In answer to her question, both Alanna and Lianne shook their heads wordlessly.

The sharpness of Bel’s anxiety dulled to a leaden disappointment.

She said, “Retrieve your cloaks and weapons, and go search for him. Be careful if you go off the main paths. The dark places here are kept so intentionally. If you find him, tell him I need to see him immediately.”

“My lady, I don’t think we should leave you,” Lianne replied.

While Bel’s attendants had young-looking faces and slender figures that gave the impression of gentle, wide-eyed innocence – and they were, in fact, youthful Elves – in reality they were several hundred years old and experienced members of the demesne’s military guard.

Even though Lianne questioned her orders, Bel didn’t waste energy on frustration or getting angry.

Instead she said in a gentle voice, “I’m in the heart of the masque. This area is well lit and populated, and I know the names of almost everyone present. Many are friends of mine. Besides, I can take care of myself. Do as you’re told, and be discreet about it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Alanna, bowing her head.

They had barely taken their leave, when a deep, masculine voice said from behind Bel, “It has been so very long since the Elven Lord and his Lady have arrived together at a function that almost no one remarks upon it any longer.”

Briefly, her mouth tightened in annoyance, before she made her expression ease. She turned to face the Daoine Sidhe King.

Whatever else one might say about Oberon, he certainly made a compelling figure.

Bel was tall, but he was taller still. His tailored evening coat and waistcoat fit his powerful frame like a second skin, the cloth made of an intricate, silver brocade. His mask was also silver and just as elaborate, with a sharp pointed nose and an outward flare like wings at the temples.

The outfit provided a striking contrast to his dark, glittering eyes. Light from a nearby bonfire shimmered over his raven hair, giving it a blue-black sheen.

Raising one eyebrow, she replied coolly, “Indeed, the subject of how my husband and I choose to attend parties is so boring, the only thing remarkable is that anyone would wish to discuss it at all.” She waited a heartbeat to let whatever small sting from her words sink in. Then she offered her hand to him in greeting. “Oberon.”

Gracefully, he bowed. Instead of brushing the air over her fingers, he touched her skin with his lips. At the same moment, his cold Power brushed alongside hers, like a massive snow cat sliding along her legs, its fur chilled from the winter’s night.

“Beluviel,” he murmured against her fingers in a deliberate caress. “As always, your radiance is nonpareil. No matter how I might try to outdo myself at these masques, you remain the brightest star in my night. How your husband can dance with others without giving you so much as a single glance is quite beyond me.”

She flicked her forefinger against his full lower lip in rebuke for his forwardness. “You pay far too much attention to that which does not concern you.”

His mouth compressed in a smile as he straightened. “I disagree. The whereabouts of every beautiful woman’s husband is of immense concern to me. My darling radiance, this year, please say you’ll be mine.”

He was so outrageous, despite herself, she felt her lips pull into a responding smile. “You only want what you can’t have.”

“You never know,” he said, with dangerous gentleness. “Eternity might be captured in a single kiss.”

“Not your eternity,” she told him dryly. “And not my kiss.”

“If I still had a heart, it would be broken at how you spurn me,” he murmured. “I could give you so much pleasure, more than you have ever dreamed of, if only you would let me.”

Her eyes narrowed. She remembered Oberon when he was much younger, but something had happened to him over the course of the centuries. Perhaps it was an event, or maybe it was just the inevitable march of time.

Whatever had caused the change, the young, smiling Fae King that he had once been was gone. He had grown icy and distant, and his dark eyes glittered like hard onyx. She had heard whispers that his cold, compelling Power could bring his lovers to a screaming ecstasy, only to leave them at dawn, shattered and weeping in desolation at his absence.

She had been shattered enough in her time. She had no intention of deliberately choosing to experience that again.

Easing her fingers out of his grip, she glanced sidelong across the dance floor at the stern profile of her husband, Calondir, High Lord of the Elven demesne, as he talked with a couple wearing matching satyrs’ costumes. As Oberon had observed, Calondir did not glance once in her direction.

She was quite content that it remain that way.

“Don’t worry,” said Oberon, catching the direction of her attention. “He has displayed a perfectly perplexing indifference to my flirtation with you.”

Calondir wasn’t the only one who was displaying a perfectly perplexing indifference to Oberon, who was tantalizing and goading in return. Again, she was reminded of a snow cat, batting at her in frustration with one paw. It wanted to play with prey.

But she was not, nor would she ever be, Oberon’s prey.

“I can’t think of a single reason why either Calondir or I should be troubled by your flirtations.” She gave the Unseelie King a bland look. “Your party is beautiful as always, Oberon. You should go enjoy it while you can.”

His nostrils flared, and he exhaled with some leisurely force, emitting a barely audible growl. “Before I go, tell me – what would it take to win you?”

For a brief moment, her troubles fell to the side, and her smile widened into real amusement. “My dear winter’s night, you ask an impossible question that cannot be answered. There’s nothing that could win me.”

Behind the silver mask, his deadly gaze narrowed. “We’ll see, my darling radiance. Eternity gains more answers from us than we might wish.”