Dance of Souls (The Venatrix Chronicles, #4)

by Sylvia Mercedes

The process couldn’t be a simple matter of shift, petticoat, and outer dress, of course. No, no. This was a ballgown, an invention of great complexity.

How he would laugh at the sight of her! Well, not laugh, exactly. Cold-eyed Terryn probably didn’t know the meaning of the word. But he would certainly be good for a dozen or more mocking comments.

How was she supposed to navigate such an encounter? She didn’t know any of the rules. Was she supposed to flirt? How did one flirt, exactly? Un-taken folk usually looked on her with terror the moment they learned what she was.