That made sense, and I tried not to wonder how my valet could be so sure. My prince was waiting by the gate.

  “Let me in,” Rothvannen said, half-pleading, half in command.

  “Answer me truly,” I replied, standing back from the gate, and he lifted his gaze to meet mine. “Did you try to have me killed?”

  Behind him, my handmaid’s shade nodded vigorously, and I almost missed the prince’s momentary shift in expression that told me he had something to hide.

  “What is this?” he tried. “Don’t you remember our courtship? Our love?”

  His voice rose. “Did you never truly love me, that you should forget the two of us so fast?”

  My dead lady-in-waiting rested her brow against her palm, shaking her head, and he noticed my glance toward her. Before I could react, he’d reached back and seized her by the hair, dragging her forward so that he could pull her back against his chest. Quicker than sight, he set a short and wicked blade against her throat.

  “Did you know that ghosts can die a final death?” he asked, as I stared in horror. “Open the gate.”

  What could I do? My valet had gone strangely silent, and my maid did not deserve to die a second time. I opened the gate, stepping back as I kept it between us, glad when my valet set himself between us.

  Music drifted from the palace hall, the minstrels preparing for the feast. The prince cocked his head.

  “Take me to the ball,” he said, and pressed the blade just hard enough to draw a single drop of blood from my poor maid’s too-pale throat.

  “Take me!” he demanded, just as the valet whirled away from me, and two blades met with a loud clash.

  “Guards!” I cried, and the valet drove the assassin back, meeting each of the shadowy man’s attacks with swift surety.

  “Jothram!” my prince shouted, outraged beyond belief. “Do not thwart me, again.”

  I saw his arm tighten, heard my maid gasp.

  “Yes!” I said, and he stilled. “Yes, if you let her go, and let her live, I’ll take you to the ball.”

  And, as simple as that, he released her, shoving her away as though she offended him. He sheathed his blade, and offered me his arm, just as the palace guards arrived, and the assassin broke and ran.

  “Jothram,” I said, and my valet looked toward me. Before he could speak, I continued. “Prince Rothvannen will be my escort to the ball, and you will accompany Vangela.”

  I watched him cast an anxious glance from me, to where my handmaid’s shade drifted, weeping softly, a thin line of blood across her throat. One glance, and he hurried to her side. I schooled my features into a smile, and looked up at my treacherous, dead fiancé.

  “Shall we?” I asked, slipping my arm through his, and we walked back through the courtyard, past our special seat by The Cascades, and up the stairs.

  I walked him down the hall, well aware of slyly cracked doors and whispered comments, all too conscious of my guests hurrying their preparations so that they, too, could make their way to the hall, and watch whatever spectacle was unfolding.

  Behind me, I heard Jothram’s footsteps. I could not hear my maid’s.

  The hall was ready, when we arrived, bouquets and scented tubs of flowers, providing color and freshening the air, the floor tiles polished and gleaming. I allowed Rothvannen to escort me to the head table, well aware of the chill seeping through my gown’s sleeve where I touched his arm. I didn’t like the way the painful cold leached the feeling from my sword hand, even as I prepared to use it.

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  We were halfway up the hall, with my first guests coming in behind us, when Rothvannen turned me toward him, took my other hand, and went down on one knee before me.

  “Be my wife?” he asked, even though he was still dead, and a ghost, and I could still see right through him, perhaps more so than before.

  He’d drawn my gaze downward, but I still caught a glimpse of the shadow that dropped from the ceiling, was still able to take several steps back so that the assassin landed between us. I swung my hips letting the skirt’s folds shift as I dropped my hand to the scabbard Jothram had strapped to my side. I used my half-frozen right hand to flick clear the hilt and pull the sword free.

  I was just fast enough to deflect the assassin’s first strike, observant enough to note the discoloration of his blade.

  “No,” I declared, countering the assassin’s next attack, aware of Jothram coming in close.

  “Take out the one who issued the contract,” the valet advised. “No payment. No profit.”

  He looked at the assassin.

  “Isn’t that right, guildsman?”

  The lower half of the assassin’s face twisted into an angry sneer, and he came for me again.

  “Your choice,” Jothram said, and sank his blade into the man’s chest.

  I had stepped closer to the Prince, trying to work my way past his paid man. I deflected the assassin’s last strike, and swept my own sword in a horizontal arc. If Jothram’s blade hadn’t finished him, my strike would have. Using the end of the arc to effect a change in direction, I brought the blade up, and reversed its path.

  By shifting my feet, and repositioning my body, I was able to gain a clear shot at Rothvannen’s head, or rather, at where his head was joined to his shoulders by his neck. Even he couldn’t get to his feet fast enough to avoid it. Imagine my surprise when the blade connected solidly enough to send a jolt up my arm.

  Fortunately, I tightened my grip, instead of dropping the weapon in surprise. That allowed me to continue the stroke. On a mortal man, the blade would have sliced across the front of the throat, cutting wind pipe and blood vessels alike. It took Rothvannen the same way, covering the front of my dress in an arterial spray that ruined fabric and lace altogether.

  Rothvannen’s ghostly face acquired an expression of comical surprise, and he disappeared from view. I turned to Jothram, and found him with his arms around Vangela, saw their foreheads pressed together, her palms on either side of his face slowly solidifying, until I could not see his cheeks. I looked past them to where my guests had gathered just inside the door, and struggled to find my voice.

  “Please,” I managed, and cleared my throat to find more volume. “Please, come in and find your seats.”

  At my words, my servants hurried forward to guide my guests to their places. While they worked, I caught the gaze of my chief steward, and gave him the most regal nod I could manage—and then I returned my attention to where Jothram stood with a now very corporeal Vangela.

  “There was a curse,” he managed, and I tightened my lips, half in anger, half in irony.

  Of course, there was a curse.

  “I…” He blushed, and tried again. “I spoke to your advisor.”

  “You what?” Before I could continue, my chief steward interrupted, coming to my side, and gently plucking the sword from my hand.

  “Your Highness,” he said. “Let me escort you to your seat.”

  He looked across at Jothram and Vangela.

  “And you may sit with her,” he added.

  Jothram opened his mouth to protest, but the steward silenced him.

  “I insist.”

  “Master Hanvenen…” Jothram began, but the steward scowled, even as he shot me a comforting smile and tucked my hand through his arm. Unable to argue, Jothram subsided. “Yes, Master.”

  It seemed even royal valets did not argue with the Master of a queen’s house.

  Given it was supposed to be a party, the banquet had turned into a somber affair, and I was uncomfortably aware of the furtive glances cast in my direction, as well as the muted whispers coming from each table.

  When the steward announced it was time for dance partners to be chosen, the line at my table was shorter than anticipated. This was, after all, supposed to be a banquet from whose guests I chose my suitor’s successor.

  I took a nervous sip of wine, and glanced up at the man who stood at the head of the line. His expression was as nervous as I expected, but not for the reason I might have thought.

  “Your Highness,” he began, and I could tell from his tone that I wouldn’t like what came next.

  “Yes, your Lordship?”

  “I…” Color crept up his throat, and I stayed silent as it slowly reached his hairline. “I’m afraid I mustwithdrawmysuit.”

  It took me a long moment to decipher that last, rushed mumble, and a determined effort to nod graciously, afterwards.

  “I appreciate your honesty, your Lordship,” I said, struggling to keep my voice clear and strong. “Please…be at peace.”