The musicians played on, and couples kept turning beneath the chandeliers as though nothing had happened.
Around the refreshment tables, though, the guests hadn’t quite gone back to what they were doing. A young man glanced at Owen, then quickly looked at his glass when Owen noticed. Two girls nearby had their heads together, and Owen heard the words "Ferrers" and "de Clare" before they lowered their voices.
He let them look. He was more concerned about Clara.
She was still holding her drink, but she hadn’t touched it. Her jaw was set in a way Owen hadn’t seen before.
"He had every chance to walk away," Elise said quietly. "Every single one."
"He was never going to take them," William said. He didn’t sound surprised.
Owen turned to Clara. "Let’s leave him behind for tonight. There’s still a ball going on, and you were enjoying it."
Clara looked at him for a moment, then let out a breath and nodded. "You’re right."
She had just lifted her glass when Owen saw Lucien coming back through the crowd.
Alaric was a few paces behind him, and he no longer looked anything like the composed young man who had greeted Owen earlier. His mouth was a hard line.
Lucien stopped in front of Owen.
"Since we’ve agreed to fight," he said, "I want the conditions settled before either of us leaves this palace."
Owen was surprised. Alaric had taken his brother away not a quarter of an hour ago, and here he was again. But Lucien had come back, and the challenge was already made, so Owen listened.
"Go on."
"I imagine you’re feeling very sure of yourself," Lucien said. "That’s what comes of growing up in a house that has spent generations telling everyone how honorable it is."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean the campaign." Lucien said it loudly enough for the nearest guests to hear. "When it went wrong, the Ferrers commanders left their posts and left their allies to pay for it. Your family has been building its fine reputation ever since, and burying the truth underneath it."
Owen’s face changed.
He had grown up knowing the de Clares told the story differently. He had expected Lucien to sneer at him. But this was something else. Lucien was standing in the Imperial palace in front of half the Empire’s young nobility and calling Owen’s ancestors cowards.
"That’s your family’s account," Owen said. His voice had gone noticeably firmer. "You’re entitled to believe it. You’re not entitled to stand here and tell people it’s the truth."
"I’ll say what I like."
"Then you’re saying something you can’t prove."
Lucien didn’t take back a word of it. If anything, he looked pleased. He had finally found something that reached Owen, and Owen could see him decide to use it.
"Then let’s make tomorrow mean something," Lucien said. "A wager."
Alaric’s head turned sharply.
"If you lose," Lucien went on, "you stand up in front of witnesses and admit that what my family says about yours is true. And then you serve House de Clare. Personally. For one year."
He let that sit for a moment.
"Both," he added. "Not one or the other."
The noblewoman nearest them stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence. Two young men by the refreshment table looked at each other. An attendant carrying a tray of drinks slowed, then remembered himself and walked carefully on around the group.
William’s eyes went straight to Lucien. Clara’s hand had tightened on her glass, and Elise had gone very still.
Owen understood exactly what Lucien was asking for. A year in de Clare service would cut straight across his plans for the Academy. And the admission would follow his family long after the year was over. Lucien wasn’t trying to win a match. He was trying to put a mark on House Ferrers through him.
Owen didn’t answer straight away.
"And if you lose?" he asked. "What are you risking?"
Lucien gave a small shrug. "Gold. Name the sum."
"No."
Lucien frowned.
"You want a year of my life and my family’s name," Owen said. "A purse of Gold Crowns doesn’t come close to that."
He thought for a moment. The guests around them had gone almost completely silent.
"If you lose," he said, "I take one part of your body. I’ll decide which one after the match."
For several seconds, nobody said anything at all.
"Any part?" someone behind Owen murmured.
"Over a refused dance," another voice said, very quietly.
Clara turned to stare at Owen. Elise didn’t. She was watching Lucien’s face.
William’s expression had gone completely serious. Owen could see that he understood this was no show for the crowd.
Lucien hesitated.
It was brief, but Owen saw it. For the first time that evening, Lucien looked at him properly, the way someone looks at a stranger they had assumed they could read, trying to work out whether he actually meant it.
Owen didn’t soften the condition, and he didn’t smile.
Lucien was asking for a year of his freedom and a public betrayal of his family. If he wanted stakes like that, he could put up something just as personal. That was fair, as far as Owen was concerned. And Lucien could still refuse. Nobody was making him agree.
