-45-  

The dress fit her like a glove, hugging her curves nicely. Twisting in front of the infirmary's mirror, Elle examined every angle as she would analyse a target.

A slit up her leg, thankfully her good one so that the bandage on the other wasn't on display. Around her neckline were crystals, shining in the low light as well as studded around the skirt. These whorls made the dress shimmer elegantly.

Smaller jewels hung from her ears and the assassin had run a brush through her hair. It had been a while since she had dressed up, gone through the motions of putting on some makeup. A little kohl around her eyes and pinked her cheeks, something to cover the bruises on her face—products supplied by one of the healers.

Hiking her skirt up, she trapped Ravaryn onto her inner thigh. A makeshift hold of ripped linen. She retied it tighter until she was sure it wouldn't come lose while dancing. Some of the other agents in the ward had dressed up as well, doing each others hair. One girl had offered to braid Elle's but the assassin preferred to leave it down.

The boot cast she still had to limp on frustrated her, but the assassin's skirt was so long it hid it from sight. On her other foot she wore a single white heel. Small of course, so that it wouldn't snap or cause discomfort.

Music floated under the cracks of the grand hall's doors, tinkling through the hallway outside. Tittering agents looped arms and meandered inside. She found it unusual to see so many hardened assassins with their guards down and having fun, having made an effort to be presentable.

The hall itself was magnificent. Grudgingly, Elle appreciated they'd outdone themselves just for a single night's celebration. Lights twinkled, garlands of white and navy were strung across the room. Catering, food, a live orchestra. Elle looked over to the dais.

The Imperial Lady sat upright in her chair, something fizzy in one hand and waving vaguely to the room with the other. Cerid chatted amiably with fellow party members, flitting between diplomacy and entertaining guests. Kade would have said they were one and the same. Her stomach churned at the sight of him.

Beautiful music wrapped around her like silk when she arrived in her gorgeous dress. A few eyes glanced up at her as she made her way inside, standing in the throngs of people on the outskirts of the room. In the centre of the polished floor many danced.

Elle hadn't forgotten all the formal etiquette drilled into her for years. She had loved those lessons, to pretend she was a lady and not just some insignificant shadow skulking around at parties. Alas, she never did have the patience to stand and make small talk for hours on end.

Clasping a flute of some fruity-smelling drink off a passing server Elle lodged herself deeper into the milling agents. She stood, watching the swirling skirts, gently clapping when each piece ended and breathless couples started up again.

She caught sight of Cerid as he broke from his polite conversation and wove through the crowd. He halted to exchange a few cursory greeting here and there. The heir was halfway across the room before she realised he was approaching her. Cerid wore a navy suit embroidered in silver. Etchings of leaves travelled up his sleeves, so masterfully done that they looked freshly fallen from trees. A seamstress had spent many hours perfecting their work.

He bowed, flashing her a boyish grin. She dipped her head in return and didn't fail to miss his eyes wander over the dress he had leant her. "You look dashing."

"I knew that dress would suit you," he said. "You look beautiful."

Elle glanced around the hall. "Your mother has truly outdone herself."

Cerid glanced back towards the regal woman. "She always manages to top the year prior. This dress was one of her old ones, in fact."

Raising a brow, she smoothed the flowing skirts. "Really?" Gods, she wore one of the Imperial Lady's old dresses. No wonder it was so well-crafted.

"And are you having fun, Imperial Heir?" She said, sipping from her glass. Agents had stepped away at Cerid's arrival, giving them a wider berth to talk.

"Don't you start with the Imperial Heir airs and graces—Cerid is quite enough. It's a magical evening so far, now that you're here."

"You'd be careful throwing that word around, especially in Myndor." Elle tilted her head.

"The Enforcers haven't banned the word, just the existence of the practise," he whispered in return. Laughing lightly, she lifted her glass up. "What is this stuff?"

"Wine harvested from the fields of Orea, from their red-fruits I believe." He swiped the glass from her hands and took a drink. "Very nice. Although not my personal favourite." Cerid handed the half-full glass to a server, then turned to Elle.

"Will you dance with me?"

"I'm afraid I do have a waiting list." She teased, then lifted her skirt to show off the boot. "Hm, even so, I won't be very graceful."

"My expertise will help guide you through it, then!" He kissed her cheek and took her hand, leading her to the outskirts of the dance floor. The orchestra's song finished and the pair swept into the multicoloured crowd, waiting for the next to begin. She immediately felt the weight of curious eyes, but the assassin was confident enough in her dancing skills to avoid nervousness.

His hand settled on her waist as the waltz started. Familiar steps flooded back to the assassin as they twirled. Sure, her movements were a little clunkier with the boot but Cerid more than made up for it. As they danced the world melted away in ribbons of colour and snippets of conversation. Cerid's lead never faltered.

