the palace—a classic concept of mythology turned historical fact. Now she was sitting at a scarred wooden table that was probably older than Scotland. Surrounded by unbelievably gorgeous men who were all cut from the same genetic cloth as Christophe. Tall, dark-haired, and muscular. High cheekbones and sensual mouths. Men to make women sit up and notice.
They were almost as devastatingly attractive as Christophe. She only hoped
“Shall I make the introductions?” Riley briefly rested a hand on Fiona’s shoulder before taking a seat on the other side of the table. Without waiting for a response, she began, pointing to the various people as she named them. “Everyone, this is Lady Fiona Campbell, currently of Campbell Manor, Coggeshall. She also has a secret identity, but I think I’ll let her tell you about that.”
Fiona flushed, wondering why in the world she’d revealed her secrets so easily to Riley. There was something about the princess, though, that invited confidence.
“This is my husband, Conlan.” A tall man with a distinct air of command bowed to Fiona.
“Your Highness.” She tried to rise from her chair, which wasn’t that easy with Christophe holding her hand, but Conlan shook his head.
“Please don’t. We’re pretty informal here, as you’ll soon notice. Please call me Conlan, Lady Fiona.”
“Just Fiona, please.”
“This is Ven,” Riley continued. “My partner in crime in the love of B movies. He’s also Conlan’s brother.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Ven said, his eyes lit up with definite amusement. “Especially with Christophe.”
Christophe narrowed his eyes but didn’t release her hand.
“We spend way too much time in here, by the way,” Ven grumbled. “I’m leaving after this to join Erin in Seattle at her witch’s coven meeting.”
Fiona’s eyes widened until she was afraid they’d pop out of her head as Ven described what Erin was doing with her coven. Very powerful magic designed to aid the human rebels, from what she could glean from his brief description.
“His wife is a very powerful witch. Human,” Christophe said quietly.
“Is it some kind of rule? That you marry humans?”
Christophe laughed. “No. Until Conlan met Riley, it was a rule that we couldn’t.”
Ven wound down his report and Riley pointed to a man, dressed all in black, who sat at the far end of the table. “That’s Alaric, Poseidon’s high priest and head of the Temple of Poseidon.”
Fiona gasped. “But—that seat was empty. Are you Fae, too?”
“I certainly am not,” Alaric said, his lips curled back from his teeth. “You may want to learn that to accuse an Atlantean of being Fae is a serious insult.”
“You may want to learn that Scottish women don’t appreciate being threatened,” she snapped right back at him.
Alaric put his elbows on the table, rested his head in his hands, and groaned. “Here we go again. I just know it. Poseidon’s balls, here we go again.”
“I hate to point this out, but isn’t that blasphemy?” Fiona said. “Perhaps you aren’t the best person to lecture me about insults.”
Ven grinned. “I think I’m going to like you.”
It came to her that she was sitting with the crown princes and princess of Atlantis and she was insulting their god’s highest priest. She felt about two inches high.
“I beg your pardon, Your—ah, Conlan. And yours as well, Alaric. I am feeling a bit overwhelmed right now, but it shouldn’t make me forget the courtesies due to my hosts,” she said.
Alaric flashed a smile that probably made sharks cry. “I liked you better when you were putting me in my place.”
She laughed. “Noted.”
“Perhaps we can get on to the point of this?” Ven said. “I’m thrilled Christophe finally became a real boy and found a girlfriend—hopefully you can keep his ass in line, Lady Fiona—but why are we in war council over it?” He aimed a mock glare at Fiona. “Is Scotland planning to declare war on Atlantis?”
She didn’t know what to answer first, but her cheeks were burning over that “found a girlfriend” comment.
Christophe beat her to it. “My love life is none of your business, King’s Vengeance or no. But if you’d like to meet me in the arena to discuss it—”
“Oh, pipe down,” Fiona said. “Don’t we have enough problems without you fighting amongst yourselves?”
He snapped his head around to glare at her, but then his gaze softened and he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
When she turned back to the table, every face but Riley’s reflected varying degrees of shock. They were all staring at Christophe like he’d grown another head.
“Moving on,” she said pointedly. “We’ve had a busy few days since we met in the Tower of London the night we both tried to steal the same jewel.”
It took a few minutes for the questions and comments to quiet down, and then Christophe and Fiona took turns telling the rest of them everything that had happened since they’d met, leaving out nothing except their . . . personal interactions. At some point during their recounting, people brought food in, and they all fell to, but they kept at it, one talking while the other ate, and then trading off.
“There is, unfortunately, nothing at all we can do about Denal. He went willingly with this Fae, and is gone for as long as she chooses to keep him. Nothing short of a full-scale assault on Silverglen would gain us the slightest hope of even finding him, and that would put us at war with the Unseelie Fae. Possibly the Seelie Court, as well, since we’d be invading the Summer Lands,” Alaric said.
Christophe slammed the table. “No. He was under my care. I should be the one to retrieve him.”
Conlan shook his head. “Christophe, the truth is that Denal is a grown man and a warrior, much as we all still treat him as the youngling we met all those years ago. The Fae cannot tell a direct lie. If she said he spoke willingly, then she hadn’t enchanted him. He wanted to go, and he went. Perhaps he simply needed a respite. The gods know he’s been through enough lately.”
Fiona noticed that Riley’s cheeks turned pink, but the princess’s eyes were sad.
“I wish—well, I wish I could have done something. I wish I’d known Maeve was Fae, or even known Fae existed, or . . . I don’t even know what I wish,” Fiona said. “I’m sorry my friend took yours. I hope she’ll bring him back soon. She really is a kind person. I’ve known her for more than ten years. You can’t fool somebody for that long.”
“The Fae can keep up a simple deception for one hundred times ten years, or even more if they so desire,” Alaric said.
“It’s true, though, that the Fae was different with Fiona,” Christophe said. “Talked about how much it meant to have a friend who liked her for herself and not for her position, that sort of thing. If Maeve na Feransel actually cares about any human, it is Fiona.”
“Time will be the only answer to this dilemma,” Conlan said. “We must move on to the matter of the Siren. We can assume it is in dangerous hands—but whose?”
“I’m betting the vampires,” Christophe said. “The plan to enthrall shifters is in full swing in Europe, the same as everywhere else on the planet. What we know of the Siren is that it gives its wielder vast power over shifters and can even force them to shift back and forth between their animal and human shapes.”
“Perhaps the shifters stole it,” Riley said. “You’ve already mentioned the possibility that the Tower robbery could have been an inside job and that some of the Tower guard are wolf shifters. What if they took it, to keep it out of vampire hands?”
Alaric drummed his fingers on the table and then made a flicking motion with his right hand and sent a trail of tiny, perfect triangles of blue-green flame tumbling down the center of the table. They rolled over the fruit bowl and then vanished when they fell off the other end. Nobody else but Fiona paid any attention to them, so she guessed the little magic was the high priest equivalent of when she tapped her pencil while thinking.
“We must find it,” Conlan said. “Christophe, you’re obviously stirring things up, so you continue to do what you’re doing and even step it up. How much help do you want?”