Owen had no idea how Lucien fought. He had never seen his armament or what it could do. He wasn’t pretending to himself that this was certain. But he wasn’t going to let Lucien set those terms and pay nothing.
Lucien’s eyes went to the crowd around them, to all the people who had heard him question Owen’s courage.
"Agreed," he said.
The murmurs started at once.
"What would he even take—"
"The families will never allow it to be carried out—"
"Would de Clare honor that?"
Alaric stepped forward.
"Lucien. This is absurd," he said. He kept his voice down, but there was nothing quiet about it. "Withdraw it. Now, before you do real damage to this family."
"No."
"Do you imagine Father will be pleased to hear one of his sons risked losing a hand because a young lady didn’t want to dance with him?"
"I’ve already agreed to the terms," Lucien said. "I’m not going to make a fool of myself by backing down."
"You’ve made a fool of yourself already."
Lucien said nothing. He simply didn’t move.
Alaric turned to Owen. "And you? You mean to go through with this?"
"I do."
Alaric looked from one of them to the other. Owen could see the moment he understood that neither of them was going to step back.
By now, the space around them had filled. The music had never stopped, but guests had drifted over from the edge of the dancing floor, and several more stood near the refreshment tables pretending to choose something to eat.
A palace attendant hurried away from the edge of the crowd. A minute later, the guests parted, and Princess Adelaide came through.
"What has happened here?" she asked.
"My brother and Lord Owen have agreed to a sparring match, Your Highness," Alaric said. "They’re now discussing a wager."
Adelaide looked between Owen and Lucien. "And how does a disagreement at my ball come to require a duel?"
It was Clara who answered.
"Lord Lucien asked me to dance, Your Highness, and I declined because I wanted to rest. He wouldn’t accept it. He kept pressing, and then he began insulting my family’s standing."
"Lord Owen interfered when it was none of his concern," Lucien said.
"I only stepped in after Lady Clara and Lady Elise had both asked him more than once to let it go," Owen said.
Adelaide heard all of them out without interrupting.
"A lady declining a dance is not grounds for humiliating her in public," she said, and her eyes rested on Lucien as she said it. "And I do not appreciate my gathering being turned into a quarrel between houses."
"There’s more, Your Highness," Alaric said. He told her the terms.
Adelaide’s face changed as she heard them. The warmth went out of it, and something much more careful took its place.
She turned to Owen first. "Do you understand what you are risking, Lord Owen?"
"I do, Your Highness."
"Lord Lucien?"
"I do."
"A public wager between the sons of two Grand Ducal houses," Adelaide said, "is not something everyone simply forgets in the morning. Whatever the outcome, your families will have to live with it."
Neither of them withdrew.
Adelaide was quiet for a moment.
"Very well," she said. "If you both insist on going through with it, it will not happen in my ballroom, and it will not happen without proper supervision."
She turned to the attendant at her side. "The East Martial Court. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning. And send for Captain Halden Voss of the Imperial Guard."
It didn’t take long. The captain who came through the crowd a few minutes later was a lean man in his middle years, in the dark uniform of the Imperial Guard, with a calm, watchful face. Adelaide gave him a short account of what had happened. He listened, asked two questions, and then had the terms set down in front of the Princess, Alaric and the guests who had witnessed the challenge.
Captain Voss read them back.
Both of them could use their awakened armaments and their established powers. He would supervise the contest himself, and palace physicians would be on hand. He could end the match on a surrender, if either of them was incapacitated, or if either was in danger of being killed. Killing was forbidden.
"The wager," he said, "concerns what the loser owes after the match. It gives neither of you leave to do whatever you like during it." He looked from Owen to Lucien to make sure both of them understood. "Should Lord Lucien lose, he owes Lord Owen one part of his body, Lord Owen to choose after the result. Should Lord Owen lose, he will publicly acknowledge House de Clare’s accusation against House Ferrers and serve House de Clare in person for one year."
"Agreed," Lucien said.
"Agreed," Owen said.
"The East Martial Court will not be open to the public," Adelaide said. "Only guests of this gathering, recognized representatives of their households, authorized attendants and the personnel overseeing the match will be admitted. The guard will control entry at the East Gate."
Captain Voss nodded.
Adelaide looked at Owen and Lucien one last time. "And there will be no more arguments between you tonight. Either of you."
Then she turned and went back to her guests, leaving Captain Voss to settle the rest.