We returned to our suite after having another drink with Orwyn and Damien (who said, after Alex left, "we'd better work on that escape plan right away") to find a few higher-class outfits of various styles laid out in the entrance closets. Coats, capes, wraps, robes, and more varieties of accessories than I had ever seen in my life were overflowing from closets and chests. They were, somewhat obviously, provided for the party.

  The bathing room also had a delivery of soaps and shaving supplies. We took the hint.

  It had been months since I had taken a proper bath. The bathing room had hot water running from a tap, instantly available, and it was the perfect temperature to not quite burn the skin but to tingle a little bit as I soaked. In fact, it was enjoyable enough that I effectively took two baths: first I washed away all the dirt and grime, then I drained the tub, and then I refilled it and perfumed the water for an hour of luxurious relaxation.

  I was reasonably certain my life would never again provide an opportunity to enjoy such accommodations, so even if it was a trap I felt compelled to take advantage.

  When it came to the rest of the cleanup - shaving, dressing, and so on - I was more out of my depth. I removed my stubble and haphazardly trimmed my hair, not anything more complex than I had ever done at Docet Barrington. I tried on an outfit of brown fabric with silver accents that appealed to me, and I stood in front of a mirror unsure of whether my efforts were sufficient. I spent an inordinate amount of time over the next couple of days attempting to wrangle hair and accessories into something that looked appropriately fancy for a dinner with the Regent.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Drifter, for his part, seemed to be familiar with how to dress himself. Just before the party, having not even looked through the outfits beforehand, he pulled out a black coat with gold threading and buttons. The front stopped at the waist, but the fabric in the back tapered down to his mid-thigh. He wore a white shirt under the coat, clasped golden torcs around his wrists, and finished the look off with a crimson cravat.

  As a bonus on his part, he seemed to immediately know how to tie his hair back to look best, wrapping it into a bun with just enough left free to frame his face. I would dare to say that he looked like the handsome young master of a noble house, especially when compared to his normal appearance as a grimy neanderthal.

  We were informed a carriage would be arriving to take us to the great hall of Beorne's castle keep, the venue for the celebration. It wasn't the fanciest carriage ever, but I had never arrived at a party by any method other than foot, so it was fancy enough to impress me.

  It was a short trip with Drifter staring out the window the whole time, his eyes narrowed and darting between various storefronts and landmarks. As we passed through the castle gates he leaned towards me and whispered: "Whatever happens to me... let it happen."

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "What, you think you're the only one who'll be locked up tonight? I'm not even sure they know who you are."

  The carriage rolled to a stop. "None of us do."