The summer visitors had left weeks ago, but the aristos who lived here were easy enough to find, and it hadn’t taken more than a couple of days for him to make the acquaintance of a few young Warlords around his age. They’d been sufficiently impressed by his Opal Jewel to show him around, introduce him to other aristos. He was getting a feel for who was who and thought he might be able to wangle an introduction with the Steward of the District Queen who ruled this city. Thankfully, she wasn’t the same Queen as the one who ruled the city where his family lived. If he could get an introduction, maybe he could get a court contract to serve in the Second or Third Circle—a position that would allow him to finish his training as an escort while using the skills he’d already learned.

After a year or two to gain some seasoning and polish, maybe he could head out to one of the other Territories. Someplace like Dharo or even Scelt, which was on the other side of the Realm. Or maybe even someplace more exotic like Tigrelan, a Territory that had two kinds of Blood. Both had claws and striped skin, but one race was human and the other feline. Both were dangerous. But wouldn’t it be exciting to—

“There you are.”

A bright, brittle female voice.

Dillon turned and smiled—a carefully calculated smile that was warm enough to be courteous but not warm enough to be mistaken for an invitation. He’d learned that much before he left the school.

Either the light wasn’t sufficient or Lady Carron didn’t choose to acknowledge the meaning of the smile. She walked toward him in a way that should have made his body hum, and wrapped her arms around his neck. He kept his teeth clenched to stop her from giving him an open-mouthed, tongue-tangling kiss.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, pouting.

“Nothing’s the matter,” he replied.

“Then why are you being like that?”

“Like what?” Dillon tried to disengage, but her arms tightened around his neck, pushing her body more firmly against his. “Lady Carron, this isn’t appropriate.”

“I heard that you’re not a stickler for what’s appropriate. That you enjoy a good ride. Plenty of enthusiasm, if lacking the experience to be really good in bed. That’s what I heard.”

His stomach rolled. “You’re mistaken.”

Her smile had a knife-edge. “That’s not what my good friend Blyte told me. I know all about you, Lord Dillon.” She rubbed against him. “And if you don’t want everyone to know what Blyte told me about you, you’re going to be very nice—and very accommodating—to me.”

He went hot, then cold. Wasn’t it enough that Blyte’s betrayal had smeared his honor and caused a rift between him and his family? If Carron told other aristos whatever Blyte had said about him, he would never be granted an audience with a Queen’s Steward, would never be allowed to serve in a court, because a Queen wouldn’t consider an escort with a stained reputation, not when there were so many unsullied young men for her to choose from.

He had to do something—fast.

“Not here,” he said. “Not tonight.”

“Make it soon.”

He heard the threat behind the words.

Well, he would do something soon. Immediately, in fact.

Burning with a corrosive, careless anger, Dillon walked out of the nook, one hand mussing his russet hair in what looked like some attempt to tame it, while his other hand ran down the front of his evening jacket. His green eyes scanned the edges of the ballroom until he spotted Lord Foley, the acquaintance who might have become a friend. Folly, as he was sometimes called by those who insisted they had sharp wit, loved gossip and couldn’t keep a secret to save his life—something everyone in the aristo social circles knew about the young man. And that made Folly the perfect choice.

Dillon rushed up to Folly and pulled him aside. Not too far, not out of earshot of a sharp-eyed Warlord who looked at Dillon, then looked toward the nook where Carron had disappeared.

“Folly, you won’t believe this, but I’m going to handfast with Lady Carron!” Dillon kept his voice low, conspiratorial, but just loud enough for the other Warlord to also hear what he had to say.

“What?” Folly yelped. “You’re what?”

“I know! We’ve barely known each other a week, but she said she needs me to be her lover. So we’re going to handfast so that I can be her husband for a year. And she’ll be my wife. Isn’t that wonderful? But you can’t say anything yet, because she just asked me and I still need to place the notice into the weekly paper that prints these announcements.”

“B-but . . . ,” Folly stammered. “I heard Lady Carron’s father was negotiating a marriage contract with a Warlord from another aristo family.”

Bitterness welled up in Dillon. His eyes glittered. “Maybe she’s already tried horizontal dancing with the man and decided he wasn’t up to her standards since he was willing to oblige her before the contracts were signed.”

A flash of anger nearby told him his verbal knife had found its mark, and he wondered whether Lady Carron—had anyone else noticed her name sounded so much like “carrion”?—would have to find another potential husband or if the marriage contract currently on the table would become much more expensive.

“I have to go.” Dillon clapped a hand on Folly’s shoulder. “I want to write to my parents and send the news by special messenger first thing in the morning.” He raised his hand and held up a finger. “Remember. Not a word to anyone yet.”

Dillon moved swiftly, hoping the Warlord who might have been the intended husband didn’t follow him. He’d had some basic training in how to fight and defend—every escort knew that much—but he didn’t want to find himself cornered by a man who had more training and skill.

No one followed him. He slipped away and was heading back to his hotel room before Folly shook off the shock enough to start spreading the news—in confidence.

* * *

* * *

The summons from Lady Carron’s father arrived before breakfast, but the meeting was set for midmorning, a time carefully calculated. The balance of urgency and courtesy made Dillon wonder what Carron’s father had said to her last night—or what her intended husband had said to her father. Was a marriage still being negotiated? If her father offered him a contract to handfast with Carron . . .

Did he really want to spend a year of his life with her? No, he didn’t. Any girl who could be friends with Blyte would be a torment for him.

Nothing was said at first when Dillon was shown into the man’s study, but he knew the Warlord took in Dillon’s Opal Jewel, weighing that power against his own Summer-sky and making some adjustments in how this meeting would go.