Finally, inspiration struck. He talked his idea over with Dancer, who thought he could get the piece made in time for the coronation if he got to work right away. There was a silversmith at Demonai that would help him with it.

Han and Amon and Cat and Dancer attended all the parties and dances, too, working out a schedule of handoffs that kept the queen-to-be constantly under surveillance by at least two of them.

Unfortunately, this meant that Han spent a lot of time watching Raisa circling the ballrooms and salons with Reid Nightwalker and Micah Bayar. To Han’s dismay, Nightwalker seemed to have moved permanently into the city. Weren’t the Demonai supposed to be up in the Spirits patrolling for jinxflingers?

And Bayar—Han assumed those dances were driven by protocol, but still. How could she stand to have him touch her?

There were other suitors, too—locals and foreigners—mostly minor bluebloods who hoped to make a marriage with a queen. Han made note of them, got to know their names, matched them up with the gifts flowing in. Cat assigned members of her crew to shadow Raisa’s suitors in the city, to find out where they went and whom they met with.

The Klemath brothers were eager and persistent, like a pair of overgrown puppies, but Han wasn’t too worried about them. Raisa seemed resigned to marrying for the good of the realm, but even duty had its limits.

All of this surveillance left little time for dancing himself. Which was all right. The only person Han really wanted to dance with was somebody he dared not show an interest in—publicly or privately. Private often became public in a castle with a thousand ears.

He did get in a little practice. Han didn’t have a dance card (an odd blueblood scheme for lining up dance partners), but if he did, it could have been filled for every dance. There seemed to be no shortage of highborn women interested in getting to know him better.

One of the most persistent was Melissa Hakkam, Raisa’s cousin and daughter of the head of the Council of Nobles. Han found it hard to believe that she and Raisa were related. Missy giggled constantly, like a dedicate deep in her cups. She hung on Han like a thorny vine, and, as usual, Han got the blame. Her father, Lord Hakkam, glared daggers at him every time she twined her arms around his neck.

It wasn’t like he’d offered any encouragement.

Most of his classmates from Mystwerk were home for the summer, and the girlies he’d schooled with seemed to have forgotten what a pariah he was. Though likely some of them were crewing for the Bayars, trying to lure him someplace private for a shoulder tap.