They slowed, bowing to each other as their second dance came to a close. Their dreamlike world had shattered, propelled back into reality. She could feel his racing heart thump in time with hers. They stayed frozen, faces mere inches apart for a moment longer before smattering applause reminded Elle where she was.

"Everything alright?" He murmured.

"Yes, yes. I'm sorry- just distracted."

"Am I not entertaining you enough?" He jested. To make his point, he grabbed her hand and spun her around. "Perhaps you'd like another drink. I will return in a moment." The Imperial Heir kissed the back of her hand and strode away.

The lone girl stood in the middle of the hall, eyes searching the crowd. A flash of silver-white hair made her do a double-take. She couldn't pinpoint them again. Was she that paranoid that she had imagined those snowy locks? The world spun until an ebony-haired man tugged her limp arm and guided her away.

#

If Tristan had to listen to one more simpering comment of the Imperial Heir and his partner he might've thrown his drink on one of the tittering women. Instead, he downed the last of the fizzing wine and simultaneously picked another up from a server.

His waistcoat chafed around his chest, restricting his breathing. When Kath had handed him the ridiculous thing he thought she was joking. She had insisted DETRA hadn't any larger ones. Having nothing else to wear he was stuck pulling at his collar and counting the seconds.

Stuffing himself into the suit was more of a struggle than DETRA's training.

Tristan was well aware of their liability at the dance. The very brown-haired woman dancing with the heir. There was a ticking clock against the Imperial Heir and as each grain of sand fell, Tristan became more agitated. The medicine he had fetched in the infirmary earlier wasn't doing much to help his headaches.

"Who is that girl?" One of the female agents inquired. "That dress is very becoming on her, don't you think." A few noises of agreements between the group that Tristan had found himself drinking with that eve. She picked at her own dress of deep red with a dangerous slit up the side.

"Gods, look how they dance." Another commented, accidentally nudging him.

He scowled. If he remembered correctly, dancing wasn't part of the plan to guide the heir away.

A nasally voice butted into the conversation. "An agent infatuated with the Imperial Heir? It's not acceptable and the bloodline cannot be tainted with such."

"I hear she was the one poisoned in the final elimination!" Another voice chimed.

Rounds of oohs and ahhs sounded. Tristan could do with another drink. Something stronger. He had known Elle was poisoned, had kept tabs on her recovery. Apparently the bastard who was responsible was thrown into DETRA's cells, but he wasn't about to announce this to the group for fear of roping himself into a riveting conversation.

"Do you think he visited her?" Someone sighed. Another added, "I bet he didn't leave her side. How else do you think they'd have met?"

"It won't work out. Our heir doesn't have time to be courting some girl." The same nasal drone came again, but was hushed by the other girls. "It's true!" She protested, "the heir always strengthens loyalties or alliances by marrying a commander or ally's daughters."

Tristan huffed a laugh into his already-empty goblet, causing the small gathering of agents' eyes to flick to him.

'You disagree?' A brunette cocked her head, twirling a piece of hair.

'It can't last.' He affirmed and some of the other agents nodded with him. Still he watched her dance, noted her booted foot. How her blue eyes shone brighter in the candlelight, her cheeks flushed from the movement. He didn't bother to mutter his farewells to the group as he slipped away once the music had ended.

He made his way over to the girl in the cobalt gown that shimmered. She had stilled, mouth open eyes flashing with a pain he couldn't put a finger on. Grief. Without hesitation, he took her arm and guided her out of curious gazes and whispers.

"Glad to see you're having fun." He gruffed, crossing his arms.

Elle frowned at him. "Excuse me for enjoying my last night. You need to loosen up." Leaning against the wall, she swiped a berry off the top of an intricate cake and popped it into her mouth. She swallowed then cracked her knuckles. "These are good." Snatching another cake thing, she held it up.

"I'm sure they are," he said.

"You're not going to try one?"

"No, Elle. I'm not going to try one. Besides, I'm intolerant to maple berries." Tristan pointed to the green fruit about the size of a pea atop the cake. Elle examined the green thing between her thumb and forefinger. She met his eye and flicked it. It sailed through the air and plopped init another person's drink with a satisfying little splash. Perfect aim.

Cerid came into view, chatting to an older man. He held two glasses in his hands. "We need to begin the mission. Now." He murmured. Elle sobered up, the smile fading from her face.

Suddenly she didn't look like the flushed girl sparkling in her dress but a woman forced to grow up far beyond her years. Her eyes held such anguish that it made his heart twinge.

"I know." Was her soft reply. She straightened up, plastering a smile on her face. Only Tristan could see the cracks of sorrow seeping through. Before he could say anything else her blue skirts had already slipped into the crowd and she was gone.