"This isn't even close to what I imagined when you suggested preparing," I grumbled, glaring at my adopted brother.

  Flynn met my glare with a wry smile, waving one hand from his seat at the far end of the room but not responding otherwise to the open complaint. He looked to be enjoying the show, if I had to put a name to his demeanor.

  "Concentrate!" the woman in my arms snapped, and I dragged my attention back to her. "Focus on your partner. Always watch their face, but learn to keep an eye on your surroundings."

  "How in the hell..." I muttered, then shook my head and decided not to second-guess her education. Instead, I focused on not treading on her feet, which was a taller task than I would have imagined.

  The three of us were inside a room within the main Sion mansion, one designed for smaller social gatherings. Flynn had cleared it out, deciding it would serve our purposes for the next few weeks. Then, against my protests, he'd altered our training schedule, setting aside hours each day for his new endeavor, which he playfully called "a real education."

  "You've trained how to be an advisor and a mage, but never a real noble. If we're going to present you to the world as my brother, we need to scrub away any bad habits like stubborn stains. When I'm finished, you'll be the precise mixture of charming, confident, polished, and powerful," Flynn had declared days prior without even a hint of doubt in his voice.

  What that translated into was long lectures on proper manners and decorum for social parties, from how to dress or stand all the way to how one might drink a red wine versus a white or which desserts were typical at what times of the year. I spent hours repeating tongue-twisters at a particular volume, ensuring I didn't mumble or mutter as I spoke. Once, we wasted two hours on how to walk like a noble, which, for the life of me, seemed a waste of time. Who in their right mind gave a damn?

  But the latest development in this entire nightmare was one I found myself dreading more than most: dance lessons.

  My instructor, Della, was a woman fifteen years my senior, with a narrow face, lithe build, and eyes sharp as glass shards. I wasn't sure if she was a noble, as she'd introduced herself without any family name or house. However, if she were a commoner, she didn't act like one.

  Della was quick and pointed with her criticisms, having a habit of pointing out flaws in my technique without a hint of hesitation or fear. I didn't begrudge it, as her talent was clear and undeniable, but I found myself wondering if she might be a little too direct.

  "Slower!" Della barked, drawing my focus back to her again. "We are dancing, not dueling. Match your partner's rhythm and work with them, not against! Better. One and two. Now turn."

  "I do know how to dance, you know," I remarked aloud, making sure not to look away from Della. "I took lessons already."

  "If I could, I'd track down whatever 'instructor' you had and demand they stop shaming my profession with their fumbling efforts," Della said. "Now, relax. You're dragging me about like a wild beast. Remember, smooth motions. You don't step. You flow."

  I rolled my eyes and, not for the first time, debated pulling on my Aether to compensate for my lacking skills. My body was quicker and more responsive than ever, even without magical reinforcement, but there was only so much those could do. Even those bizarre instincts that I had come to call upon could only make this process faster, not replace proper training and skills.

  A part of this might be Della's standards as well. She'd reacted with a mixture of horror and faint disgust when she saw my existing talents as a dancer, and seemed to regard our training as a personal challenge. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she intended to make me as skillful as a professional.

  "Yes, you learned to dance a handful of songs on the off-chance you needed to entertain honored guests for a short time and fulfill your obligations. You've told me a dozen times now. And as I've told you, that's not good enough. Nobles care about appearances, Vayne, particularly if we plan to befriend Archmagi and charm young women."

  That was the third time today that he'd mentioned "charming" someone. I was beginning to wonder what he had planned, but before I could ask, Della called an end to our practice.

  "That's enough for today. Stretch and perform your balancing exercises, and we will pick up tomorrow with your waltz," Della said, shaking her head at me. "I will have you moving like a quicksilver serpent if it's the last thing I do."

  With that, she bowed to Flynn and made for the door, stopping only to pick up her coat from where she had slung it onto a rack by the wall.

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  "Quicksilver serpent?" Flynn asked after the door closed."

  "They're a rare species of magical snakes. Not large, but incredibly quick and graceful. The name comes from their distinct silver scales. When they strike, it's said to look like a flashing blade."

  "Didn't think snakes were much for dancing," Flynn remarked, then shrugged. "But dancing aside, we're making good time on our preparations. You've learned to act like a noble for the most part, but we still need you looking like one."

  I sighed. "And what exactly does that entail?"

  As if summoned by my words, the door opened, and four people streamed in with full arms and polite smiles fixed in place. They each wore clean, expensive clothes, and approached me in a way that felt at once cordial and faintly threatening. For a moment, I seriously considered using Flicker Step to move past them and make for an exit.

  The leader of the four, an older man holding a board in one hand and a pencil in the other, stopped a few feet away from us, bowing first to Flynn and then to me.

  "Good afternoon, lord Vayne," the man said as he straightened. "Please accept my apologies for being so late."

  I wanted to protest the title, as it still felt off in a way, but I knew that would be improper. Instead, I simply nodded and replied, "There's no need for an apology."

  "Thank you, my lord," the man replied, then turned and muttered a command to one of the others, who stepped forward with a wooden platform in her hands.

