She bit her lips to keep from laughing as he strode into the room, pivoted then invited her in with an outstretched hand. She walked in and stopped dead a few feet inside the door.
The study was very masculine, with heavy dark leather furniture that looked comfortable rather than stylish, a scatter of bookshelves, a large mahogany desk in one corner and a fireplace. Large windows overlooked the back gardens where the land dipped downward toward a small sunlit lake. A massive seascape painting by the English artist Turner hung over a wide fieldstone fireplace. Urien’s personality seemed stamped in the room, more so than anything she had seen to date. She could see him sitting at his desk and looking out over that fucking immaculate landscape, all the while knowing he was master of all he surveyed. If she were Wyr, she would bet the damn place smelled like him.
Everything clenched. Gut, fists, face. Count to ten.
Tiago was beside her in three long, swift strides, his face sharp with concern. He put a bracing hand to her back. Faerie?
She raised a hand in a just-a-minute gesture as she struggled to unclench. It was just furniture. They were just books.
It was then she noticed that Aubrey was already in the room. He had risen to his feet at her entrance. Naida was also in the room. A tea service with three cups and plates, along with a tray of delicate pastries were arranged on a table in front of the couch. Aubrey watched her with a concern that seemed almost as sharp as Tiago’s, while Naida looked at them both with a dawning speculation.
I am all right, she said to Tiago. She squeezed his arm. He nodded, still frowning, and rubbed her shoulders. The place smells like him, doesn’t it?
There is a single predominant Dark Fae male scent here, he said. It is very likely Urien’s.
All she could smell was beeswax and lemon polish. She decided that was a good thing. She smiled at him on a surge of tenderness. Really, he was the most scary-looking bastard she knew, and she knew a lot of scary-looking bastards. He was one of the most alpha males in the world. Once he had been a god. He was used to commanding troops of Wyr fighters, experienced in tactical maneuvers and making autonomous decisions. He had given up all of it. Today he had sublimated who he was just to walk in her shadow. She tried to imagine him living that way, year in and year out, as he suppressed everything he was just to be with her.
Oh God, Rune was right, this wasn’t going to work.
She looked from Tiago to Aubrey then to Naida’s shuttered expression.
Too many things were already happening in the room, and nobody had yet said a word. Panic threatened to take her over. She tried to stomp on it. She was too tired, overstimulated, stressed by just being on Urien’s home turf and surrounded by all the evidence of him, and in the last thirty-six hours she had taken a whirlwind sightseeing tour of all the major stopping points on the emotional map.
She would much rather have gone on a sightseeing tour of Europe. How convenient, her bags were already packed. Maybe running away would solve all her problems. Okay, so that seemed like a long shot, but she could be willing to give it a try.
Tiago turned her toward him and gripped her shoulders. His Power had never left her once since they had arrived, and now it enfolded her, an inexhaustible wellspring of strength and warmth. He said in a calm, quiet voice, “Take your time.”
She nodded and looking up, met his gaze.
Steady. Adamant. Bedrock.
She flashed back in memory to the last private conversation she’d had with Dragos. They had been in his office. The French doors and blinds had been open to a scorching morning sun. The room had been filled with hot yellow sunshine and sharp gusts of air.
They sat as they had so many times over the last two hundred years. The black-haired dragon had lounged back in his chair, his eyes more golden than the sun, booted heels propped on his desk. She perched on the desk beside his feet, cross-legged with her shoes kicked off.
“They may give you the throne, but you will have to take the power,” Dragos said.
“That sounds a lot easier said than done,” she muttered as she scratched at the tip of one ear. “Any advice?”
Dragos shrugged. “Assume you will make enemies. Work to make allies. Don’t expect to make friends. Friends are a gift that happens over time. You have a lot of good things going for you. You’re diplomatic, you’re smart and you think fast, you see consequences and nuances, and you know how to cheat. But you have one great flaw when it comes to taking the throne.”
She scowled. The gods only knew what would come out of Dragos’s mouth next. She couldn’t shapeshift, her swordplay was laughable, she had no fangs or claws with which to defend herself. It could be anything. “What is that?”
The dragon said, “You want to be liked.”
Whatever else he had done or failed to do, Urien had never made that mistake.