Forest Kingdom Trilogy 1 - Blue Moon Rising

them, the sea of masks also bowed and curtsied.
    Harald nodded briefly in return, and Darius gestured urgently to the musicians at the far end of the Hall. A lively music sprang up, and the sea of masks was suddenly just a gathering of party guests as they broke apart to talk, or dance, or sample wines and sweetmeats and sugared fruits from the well-stocked buffet tables. Two servants moved forward and quietly closed the door behind Harald. He heard the heavy bolts slam home.
    'Welcome, Sire,' said Lord Darius. 'We've been expecting you for some time.'
    'So Sir Blays informed me,' said Harald, smiling politely.
    'Did you have any trouble getting here, Sire?'
    'None I couldn't handle.'
    'Would you like me to get you a mask, Harald?' asked Cecelia brightly. 'I'm sure I can find just the thing to suit you.'
    ' Indeed,' said Darius. 'My guards were under strict orders to provide you with a mask.'
    'They did try,' said Harald. 'I convinced them it was a bad idea. Alter all, I am here to be recognised, aren't I?'
    'Of course, Sire, of course.' Darius gestured quickly to a passing servant, who stopped and presented Harald with a tray of drinks. Harald took a glass of wine, drained it, put it back on the tray, and picked up another glass. Darius waved the servant away before the Prince could try for a third, and then studied Harald warily. Something was wrong, he could feel it.
    'Why did you choose a Masked Ball, my Lord Darius?' asked Harald, sipping at his wine in a manner that suggested only politeness kept him from pulling a face.
    'To be honest, Sire, it was the only way I could persuade most of them to come. No doubt the masks give them a comforting sense of anonymity. There will be an unmasking later, once we've all had the opportunity to ... get to know one another a little better.'
    Harald nodded solemnly. 'Then if you'll excuse me, my Lord and Lady, I'd better go and mingle with my fellow guests, hadn't I?'
    'That is the purpose of this party, Sire.'
    Harald smiled, and moved away into the crowd of bobbing masks. Darius and Cecelia watched him go.
    'Something's wrong,' said Darius slowly, his right hand moving absently to the poison dagger concealed in his left sleeve.
    'Wrong? I don't see anything wrong, darling.' Cecelia took an elegant sip from her wine glass, and peered quickly round the Hall. 'The party's going splendidly, everyone's here that should be.'
    Darius shook his head stubbornly. 'It's Harald, the way he's been acting. He should be more . . . well, excited, dammit. The people in this room could put him on the throne, if they choose to, but to look at Harald you'd think he didn't give a damn what they thought of him.'
    Cecelia shrugged prettily. 'Dear Harald's never given much of a damn what anybody thinks. He doesn't have to, he's a Prince.'
    'You could be right,' said Darius. He drank deeply from his wine glass, and on lowering it was surprised to find it empty. He frowned, and put the glass down on a nearby table. This was no time to be getting the worse for drink. 'Come, my dear, our guests are waiting, and if Harald won't charm them we'll have to do it for him, damn the man.'
    Cecelia laughed. 'You mean Gregory and I will have to charm them, you'll be too busy making political and business deals.'
    'Of course,' said Darius. 'It's what I do best.'
    They shared a smile, and then moved away in different directions.

    Harald strolled slowly through the party, nodding politely to those he recognised, and smiling coldly at those he didn't. He ignored all invitations to stop and talk, and wandered back and forth across the Hall until he was sure he'd seen everybody at least once. He finally ended up before the blazing open fire, and stood with his back to it, quietly enjoying the heat as it seeped slowly into his bones. Even the many thick stone walls of the Castle couldn't seem to keep out the unnatural cold that had fallen across the Forest.
    Bitter frosts blighted all the Land, and every morning the snow lay more thickly on the castle battlements.
    Even the moat was beginning to ice over.
    Harald shrugged, and sipped at his wine. Across the Hall, Darius was glaring at him. Harald looked away. He wasn't ready to talk to anybody yet. Instead, he amused himself by watching the masked guests as they moved gracefully through the intricate measures of a dance, or gathered in hungry little groups round the buffet tables and scandalmongers. It seemed to Harald that for all the different kinds of mask, there