  She placed it down before me, and the older man gestured towards it. "Please step onto this, my lord."

  I did as he commanded, putting together at once what this particular meeting was about and knowing from past experience that following his instructions was the quickest path.

  The group moved with practiced efficiency that I found myself admiring. Three of them buzzed around me, taking measurements with tape, rulers, callipers, and other implements I only distantly recognized. I had begun reading into leatherworking and tailoring, in preparation for later alterations to my armor magic, but hadn't dug into the finer details yet.

  Soon, voices filled the air as those three began shouting measurements. The fourth, the man with the board, dutifully recorded each and every one even as he moved about me. After several minutes, he began asking me questions directly.

  "Do you have a choice in style, my lord? Long or short? And do you have a preference for material? What about coloring? Traditionally, the Sion family has used white and gold, but might I make a recommendation? Ah, and what of your personal crest? Duke Sion has informed us that you are the founder of a branch of the family, and are therefore entitled to your own..."

  The questions began to blend into one another, devolving into minute details such as which closures worked best for my coats, how high a boot I might prefer, and what kind of gloves I used from day to day.

  It was a bafflingly detailed ordeal, one that went into far greater minutiae than I expected, and it took every bit of patience I had not to flee. But finally, blessedly, it was over.

  When we were alone once again, I turned back to Flynn. "Well, that was..."

  I considered how best to put it before deciding with a mental shrug that it wasn't worth the effort.

  "Exhausting, isn't it?" Flynn replied with a grin. "I'd rather be doing real training, too. But as I've reiterated to you time and time again—"

  "I swear on my life that I'm going to throw you across this room if you bring up how much appearances matter again."

  "You couldn't even if you wanted to," Flynn shot back without pause. "And they do. Even more now than ever."

  Something about his words stuck out to me, and I narrowed my eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

  "Before I answer that, how are your other preparations?"

  I wanted to push, but after a moment's pause, I shrugged my shoulders.

  "Mental magic is a complicated field, but I believe I found some exercises that should provide us with minor protection against intrusions. Nothing strong, of course, but enough to ward off surface scans of our emotions and thoughts."

  "Will that be enough?" Flynn asked.

  Not for the first time, I wondered that myself.

  Mind magic was terrifying, but limited even in the hands of a true master. Sure, someone like Alexandria could tear her way through any defenses and leave her foes a gibbering lunatic, but the subtle things, such as sensory manipulation and memory alterations, were neither quick nor easy. Many of them flat out wouldn't work on strong-willed individuals, and basic defensive exercises would help close those vulnerabilities.

  Of course, nothing we did would stand up forever. A master could worm their way past anything Flynn and I could feasibly learn if they had enough time, but we didn't need a perfect defense. Not yet. All we needed was to keep our minds to ourselves for a few days while we conducted our business.

  "Yes," I finally replied, nodding confidently. "It should more than serve our purposes. I also have a few countermeasures planned just in case of memory or personality alterations."

  Flynn considered me, then nodded and smiled. "If you're confident, so am I. Now, onto my side of things."

  He reached into his pocket and produced an envelope with his name written on the front. It looked open, the remnants of a wax seal clinging to the back, and he waved it about even as he spoke.

  "There's going to be a banquet held in Volaris in about a month. Ordinarily, it's for the movers and shakers within the capital, but I managed to secure us an invitation. Being a duke's son has benefits, as you can imagine."

  "What's the banquet for?" I asked.

  "Officially, it's a celebration for the graduating class. Unofficially, it doesn't matter. Nobles love throwing themselves gaudy parties, so it could be cheering on the sun for rising that day. What does matter is that anyone important within the capital will be there, including the Ollais family and Archmagus Alexandria."

  "Are you sure?" I asked, thinking it sounded too good to be true.

  "Absolutely. The Archmagus can't skip these sorts of events, and the Ollais family is too prominent. Half of the battlemages in the capital are already circling Arenius like a hungry shark, and his sister has gained a reputation as a talented, intelligent, and beautiful young mage. They'll be there, at least for a short time."

  I closed my eyes, trying to do the math in my head. We were at least a week's hard travel from the capital, depending on the weather. Winter had come and gone, but we were still within the rainy season. Still, at most it'd take us ten days. That gave us about three weeks to finish preparing and set out, which wasn't much but...

  After a few minutes, I opened my eyes and nodded before turning to meet Flynn's eyes. "We can do it."

  "You sound confident," Flynn remarked with a raised eyebrow. "Not that I disagree, but usually I'm the one trying to convince you."

  "I tend to find my courage when the alternative is death," I replied. "Helps keep me moving."

  Flynn laughed at that, shaking his head even as he replied. "Well then...should we find a training room and get to it?"

  I wanted to, but...

  "Actually, I still need to run through some of my balancing exercises," I replied. "If I make a mistake tomorrow, I'm a bit worried Della might lose her composure."

  "You're blowing off magic practice? For dancing? You really are worried about dying, aren't you? I thought you'd rather face a dragon than practice your two-step."

  "Like I said," I responded as I bent my torso to one side. "I tend to find my courage in the face of death.

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