That was close.

Had she recognized him? She'd glanced his way for a while, until that fat Sir Oliver slammed into her and drew her attention away. He was grateful for that; otherwise she might have said something, might have complained about a man loitering by the doors and peering inside as if about to choose a slice of pie.

He couldn't help it; with so many well-dressed, well-formed, unmarried women frolicking among the visitors, he had no means to stop himself.

But the girl, the youthful, scrutinizing creature standing by the buffet tables, ruined his silent observation. If he wasn't mistaken—and he rarely was—she was Sir Richel's daughter. He might have met her once, when she was but a tiny toddler. As a teenager, she had changed little. She sported her late mother's short limbs and harbored her father's cold blue and gray eyes.

Overwhelmed by the waves of decadent perfumes in the Ballroom, he'd found he needed to step out. That was when she'd caught him looking in.

It would be ill-viewed to scramble back inside now. I must wait.

A few paces into the Entryway hall, he looked left and right, making sure no other guests had ventured out. He then fished for the note in his jacket pocket; the one he'd received a few days prior, marked as urgent. It contained words he needed to convey to his associate in private, as soon as possible, but the latter was stuck in the Ballroom, surrounded by his family, unable to creep out.

As the man slinked into a dark corner of the hallway, Sir Knowles broke out of the party room, cheeks red and arms rigid at his sides.

"Someone is wandering about," he said, hastening past without a glance as he marched to the butlers flanking the main doors. "Someone suspicious. A mystery man? Have you witnessed any odd men slipping in with the attendees?"

Mystery man; is that me? Did that Richel girl report me?

"No one but guests, Sir," said one butler, also not seeming to notice the individual lurking in the shadows.

Sir Knowles rounded to the stairs. "Then keep watch. Something is up."

With a quiet giggle, the mystery man turned tail and made for the farther side of the corridor.

"That snide little thing. She did report me!" He took no offense; most girls her age scrunched their noses at him, fearing his glacial manners and crude remarks. In fact, most women did, too.

"E.!"

A hushed voice came from behind him, and he whirled around to find his tall and unhappy blond-haired associate storming up, brows in a straight line above his icy blue eyes.

"There you are, I meant to—"

"—not here," said the blond man, fingers wrapping around E.'s lower forearm to drag him to another room.

The door they banged through led them to the kitchens, where a few chefs chopped vegetables, maids set drinks and hors d'oeuvres on platters, and a young boy swept in a corner.

The blond fellow let out a puff of air, switching his grasp to E.'s upper arm. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?"

"Me? What are you doing?" E.'s nostrils flared. "I thought we were to meet later, in town, at the Inn?"

The blond gentleman squinted, his wide shoulders rigid as he pivoted to the staff-members, who all slowed their actions to watch him. "Resume your activities! Nothing to see here!"

A few grumbled, but all obeyed, wary of his booming timbre.

E. brushed a hand over the back of his neck, sensing sweat forming on his skin, under his thick layers of charcoal hair. "Sir—"

"—do not say my name! Not here, not anywhere, do you hear me?" He growled. "Codes, we agreed, do you not recall?"

E. rolled his eyes; he was a man of wealth and power, a lord of luscious lands, not some child playing foolish games with enemies. Yet they had decided on code names.

"Yes, R. I do. So what do you want to do?"

R.'s lip curled. "To save our skin, for starters! You sneak about worrying young girls, drawing attention—that was not our agreement!"

"I never meant to—"

"—I do not care! You were to go upstairs! To locate her, tell her our friend at court knows we know the truth. To threaten her with exposure! We have been waiting for months for this opportunity; do not ruin it!"

One maid squeaked, and R. sent her a pointed glare that had her sauntering through the opposite door as fast as possible.

"Yes, well, about that..." E. raked his fingertips through his messy mane and sighed. "I wanted to inform you sooner, but we are not to converse with one another in public, and I feared someone would intercept any messages I forwarded to you."

Slouching, R. tipped his head sideways. "What happened?"

"Our court friend sent me a letter."

"A letter to you?" R. snorted. "Right. Fine. What did she say?"

"She responded to our ultimatum with one of her own. She has a plan. One that sticks pawns in places that will allow us to inch closer to our goals, and faster."

