My inner voice was shrieking: What? Were we crazy? The ten of us deliberately walking into a houseful of hundreds of Full Bloods? Maybe that's what being a Queen was… crazy. No other reason why a sane creature would deliberately put herself among such outnumbered odds.

The entry hall was large and airy, reaching all the way up to the roof… Grand. A spiral staircase flowed majestically up and around invitingly to the second level. Veined marble tiles, rose white, gleamed spotlessly beneath our feet—had we wiped them before entering? I couldn't remember.

You didn't even need one of those big-ass overhanging crystal chandeliers to impress people, although there was one of those, too. Just the sheer size of the place, all that generous space—how could one place have so much damn space! — took one's breath away.

It was as if the steward read my mind. "Fifty-three thousand square feet. Many of the furnishings, paintings, tapestries, and rugs are originals imported from Europe," Horace informed us primly, his voice muted as though it would be a sacrilege to speak too loudly. "As is the marble, of course."

Of course.

I sniffed, not in a huffy way but because there was a distinct metallic tang in the air. "Is that… gold?"

Horace gestured to the walls, "fourteen-karat gold-leaf wallpaper.»

Was he for real? My nose said he was. Sheesh!

I followed him and Bernard in a near daze as they turned right, leading us down a wide expansive hallway to another set of double doors, paneled cherry wood, these. With a flourish, Horace swung them open. "The Grand White Ballroom," he intoned.

Grand and white was right. White tiles. White marble mantels. A sea of white faces all staring at us.