By Elizabeth Jane Shelton

I leaned against one of the many freestanding pillars around the edges of the ballroom, pretending to sip the violet liquid in my cup. Pairs of dancers whirled across the dance floor, feet moving perfectly in rhythm with the string ensemble’s arrangement of a popular tune.

Behind me, trios and quartets mingled at tables filled with immaculately arranged hors d’oeuvres and pitchers of more violet punch. Raucous laughter erupted from one such group, and I grimaced. By all accounts, this looked like an extremely successful fundraiser for the most popular prime ministerial candidate.

But looks could be deceiving.

I glanced at the massive, gilded clock on the back wall of the ballroom. Eight minutes to midnight.

Eight minutes to prevent the murder that would start a war.

I sat my full cup of punch on the edge of a cocktail table and straightened my tux, swallowing nervously. One more lap around the room. Then, if I still hadn’t identified the assassin, I might have to consider doing something desperate.

The moment I turned toward the back of the room, an iron grip closed around my arm, and I felt myself being dragged toward the dance floor. My training kicked in, and I was halfway to executing an escape when I recognized the woman who’d intercepted me. She wore a deep-red backless dress that fit the party’s theme, but when it swirled around her ankles, I spotted a pair of black sneakers underneath.

I frowned, intrigued, and let myself be led along, though my whole body remained tensed.

She pulled me into the throng of dancers and faced me, raising an eyebrow.

I pulled her closer, hoping to avoid attention, and put a hand on her waist, trying to ignore the combination of excitement and dread squeezing my chest. Of all the nights to be distracted, this had to be the worst. “Mira, what are you doing?” I hissed. “Now is not a good time.”

Mira’s eyes narrowed, and she tossed her long brown hair over one shoulder before taking my other hand. “Really, Dylan? Because it seems to me like you could use a little help.” She nodded to the clock. “Time’s almost up.”

I laughed. “You expect me to believe you actually want to work together? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice—”

“Dylan, for once, just shut up and dance with me,” Mira said. Shocked, I listened. “Good. Now, we’ve had our differences, but we both know this is bigger than either of us. Obviously, you’re here to protect the king’s interests, but if Onaris pulls off this coup, more than just the monarchy will be at risk.”

I nodded slowly. I had no love for Mira’s employers’ political faction, but if Onaris succeeded in assassinating the current prime minister, he had enough public favor to take emergency power. That left Mira’s employers out of favor for an indeterminate amount of time.

It was a risk, but another glance at the clock made up my mind.  “Fine. Do you have a plan? I haven’t been able to pinpoint the assassin.”

“Haven’t you?” Mira smirked. “Keep your eyes on me, but there’s a woman in a short black dress by the musicians.”

I followed the dance, whirling Mira until I was facing the direction she’d indicated. The woman looked innocuous enough, sipping her own cup of punch.

I watched a little closer until I spotted the tells. Like me, she’d just been pretending to drink. And like me, she was carefully surveying the dance floor, the perimeter, the security cameras. And her gaze kept snapping back to the politicians on the raised dais behind me.

“Guess you’re right,” I murmured.

“Aren’t I always?” Mira rolled her eyes, and I spun her again. “Now, can you get us closer to her, or do I need to lead?”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Just follow me.”

The two of us whirled across the floor. Part of me wanted to sweep Mira off her feet, to impress her with my skills. But if I blew our cover and drew attention, she’d be the opposite of impressed.

By the end of the song, we were at the back of the dance floor, only steps from the woman in the black dress.

A slow song began, and I tugged Mira even closer. “Five minutes,” I muttered, glancing at the clock as I positioned Mira with a better view of the would-be assassin. “What now?”

She looked deep in my eyes, and for a moment, I saw a completely different future.

One where I was still dancing with Mira, but we weren’t spies, weren’t double agents, weren’t trying to protect the fabric of our country. We were normal people, enjoying a gala, laughing at the politicians and drinking the violet punch.

“Dylan. Focus.”

My mind snapped back to the present. That wasn’t my world. I had a job to do. “Sorry.”

She shook her head. “This is our last chance. Come up with an excuse to bump us into her; I’ll do the rest.”

“Are you sure?”

She grinned. “Of course.”

At the end of the song, I steeled myself, then whirled Mira again, this time in the fancy, spinning sort of move I’d wanted to pull all night. But unlike before, I let myself be purposefully careless.

And swung Mira directly into the woman in the black dress.

The violet punch went flying, and Mira immediately began apologizing, grabbing a fistful of napkins and dabbing at the spill. Only I was close enough to see the syringe Mira slipped into the woman’s arm.

Mira maneuvered the woman expertly out of the room, talking loudly about cleaning her up in the bathroom.

I locked eyes with the king on the dais and gave a nod. Crisis averted.

And I’d danced with Mira. Not a bad night, after all.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elizabeth Jane Shelton has loved stories of every kind since she was young, although fantasy is her favorite. She strives to write stories that are both entertaining and meaningful, and she hopes to impact others and honor her Creator with her writing. If she’s not working on a story, it’s probably because she’s writing code at her job as a software engineer.

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