The boy recoils at that, making all the drinks on his tray clink precariously. “Oh, Fate, no. I meant...someone who doesn’t belong here. Didn’t you—” He cuts himself off.

I’m regretting the second drink now, even though I’m fairly sure its effects can’t kick in this quickly. My head feels like it’s buzzing as I try to understand. Of course. The ill-fitting coat, the ragged trousers, the air of general mischief. He’s in disguise. He doesn’t belong here any more than I do.

His surprise melts into a bemused curiosity as he leans back in. “Are you really a changeling?” It’s strange, but his tone isn’t accusing, just fascinated. By me.

I swallow hard, summoning anger to chase away my nerves. “No, I’m a cave troll in a very clever disguise. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing!” I get the feeling that he would put his hands up to deflect the venom in my voice if they weren’t occupied with the tray. “Just wondering. What are you doing here?”

I cross my arms. “What are you doing here, pretending to be a servant?”

The grin returns to the boy’s face, pulling at his round, rosy cheeks and making me think that maybe I judged his appearance a little too quickly. “Causing a little trouble.”

There’s a pause, in which I consider just walking away and pretending this conversation never happened, and he stares at me like he’s waiting for me to answer a question he didn’t ask.

Finally, he gives up.

“Your turn.”

I look around quickly, but no one has noticed us. I probably should have walked away, but I’m feeling a little reckless now. “Same as you,” I whisper, feeling the smile steal onto my lips as a little thrill of excitement runs up my spine.

“We should...probably get back to work, then,” he says, but he doesn’t look like someone who wants to get back to work. He looks like someone who wants to memorize me, to reach out and pull my long braid loose around my face.

“What are you staring at?” I check to make sure my mask is still in place—something about my appearance must have alerted him that I don’t belong here, and I should fix it before anyone else notices.

He’s still staring down with those thoroughly human, dark blue eyes. “I’ve just never met a changeling before,” he says, with a breath softer than the summer wind.

And just like that, I’m angry again.

“You almost certainly have,” I reply, snapped out of my delirium. “Most people don’t know—”

His tray trembles again with a delicate tinkling and the shifting of glass, and he leans precariously forward, ignoring the drips that slosh over the rims. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says gently, which doesn’t really make it better.

I stare at my fluttering hands. Anything to avoid meeting his eyes again. My voice is barely more than a breath, too quiet to carry over the sounds of the crowd still swirling around us unless you were really listening. “Then, what did you mean?”