from all future such events.”

The hypocrisy burned, but the truth was inescapable. Margaret snapped her teeth shut and walked the rest of the way at his side with her jaw clenched and her head held high, vibrating with silent outrage.

When the equerry held the door open for her in a parody of chivalry, she paused long enough to take one last, lingering look across the crowd. Lord Riven was still nowhere to be found in that mass of fashionably clad guests—but as she hesitated, she felt a different, unexpected form slip invisibly past her through the narrow gap of the open doorway, accompanied by a soft rustle of silk.

Apparently, she would have at least one ally at her side after all. Her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief—and then she walked through the doorway in Amalie’s invisible wake.

The door closed behind her a moment later.

“Now, then.” In the sudden relative quiet, shut away from the crowds and revelry, the equerry led her swiftly to the same inner parlor where she had waited the last time. Just as before, a single glass of wine sat upon the low table, just before the armchair to which he gestured. “The emperor will be with you when he can. In the meantime, he will know if you insult him with any attempts to leave. So, you need do nothing now but sit and wait here patiently...and, of course, enjoy your wine.”

A small smile of satisfaction curled his thin lips as he strode out of the room, leaving her trapped and, seemingly, alone.

“Ugh!” Margaret tipped her head back as she groaned out loud. “This is intolerable.’’

A rustle of silk sounded nearby. A moment later, Amalie appeared, the newly unfastened silver cloak sliding off her shoulders as she stood just by Margaret’s chair. The lorelei’s lush lips were pursed and her dark eyes troubled. “Men are pigs.”

“Ha.” Margaret sighed, thinking of the equerry, her university classmates, and her ruler. “Some are, certainly.”

“Mmm.” That rich voice emanated skepticism.

“King Thomas certainly is.” Margaret grimaced. “I’m sorry you had to hear the rubbish he spoke as we came in.”

Amalie’s eyelashes swept down to cover her eyes, her voice cooling. “You needn’t feel any concern, Lady Riven. My relationship with His Majesty is a mutually beneficial exchange, but I’ve never forgotten our separate places in the world—nor the lessons I learned in my first life. I expect nothing more from him.”

“Well, you should be able to expect basic decency, regardless,” Margaret grumbled. “If only more men acted like gentlemen...”

Her own husband always did—and if he couldn’t find her when the first waltz began, as they had planned, he would panic over her safety. Her fingers rattled an urgent beat against the arm of her chair as her mind shifted back to work. “Madame Amalie, of course you’ll need to return to the ballroom to focus on your own part of tonight’s investigations, but first, would you mind terribly finding Lord Riven and letting him know that he needn’t worry when I don’t return?”

“I beg your pardon?” Amalie’s eyes widened. “Shouldn’t I rather ask him to come and join you as quickly as he can?”

“Oh, no, there’s no need for that anymore.” Margaret had been a trifle uneasy about her safety, it was true, but now that the equerry had left, the only danger she could imagine was the risk of exploding from sheer frustration. “I’m trapped here regardless. If he came, too, then neither of us would manage to do any good at tonight’s ball—and he has a mission of his own, you know.”

Amalie’s head tilted. “Do you think he would choose that over your safety?”

“Well...no,” Margaret admitted. “But I don’t feel unsafe at this point. So...”

“Do you ever?” The lorelei’s question was wry; before Margaret could answer, Amalie continued, “Lady Riven, you have been kind to me—and I know just how quickly safety can slip from a woman’s hands. I shall not leave you here alone tonight.”

“But...!” The protest died in Margaret’s mouth as her gaze settled on the silver cloak that hung now from the other woman’s arm.

It was essential that the lorelei use the cloak to investigate the waltz’s musical magic. But was there any real reason to assume that only one person could wear it at a time?

“Let us conduct an experiment,” she murmured, and placed her mirror on the table, propping it up against the full glass of wine.