The Defiant

A few minutes went by with no comm. My heartrate was beginning to return to normal when Assistant Minister Davalos stopped in front of our table.

“Your Highness, would you join me for a dance?” he asked.

Unfortunately, while the Eranians had a great many rules for proper social etiquette, they never created a polite way to avoid an invitation to dance. I accepted regretfully, standing back up. My feet, sore from lack of support in their dance slippers, groaned in complaint.

“You have been enjoying your stay on Cebos, Your Highness?” Davalos asked as we began the first step.

“Yes, certainly. Prime Minister Milonakis has been very welcoming,” I lied.

“Indeed,” he murmured. “And what has been your favorite part of the trip so far?” He spun me out under his arm perfectly in sync with the music.

“The ball, by far. I do love dancing,” I said sincerely. I did love to dance, and as far as I could tell, I had been a dancer before the memory wipe.

As we moved across the dance floor, I caught sight of Three and the blond boy. As I watched, he slipped something into her hand and whispered into her ear before moving away. What could he have given her?

“Excellent. I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” he said, bringing me back to the current task. We executed a turn past the table.

“Why are the Countesses Valentina and Antonella not dancing?” he asked.

“Valentina does not dance much, and Antonella has decided to sit with her,” I said. I wished I could tell him the real reason, that ‘Valentina’ was such a terrible dancer she’d give us away in a minute.

“A shame, a real shame. And your sister? I was under the impression that she did not dance much either, due to her illness. And yet I see her dancing with the Prime Minister.”

I followed Davalos’ line of sight and saw that he was right. Poor Eight.

“Her condition has been improving much over recent years, and the palace physician cleared her to do some simple, slow dances.”

“Ah, excellent. What disease does she have again?”

“Brittle Bone Disease.”

“Yes, yes, but what is the scientific name? My brother is a physician. I would like to ask him about it.”

“Uh—” Four had told me about this just a little while ago. Why couldn’t I remember?

“You don’t know?”

“I’m sorry, Ambassador. It seems to have slipped my mind.”

“No matter,” he said, but he looked a bit suspicious. I couldn’t blame him. What kind of sister was Rafaela if she couldn’t remember the name of the disorder that was ruining Rosa-Marie’s life?

“You know,” he began again. “You and your sister don’t look much like Queen Martiniqua, even though she told me just last year how very like her her daughters appeared.”

He was suspicious.

“My mother is certainly imagining things. Rosa-Marie and I have never borne a strong resemblance to the queen, though I should be pleased to be granted such beauty.”

“Indeed.”

At that moment, the music stopped, and in the sudden silence, my comm buzzed, sounding shockingly loud. At the back wall, Four, Seven, and Five immediately dove into pockets for their comms. Davalos caught this motion.

“Calling your conspirators?” he asked, his hand shooting out and clasping my left wrist.

“What? No— I just—”

“Imposters!” Davalos screamed at the top of his lungs. “Arrest them!”