"Oh you couldn't possibly!" Mary Marquette tittered, daintily nibbling at her toast as Penelope Roxton went on about forsaking her gloves for the ballet outing that night.

"They're dreadfully hot and itchy," Penelope shrugged, igniting more titters all down the table. I wanted to bang my head against my already scraped-clean plate, my eyes shooting up towards the head table every few minutes. Andrew hadn't shown up for breakfast and neither had his father, which I hoped didn't mean our gallery viewing was postponed. Next to me, Rosanna was demurely stirring her porridge, heaping more and more sugar into it as Emily looked on with thinly veiled disapproval.

"You know that so much sweetener is terrible for the figure," Emily finally whispered, after sniffing one too many times. My foot tapped impatiently under the table as I tried to ignore my fellow ladies in waiting, still hoping for some miraculous plan to spring into my head.

Try as I might the night before, I read and re-read the story of Echo and Narcissus before giving up on reading in order to rack my brain for a plan. Or two plans, as it were. The first was simple: Andrew had promised to show me the gallery in the morning light if I could manage to sneak away, which I could explain by yet another seamstress appointment. The second, however, was going to prove a great deal more difficult.

I'd buried my mother's letter into my corset, pressed up against my skin and away from Emily's prying eyes. I'd slept fitfully, dreams of boring houses and boring husbands scaring me awake every hour. A sense of dread had settled over me that morning as I looked over the other women at court and wondered how I, Libby Marks-Whelan, the gangly, impish cousin to a debutante was supposed to compete with the likes of them for the attentions of any of the gentlemen on my mother's list. More importantly, I wondered if I would be able to pretend well enough to make it seem like I cared when it came down to actually flirting with someone. The threat of poverty had been a monstrous one the night before, but as I tossed and turned I wondered whether riches would be worth the sacrifice of the rest of my life.

"I have an appointment with the seamstress," I blurted out, as we all rose to leave. Ella shot me a pointed look across the table.

"Is that so?" she asked, her blue eyes never leaving mine. I nodded, hoping the flush of the lie wasn't creeping into my neck. She cocked an eyebrow, but dismissed me while the rest of them made their way up to the queen's salon. I dawdled at the table before heading towards the seamstress' quarters, doubling back once I was sure the coast was clear to sneak over towards the gallery.

The halls were eerily silent without the din of the debutantes and my footsteps echoed as I pushed open the door, peeking inside. But instead of a head of dark hair, the man whose back was turned to me had a head of dark blond hair instead.

"James?" I said, frowning as Lord Amberly turned towards me.

"Andrew's been called away to a meeting," he said stiffly, "But he wanted to be sure you enjoyed the gallery as he'd promised,"

I stood there, frowning at him, with a markedly diminished desire to look at paintings.

"Is something the matter?" I asked, well aware that James was refusing to meet my eyes.

"In a way, yes," he said finally, shooting me a glance as he reached into his jacket for an envelope. I involuntarily shuddered, recalling the contents of the last envelope I'd been handed.

"Andrew had wanted me to ask you to accompany me to the ballet tonight," James said, sliding a pair of red gilded tickets out of the envelope, "But I fear I cannot fulfill his wishes. I took the liberty of acquiring a pair of tickets that you may use however you like, perhaps by asking one of your brothers to join you,"

He handed me the envelope and the tickets, my brow still furrowed. I said nothing as I stared at him. James finally cleared his throat when it became clear that I wasn't about to fall all over myself thanking him as any of the other debutantes would have. Tonight's ballet was said to be one of the hardest tickets to obtain in Highcastle, the opening night to one of the newest shows by the Royal Ballet Company.

"If I may speak frankly, Libby," he said, fidgeting.

"By all means," I said finally, my voice more of a snap than I intended it to be.

"You need to leave Andrew alone," he said, stiffening at my tone, "He needs to start taking this Season seriously and he can't if you're always around to distract him,"

"Distract him?" I repeated, my eyebrows shooting skyward.

