The reception hall of the Royal Palace was a sea of pastel silk and forced laughter.
It was the weekly gathering for the kingdom's elite.
Marcus Aldridge stood near the buffet table and held a glass of sparkling wine he had no intention of drinking.
He was currently hiding from three different women.
Seraphina was in the corner, but her eyes kept drifting toward him.
Catarina was holding court with a group of merchants, but she had winked at him twice.
Iris was supposedly studying human architecture, but she was studying him.
Marcus needed a distraction.
He scanned the room for a safe harbor.
His eyes landed on a figure standing near the balcony doors.
It was Countess Vivienne Blackthorn.
She wore a gown of midnight blue velvet. It was tasteful, modest, and incredibly expensive.
She held a fan in one hand and nodded politely at a minor baron who was droning on about turnip yields.
She looked perfect.
She looked like the ideal noble widow.
