like

a medieval fairy princess.

"Brandy?" she said, offering him one of the goblets.

"Thank you," he said, accepting it.

"A bit close in there, isn't it?" she said.

"Yes, rather," Royce said. "I'm afraid it's not really my sort of thing. Bit

on

the frantic side."

"Isn't it just?" she said. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I feel so out

of

place."

"Really?" Royce said, sipping his drink. "Funny, I was about to say exactly

the

same thing."

"Great minds think alike," she said with a lovely smile.

Royce found himself strongly attracted to her. Get hold of yourself, old boy,

he

told himself, she's young enough to be your daughter. Granddaughter, even.

She

would hardly be interested in an old duffer like you.

"I'm afraid I made a mistake incoming," Royce said. "I was... well, I was

having

some personal troubles, and a friend convinced me that a night out would be

just

the thing, but I fear he misled me somewhat as to the nature of the company.

I

thought I'd be seeing some old friends here. I rather expected... well, I

don't

know what I expected, to be perfectly honest. I just sort of went along with

it,

and now it appears I'm stuck.'"

"It sounds as if we have the same sort of friends," she said wryly. "Two of

my

girlfriends talked me into coming and promptly disappeared within moments

after

we arrived. I don't know a soul here, and I'm afraid I'm not much for dancing

and cocktail-party levity. I've only been here about half an hour, and

already

four men have tried to pick me up."

"Can't say that I blame them," Royce said, wincing inwardly even as he said

it.

She raised her eyebrows in pleased surprise. "Well, aren't you nice? Thank

you.

You know, I don't even know your name."

"Oh. Sorry. Royce Blood," he said. "First name is Llewellyn, actually, but my

friends all call me Royce."