And where no one could possibly mistake the message the Queen of Manticore had actually arranged this entire evening to communicate.

Timing, she thought again, as she offered Nimitz a fresh stick of celery and she tasted the emotional aura of the banquet. It was always difficult to make definitive judgments about the overwhelming group mind-glow of such a large gathering, but she sensed a definite overall trend which gave her a sense of profound satisfaction. The message had gone home, she decided, and drew a huge, mental breath of relief.

This might actually be going to work after all.

· · • · ·

“So much for Plan A,” Stefan Young grumbled as he flung his formal frock coat across a chair with childish spitefulness.

“I warned you it could turn around and bite us all on the ass,” his wife replied. They’d been home from the ball for half an hour, and she’d already shed her own court costume. Now she sat before the bedroom mirror, considering herself. She stuck out her tongue at her own image and studied it for a moment, then shrugged and moved on to the rest of her appearance. She wore a robe of subtly iridescent Gryphon water silk, one of Gryphon’s most prized export goods. That robe had cost more than a low-end air car, and worth every penny of it, she thought with a lazy, hunting-hexapuma smile as she admired the way it clung to every curve. But then the smile faded, and she shrugged and turned to look at him.

“We got over four months of effective use out of it,” she pointed out. “That was enough to carry us through the debate on the naval reductions and the vote on the new domestic spending measures.”

“I know.” The earl had lingered in the study to fortify his frustration with brandy. She could smell it on his breath from where she sat, and she concealed a grimace of distaste as he unbuttoned the old-fashioned studs from his cuffs and tossed them into a jewelry case with a grimace of his own. He hadn’t enjoyed the way the Queen had seated Emily Alexander and Duchess Harrington at her own elbow and then monopolized their conversation all through supper.

“I’d just hoped for a longer run,” he said after a moment. “Like maybe a permanent one. And I still say we should go ahead and keep pushing to make it work that way.”

“No, we shouldn’t. Not now that Emily Alexander has spiked our guns so neatly.”

“Who cares?” North Hollow demanded, and turned to glower at her. “Of course she’s going to cover for him! What else can she do? And so is Elizabeth. And only an idiot would believe that entire charade wasn’t set up expressly to do just that! All we have to do is point out the political calculation involved, how cynical they’re both being by conniving at covering up a pair of adulterers for pure political advantage, and we can turn the public against them, too!”