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“No. But we could have fixed the problem without terrifying everyone.”
Fordham lifted an eyebrow. “What would be the fun in that?”
Kerrigan released a breath of tension. “I’m a bad influence on you.”
“Certainly.”
She fought to keep the smile off of her face but failed. What Fordham had done was for her benefit, and she couldn’t be angry with him for it even if it had been extreme. Likely, no one would forget to call her Kerrigan ever again.
“Quite an entrance.”
Kerrigan turned to find Hadrian walking toward them with Clover on his arm. His bright blue hair had been tamed into a darker blue, left loose and curling on the ends, as was the fashion.
“You know me too well.”
Hadrian laughed and pulled her in for a hug. “Too well to know that you hate that kind of attention.”
She shrugged. “Those days are going to have to be behind me. Now, I’m a little faerie princess.”
Clover snorted and tugged at a loose strand of hair framing her face. Kerrigan was surprised to see her here, considering she hated these kinds of parties and hated even more wearing a dress, which was currently in. A summer green number that highlighted her brown skin and lithe figure. Even her black bob had been tangled up into a perfect little coif at the top of her head. She looked so far from the Wastes card dealer.
“You look… feminine,” Kerrigan said with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, shove it,” Clover said. She plucked at the swath of silk. “I hate this, but it was the only way we could think to get me inside to see Darby’s debut.”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Clover picked at a loose thread on her shoulder. “Yeah. It should be entertaining at least.”
“Darby has waited for this her entire life,” Hadrian said.
“I know, sweetheart,” Clover drawled, falling into street slang, as she always did with Hadrian. Kerrigan could never quite decide if they were going to rip each other’s heads off or fall into bed. “Doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Darby’s debut was far from right. Most people didn’t care one way or another who a person loved. But the aristocracy was another thing altogether. Money complicated things. Love that couldn’t produce offspring and keep the money in greedy hands was not sanctioned. It all came down to money since practically every wealthy Row gentry participated in extramarital relations with people of the same sex. It was hard to live as long as the Fae did and not at least try a little bit of everything. Sex and love were a spectrum. Marriage was another matter.
“What am I missing?” Fordham asked.
Kerrigan looked to her friends and then back to Fordham. “Darby favors women.”
“So?”
“The Season is for male and female courtships.”
Fordham furrowed his brow. “And you call us the barbarians.”
Hadrian laughed. “House of Shadows doesn’t care who you marry?”
“They care,” he said stiffly. “They just don’t care about someone’s gender.”
“Must be nice,” Clover said wistfully.
“We also have a population control problem.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “We don’t have the space to expand.”
The room buzzed with motion, but the lot of them were silent at that. Kerrigan had never considered how overcrowded the House of Shadows must be if there was only the mountains and every Fae could live past a thousand. She hadn’t seen that overcrowding, but it was likely concentrated in the lower classes. No wonder they went to war so often.
“Let’s get drinks,” Hadrian suggested.
Clover leaned into his frame, and his cheeks tinged pink. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Hadrian cleared his throat and nodded toward a waiter. The man stopped and handed them each a glass of dry, bubbling wine. Kerrigan took a sip to steel her nerves. Tonight was going to be a long night.
Then, an announcement went up for everyone to head into the ballroom. Fordham offered his arm, and they followed the crush of swishing ballgowns. She leaned into him as they waited.
The ballroom was bedecked in a rush of Fae magic. White sheets were strung on the ceiling with faerie lights dancing and glittering across them. The marble colonnades were festooned in white bows. Dual half-circle staircases framed the opposite wall, and the large wooden double doors had been outlined in hundreds of the softest pink blooms.
An attendant cleared his throat. “I present this year’s Season debuts.”
The double doors were pulled open, and a promenade of young women in white dresses stepped into the room. They each walked down one side of the stairs as gracefully as they could manage, curtsied gallantly before the assembled royalty—of which there were many from all of the assembled tribes that still had a royal court—and then took their place before them.
Kerrigan was shocked by the sheer number of debuts this year. As if many had waited for the tournament year. She’d heard that wasn’t uncommon, as it meant all the eligible bachelors who had entered the tournament and not succeeded usually went for a deb that year. Finally, near the back of the endless line was Darby.
