Heat rose in her face, but Mirella continued to press toward the opened doors. Though their speculations annoyed her, they helped her gauge the mood of the crowd. The men were concerned with the Hunter’s message; the women with the man himself.

            Mirella saw a sudden opening between the bellies of two portly gentlemen and darted forward, only to be yanked back by a firm grip on her arm. Someone with long fingernails had grabbed her, and they were digging deep. Bloody branch and bone! It was her obnoxious roommate, Lady Bresca.

            “Where are you going?” Bresca’s eyes, often described as limpid pools, were surprisingly alert. “The King has ordered us out of the throne room.”

            “I must find my handkerchief,” The lie came easily enough and she remembered to pluck at an empty sleeve. “I lost it in the press of the crowd.”