Fleur was back in her element. A world of soft colors, expensive gowns, and quiet conversation. When the Ball had been announced, she had made it her mission to convince Bill to take her. It had been easier than she had thought, too. They looked good together, they both knew it.
He had said no to her first choice of gown, however, claiming that it showed entirely too much of her slender white legs for other men to see. She agreed to save that one for a private night out, and went with her second choice, a vintage French gown in blues that, combined with her skin, eyes, and hair, gave the illusion of an ice princess.
Grinning broadly, she floated around the rim of the party, waving at familiar faces, a glass of mead twined in her gloved hands. The white silk gloves went up past her elbows, the color blending with her complexion.
She peered around the crowd, her smile turning into a frown. Where had that husband of hers disappeared to?