Micah stooped, scooped up the necklace, and put it in his pocket. “Take her home, then. I’m going back to the party.” As he passed Raisa, he leaned down and kissed her lips. Then he looked up and grinned crookedly at Averill. “But I like kissing her, and from what I can tell, she likes it too. Just try to keep us apart.”

And he was gone.

Averill stared after him for a long moment. Amon shifted his weight, as if unsure whether to stay or go.

Raisa’s insides churned. It was as if her body were a battleground, sensations rushing out and rushing in like the surf at Chalk Cliffs. Her lips still tingled from Micah’s kiss, and she wanted to run after him, to tell him she was sorry her father had gone barking mad. She felt dizzy, sick with need. Putting her head between her knees, she breathed deeply, determined not to faint.

Amon knelt in front of her, gripping her hands in both of his. “Rai…Your Highness,” he said, his face drained and pale. “Can I…get you anything?”

She looked up into his face, and he looked wary, yet determined, as though he were afraid she might spit in his face, but willing to take the risk.

Instead she vomited all over him. And herself.

Horrified, she tried to apologize, but he looked so solemn and ludicrous with sick in his hair and all over his dress blues, that soon she was laughing. He glared at her, then pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wiped off her face.

Averill grabbed her wrap out of danger. “Where are your shoes, Raisa?” he asked, glancing about.

She shook her head helplessly. Now she was crying, big fat tears, shivering uncontrollably. What was wrong with her?

“Don’t take my shoes,” she said, struggling to rise. “I’ve got to find Micah. I need to…tell him something.”

“Amon,” Averill began, “go tell the queen…” He took a better look at Amon and reconsidered. “No. I’ll go tell the queen that the princess heir has taken ill. You take Raisa back to Fellsmarch Castle. Don’t let anyone see you. Take her to her rooms and keep her there. No matter what. Don’t take your eyes off her for a moment. Stay there until I come.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Amon helped Raisa to her feet, but she nearly collapsed again, saved only by his grip on her arm.

Amon glanced around for witnesses, then whipped a tablecloth off a nearby table, flinging the devil weed and calla lily centerpiece onto the floor. He draped the tablecloth over Raisa, covering her head to toe, then tipped her into his arms.

“Amon! Put me down!” she protested, struggling feebly, her voice muffled by linen. “I’ve got to…I’ve got to go….”