We drive closer, seeing hundreds of horses lining the cobblestone path to the mansion. Each beautiful animal carries a lovely lady in a flowing gown. Velvet bridles hang from all the horse’s heads; colored ribbons are woven into their lady’s hair. Beside every rider stands a man in brown leather pants, silver chain mail, and a velvet over-tunic with a colored crest.

“Wow.” I slow the car to a crawl.

“I know, thrax are nuts about horses. The Ryders say they built all those cabins and stuff in the woods so they could have their four-footed friends close-by.”

The station wagon nears the driveway. Its exhaust system kicks, letting out a huge puff of black smoke. Some horses whinny, causing their riders and escorts shoot me the evil eye.

I scan the roads. No other cars are around for miles. “Are we the only non-thrax at this shindig?” My heartbeat kicks into overdrive.

“Yup. This isn’t a diplomatic event; they basically asked to use the house for a private party.” She flips down the visor, checking her make-up. “I thought Lincoln would have told you all this stuff.”

What do I say here? It took Lincoln two weeks to figure out how to sneak off and wrestle me for a few hours; long chit-chats and party planning are out of the question. I frown. “I said sexual tension, Cissy, not besties.”

The station wagon spits out another mushroom cloud of smoke. More stares follow. We putter past the main parking lot. It’s been corded off to make room for make-shift stables.

Where am I supposed to park this monster?

“Tell me there’s another way to park than driving this clunker past every member of thrax nobility.”

Cissy frowns. “Do you want me to tell you that…Or do you want the truth?”

“Ugh.”

“The lot’s your first right after the main entryway. We’re almost there.” The exhaust system kicks again; I wince. Another horse whinnies, rearing slightly on its back feet. I get even more glares this time. “Drive slowly, Myla. I think you’re scaring the horses a little.”

I lock my back teeth and focus on the road. The horses aren’t the only ones getting a little scared.

I park the car in the empty lot beside the mansion. “That sucked.”

Off in the distance, trumpets sound. Cissy whips open the car door. “Introductions have started. We’re going to be late!”

Cissy and I rush to the mansion’s front door. A few thrax linger by the entryway, their footmen leading the last of the horses down the cobblestone drive. We line up behind the final partygoers, smoothing out our dresses and trying to slow our breathing.

A male voice bellows from inside the reception hall. “Miss Cecilia Frederickson, escort to Mister Ezekiel Ryder.”