"Ah, she reacted, then. Not a minute too soon. Pawns... as in our pawns?"

E. scratched at his bushy mustache. "Yes, those we discussed. Our friend assured me we would succeed in our bidding, she would ensure it, but only if we hold our tongues. Only if we swear to not divulge our findings. Otherwise, she..."

With a low groan and a mumbled curse, R.'s fists clenched. "She will what?" He stomped and swore, prompting a few more maids to hurry out. "Have our heads? Sentence us to prison? She cannot. She does not have that power."

"Think about it, Sir—I mean, R. If we keep to ourselves the person we discovered hiding within the Academy's walls, she will help us. Further our cause."

"She dares threaten us in return? Does she not realize what we could do to her?"

"Sir, I—" E. inhaled and stepped backward. His mouth was dry; he yearned for a drink, but the maid with the goblets of wine had flaunted off to the Ballroom. "It is that or test her, and risk our lives."

R. pounded his knuckles against the wall, stilling all the workers in the room. The only sound for a few moments was the boiling of a pot hanging over the fire.

Shaking out his palm, R. unleashed a heavy breath. "Fine. Fine. But it changes everything." He stared down at his polished shoes and blew out his cheeks. "I suppose we may still make it benefit us. We may not have a shot at exposing her, but we will still progress in our plans."

E.'s lungs loosened, and he coughed. "If anything," he hacked a few times, "this provides more leverage for us, no? Our friend renders us this service, but she still owes us for keeping our mouths shut. We can hold that over her if we ever need other favors."

"Indeed." R. strode off and adjusted his gray lapels. Everything about him exuded airs of pompous knowledge and wealth, yet E. had no choice but to trust him, to trust in their alliance. "We will, I am certain." R. glimpsed around the area, huffed, and raised his near-white eyebrows. "I will leave first. I suggest you do not dawdle about; you have drawn enough bad attention for one night."

E. snorted. "Ah, but that is my specialty, Sir."

R. snickered and disappeared, letting the door slam behind him.

Alone, E. let his belly poke out; he'd squeezed it in, unwilling to appear anything less than fit in front of his associate. Now, he had no need to pretend.

Those in the kitchens ogled him, some keeping their chins down, others without a care for how their jaws dropped.

Their gazes burned his skin, and he jolted towards them, a fist in the air. "If a single one of you leaks any information you overheard tonight, I will see to it you are all hanged, am I clear?"

The workers muttered and bustled back to work, not a complaint ringing among them.

Pleased with himself, E. perked up. He counted until three minutes had passed, then swooshed out into the corridor—and smacked into Sir Knowles.

"How dare—"

"—oh!" Sir Knowles fixed his wig as it begged to tumble from his near-bald scalp. "Ah, it is you. My apologies, Sir." He flinched, concealing a frown with difficulty. "I am hunting for an intruder."

"An intruder?" E. pretended to gape about the area in confusion. "Here, at the Academy? How?"

"I know not, but one of my students said she saw a mystery man on the prowl, so beware." Sir Knowles didn't wait for a reply and skidded off to the far-end of the corridor.

Was that a threat? Or a genuine warning?

Clearing his throat, E. ambled to the Ballroom doors, and slithered inside. A decadent pastry scent hit him square in the face, followed by a flowery perfume that nestled in his nostrils and prompted the corners of his lips to rise.

He snatched a glass of sparkling wine from a nearby waiter and paraded farther in, under the scrutiny of other attendees. Every step he took roused whispers and glares from nobles and ladies alike, but he cared little.

R. had settled off to the side, deep in conversation with several aristocrats who venerated him; but E. wouldn't wander anywhere near them. They wouldn't permit him to join in, anyway.

He didn't need to draw more unnecessary attention by causing a scandal among the men; not this time. So he guzzled down half his drink and melted into the crowd, listening to conversations he shouldn't have and feigning interest in any who dared to salute him.

His cheeks heated when he thought of what Sir Knowles had said, the three words used to describe the person sulking by doorways and rousing fear in young girls. The expression used to define him.

A mystery man? That is a nickname I will take on with pleasure.

•••