On the night of the ball, Emelia's stomach is in knots.

She stands in front of the full-length mirror, wearing the dress provided by the Dashiells. It's a beautiful gown with only a one shoulder strap and a high-low hemline. The material is silky smooth and midnight blue, complimenting the colour of her eyes. Half of her hair has been twisted and pinned back with crystal-encrusted bobby pins while the rest has been left to flow freely down her back.

Makeup wise, she has been made to look like a ghost. A foundation that is far too pale covers her skin. A grey powder has been subtly swept across her cheekbones and beneath her eyes, giving her entire face a sick, sunken look.

To Emelia, this appearance is abhorrent and unnatural but Marie-Claire explained to her earlier why it is necessary. In vampire society, paleness is the epitome of beauty. Blush and any other signs of life are vehemently looked down upon.

Sofie is wearing matching makeup, the rosacea in her cheeks concealed.

Her dress is dusty pink and strapless with a sequined bodice and sweetheart neckline. The material of the gown's skirt is layered like the petals of a rose, helping the dress to be both voluminous and floaty. Her hair has been put up into a braided bun on the top of her head.

"I feel like a princess," she says gleefully, spinning around, the skirt flailing all over the place.

"You could pass for one, I suppose," Marie-Claire comments offhandedly, retrieving something from the dress box on the bed.

"Here, put these on," she says, handing them both a pair of white elbow-high gloves. "And don't take them off."

Slipping the gloves on, Emelia asks, "How many people are going to be at this event?"

"Every family in Europe usually attends," Marie-Claire replies.

"And they are all vampires," Emelia guesses, not liking that at all. She remembers the lesson in social etiquette Marie-Claire gave them the night before. At the ball, they will have to behave courteously and passively. They must wait to be asked to dance and curtsey to their partner before the dance starts. If they would like to decline a dance, they will have to do so politely and apologetically and they are not allowed to wander off or speak to strangers unless spoken to first.

She doesn't like these rules because that is clearly what they are; rules to remind them that they were human and therefore lesser in the eyes of vampires.

What a load of crap, she thinks.

Frederick appears in the doorway in that creepy now-you-see-me-now-you-don't-fashion Emelia has noticed they all do.

"The cars are waiting whenever they are ready," he declares.

Outside in the driveway, three pristine limousines wait and it comes as a pleasant surprise to Emelia that she and Sofie have one all to themselves. After that first night, she never wants to be in a vehicle with François and his friends again.

The ride to Versailles is experienced in silence. Sofie fiddles with the hem of her dress while Emelia stares out the window at the passing scenery. The setting sun looks more like an omen than a display of beauty and she can't help but feel like it's a sign of their fates being sealed. By the time they arrive at their destination, the sun has disappeared completely and the first sign of stars can be seen in the sky.

Up ahead, the palace of Versailles stands magnificently, lit up with gleaming gold lights. A hundred vehicles are parked outside the towering entrance gates and Emelia can see dozens of figures in the distance.

Her nervousness heightens when the car comes to a stop and the door opens.

Looking up, Emelia is surprised to see Jacques standing there wearing a tuxedo.

"My, my," he says, eyes widening slightly. "I'm going to be the envy of the evening."

"Why's that?" Emelia asks, raising a dubious eyebrow.

"Most of the men here only have one beautiful woman on their arm," Jacques says, smiling. "I'm going to have two."

He stretches an arm out and offers her his hand, which she refuses.

"I can get out of the car on my own, thanks."

Bunching the bottom of the gown, she swings her legs over the side of the seat and steps out of the limousine, careful not to trip in the high-heels and fall flat on her face.

Sofie accepts Jacques' hand when stepping out but releases it immediately afterwards, choosing to link arms with Emelia instead.

"Shall we?" He tilts his head in the direction of the palace.

"Lead the way," Emelia replies, unenthused and in no rush to go anywhere except back in the limousine. She peers over her shoulder longingly, but the chauffeur has already driven away.

As they follow Jacques across the large courtyard, Emelia feels her confidence waiver as dozens of eyes stare at them. She's surprised when they don't head straight into the palace but veer towards the gates leading to the gardens.

As they approach the entrance, a man steps in their way, his nostrils flaring. Emelia glares into his dark eyes, silently daring him to do something. Before he can, Jacques intervenes.

"Excusez-moi, monsieur," he murmurs, brushing him aside. "These ladies are with me."

The man's eyes narrow but he doesn't argue, merely continues to stare as they walk past.

Emelia didn't know exactly what to expect when arriving at the ball but she hadn't thought that it would be an event held outdoors. Hundreds of finely dressed men and women gather in the beautiful and expansive garden where there are lit-up fountains, manicured hedges and statues carved from marble.

Faint classical music floats through the evening air, coming from somewhere deeper within the garden.

"Wow," Sofie breathes. "This place is beautiful."

Jacques' lips curve into a smile.

"This isn't even the half of it," he says. "Wait until you see the groves."

"What's in the groves?" she asks, eyes wide with excitement.

"Many things," he replies. "The ballroom is where the dancing takes place and-"

"I love dancing!" Sofie exclaims, bouncing on her heels with joyful anticipation.

"Yeah," Emelia grumbles distractedly, her eyes scanning the area. "Sofie loves dancing."

She catches sight of a few fellow humans, wearing plain white shirts and black trousers, weaving through the mass of fancily-dressed deadened flesh.

A shiver of surprise and then apprehension tingles down Emelia's spine.

"Camille told me that humans weren't invited to this."

"They aren't," Jacques answers, his eyes following Emelia's direction of gaze. "Those are catering staff from a local events organising company. They aren't here as guests."

"Do they know what everyone here is?" she asks.

"No," he says. "As far as they know this is simply an extravagant event for the rich, which is at least half of the truth."

Jacques walks at a reasonable pace through the garden, allowing them to keep up and remain close to him, most likely for safety reasons as predacious eyes snap in their direction and noses twitch as they walk past.

Despite feeling much like small fish in a sea full of sharks, Emelia refuses to show fear and holds her head high whilst Sofie walks with a spring in her step, seeming pretty oblivious to the looks they are getting, her attention completely absorbed by the beauty of the garden. When they finally reach the ballroom grove, even Emelia becomes momentarily stunned. Her eyes widen as they take in the outdoor ballroom - a marvellous amphitheatre adorned with greenery and a semicircular waterfall which cascades down the eight stone tiers that take up the whole eastern end of the arena.

A large gazebo decorated with string lights stands in the background and a live orchestra plays close by.

"Welcome to the Ballroom Grove," Jacques says with a smile. "It's pretty tame now but it will get livelier later on."

"When does the dancing start?" Sofie asks, sounding and looking slightly impatient. Emelia is impatient too, but for an entirely different reason. They have only just arrived but, quite frankly, she already wants to leave.

"After the ceremony," he replies, "which should be happening any moment now."

"Ceremony?" Emelia repeats, her skin prickling. "What ceremony?"

As if expertly timed to happen at that exact moment, the orchestra stops playing. Conversations cease, leaving nothing untouched except the gentle breeze. Everyone around them freezes, becoming still as statues.

The sudden change is unnerving and even leaves Sofie wide-eyed but this time not from excitement.

"What's happening?" she whispers, her voice amplified by the silence.

Jacques, who has also become unnaturally still, stares straight ahead with a serious expression and says, "The Dashiells are arriving."