Right. Don't panic, just follow the instructions. Ara clutched the sheet of paper in her hand harder. On it were specific instructions Karl had for her. She glanced down at the first one again. Show up late on a donkey. She dismounted from it, and shuffled nervously up to the large guard in plate.

"Excuse me, sir, I have here a formal invitation to the masquerade ball of Afterclaw, which I believe is going on right now?" The man brusquely snatched the letter from her hand and scanned it.

"You don't look like a Karl to me," he said, his brows furrowing.

"Gran-Earl Karl of the Feldings is my . . . elder brother. I am to attend in his stead," Ara said, in a ridiculous, high pitched imitation of the sophisticated dialect of the noble courts. The guard didn't look like he believed her, but parted his halberd to let her in anyways.