House of Dragons (Royal Houses #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,105
be certain, Clover had found Basem at an off the Row tailor, securing a new evening suit. Checkmate.
He’d be here. Then, they’d just need to enact phase two of the plan.
They finally reached the front of the line, and Hadrian handed over his invitation. Kerrigan stepped inside with Hadrian and allowed Fordham, Clover, and Darby to extend their own invitation to enter.
Her stomach was in her throat as she stared around at her father’s home. She spent most of her life trying to avoid the man who had thrown her out. This went against all her own ideals.
“Breathe,” Hadrian whispered. “You don’t have to see or speak to him.”
Kerrigan nodded, swallowing down the rising bile. Hadrian knew, of course. That part of this plan hinged on her being able to keep it together if she ran into her father. She straightened her spine and adjusted her face mask. She could do this.
Fordham, Clover, and Darby entered behind them, and the lot of them moved off into the shadows.
Fordham irritably messed with his own mask. “Is this really necessary?”
“Shush, you. Enjoy the espionage. If I can dress like this,” Clover said, gesturing to the gold gown instead of her normal shirt and trousers, “then you can suffer wearing blue.”
Hadrian snorted. Kerrigan grinned. Darby just rolled her eyes. She was the only one deliberately dressed to draw attention. Her navy Bryonican dress was in the fashion of Sonali’s household, and she even wore the lady’s crest. Her mask was a shimmery gold lace strip that just covered her eyes.
Fordham assessed them all critically. “I see why you are all Kerrigan’s friends.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, unable to keep the smile from her lips or the challenge out of her eyes.
“They’re nearly as insufferable as you are.”
“And what does that make you, princeling?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Suffering.”
“Okay, you two, break it up,” Clover said. “Let’s get back to business.”
“Yes,” Darby squeaked. “I’m quite put out by this whole”—she lowered her voice—“spying thing.”
“Luckily for you, Darbs,” Clover said, tossing an arm around her shoulders, “you’re just you tonight.”
“Follow orders, as we outlined,” Kerrigan said. “Everyone is to split up and take a portion of the house. If anyone lays eyes on Basem, be discreet and do not engage. We’ll meet up in the gardens in an hour.”
“And steer clear of the drinks,” Hadrian added.
Clover released Darby and poked playfully at Hadrian. “That’s no fun, sweetheart. Just imagine the trouble we could get into.”
He cleared his throat and stepped backward. “It’s just a suggestion.”
“And a good one,” Kerrigan agreed. She nodded her head at her friends and then sent them off into the party. “Good luck.”
Fordham grasped her arm before she could walk away. “Be careful.”
“I will,” she said with a nod.
He opened his mouth to say more but closed it and released her.
Kerrigan headed deeper into the party. Her father’s house was ostentatious on a good day, but somehow, he made all that wealth and extravagance look purposeful instead of out of place. The grandiose affluence of generations of Bryonican royals all on display in one glorious house on the Row. She stepped into a large ballroom, complete with a marble floor, an enormous cherubic painting covering the ceiling, and dozens of guests lining up for the next dance from the string quartet in the corner.
“Would you care to dance?” a gentleman asked in a silk top hat and a crisp lavender jacket.
“Oh, thank you so much, kind sir,” she said, layering on a thick accent. She was desperately glad that her ears weren’t visible. “But I am looking for my beau.”
The man bowed deeply at the waist and then retreated. If someone had asked her to join the dancing, she must look too much like the lady she was masquerading as.
Kerrigan kept to the shadows as she traversed the ballroom, looking for a hint of Basem Nix among the crowd but she found nothing. She stepped into the next room, which was a second ballroom with a slow serenade playing for the benefit of the dancers. This room was half the size of the last, all polished black granite floor, gilded portraits, and heavy red curtains. A cursory glance said that she would never find Basem in the likes of this place.
She was about to leave when a waitress stepped forward in the navy-and-white Argon livery. A mask covered the whole of her face. “Drink?”
On the tray she held aloft to Kerrigan, there was but one glass left.