"Andrew needs to choose a future queen from among the debutantes," James continued, "And if you think that his absence last night went unnoticed, you would be mistaken. You need to stop pursuing-"

"I'm not pursuing the prince!" I snapped in earnest this time. James pursed his lips.

"Allow me to rephrase," he managed, his teeth gritted, "You need to allow him to spend time with the women he is supposed to be spending time with. Unfortunately, Libby, you are not one of them,"

His words hit me like a slap in the face. I couldn't help what I said next.

"Whose words are those exactly, James, Andrew's or the queen's? Because the last I checked, Andrew considered you his very best friend," I said, taking a menacing step towards him. James held his ground, closing his eyes in frustration.

"They are my words, Libby, my words as his best friend," he said, "You don't understand what he stands to lose if he doesn't make a decision in a few weeks' time,"

"But I do understand that he has the option of running another Season," I fired back. James' eyes popped open.

"Who told you that?" he demanded.

"Andrew did," I said, satisfied at the brief expression of shock that sailed across James' face.

"Well that was a very reckless thing for him to say," James said dismissively, "But the fact remains that you must allow him to focus on choosing a wife,"

"You didn't seem so disapproving when we were all out for a ride together," I said. James pressed a fist to his forehead, shaking his head.

"Because you weren't supposed to be there," he muttered, "If I'd known Anne was bringing you, I would have...never mind,"

"You would have what?" I prompted.

"Fine, Libby, fine. You want me to be honest with you, then I will be," he said, meeting my gaze as he took a step towards me to tower over me, "If Andrew doesn't choose a wife this Season, his parents are threatening to arrange a marriage. I'm sure you can see how undesirable that is, especially given that he has already confessed to having feelings for a few of the debutantes,"

Once again, I felt like I'd been slapped in the face, but James kept talking.

"You serve as a distraction from the choice he is facing, which is the only reason he's spending so much time with you. You need to stay away from him, Libby, because you're not helping him, you're only worsening the situation by facilitating his delay in making a decision," James said. We stared at each other in silence, while I let his words sink in.

"So you're refusing to bring me to the ballet in an attempt to keep me away from him?" I asked finally.

"That, and it would be highly improper for me to escort a lady-in-waiting when there are available debutantes,"

"Always so prim and proper," I scoffed, shaking my head as I wondered why I ever liked him, "Well then I hope you enjoy the ballet with whomever you deem worthy enough of your time,"

I dropped an insultingly low curtsey, before turning on my heel and storming from the gallery. James made no attempt to stop me, his message delivered loud and clear.

I couldn't bring myself to face the queen's salon, especially now that I couldn't stop my mind from running over who, exactly, Andrew could possibly have feelings for among the vapid ninnies that were the debutantes. I felt sick as I wondered whether my meddling had somehow made the prince fall for my cousin. As if in reminder, my mother's letter jabbed me in the ribs as I collapsed into my chair in the little library, chewing my lip. I dug it out, running my eyes over the list before flinging it as far away as I could.

James had only been telling me something that I already knew. How ridiculous was it that a prince snuck around to spend time with a lady-in-waiting? He had to choose a future queen, while I was now faced with the daunting task of landing a husband with my less than glowing reputation.

I stared down to where I'd dropped the ballet tickets on the table, reading the gilded calligraphy only to feel my stomach swoop.

The Royal Ballet Company

presents

THE LEGEND OF ALISTAIR AND MYSTHENA

I snorted, doing my utmost to avoid flipping the reading desk over in frustration. No wonder Andrew had wanted James to escort me. If he had, the three of us would be sitting in the royal box and Andrew would have been able to see my reaction to the famous legend reinterpreted in yet another art form. I couldn't decide whether to laugh at his persistence in proving me wrong, or scowl at James for ruining his plan. Either way, however, I was suddenly in possession of two tickets to the most sought after event of the week. I yanked open the desk drawer, hunting around for ink and paper.

X,

I need you. Meet me tonight at the ballet.

L