“Must’ve been hard for him to be married to someone like Britannia then,” I remarked with a note of sympathy.
Maeron wore a wry grin. “It’s a good thing we can’t see our reflections or Mother would’ve been too distracted by hers to win any battles. A reflective shield would’ve been a more effective weapon than any blade.”
“Is that why she erected all those statues?” I asked.
He nodded. “It was the only way to see her likeness.”
That explained the statues of Britannia without her king. If Casek had no interest in being the center of attention, he wouldn’t want to see his image everywhere he turned.
“Don’t forget all the paintings she commissioned as well,” Callan interjected. “I had one in my bedroom until Mother asked the staff to remove it.”
It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn the placement had been deliberate. Britannia had insisted on the prince as a hostage as part of the treaty eventually negotiated by Casek.
“You wouldn’t have liked her,” Maeron told his brother. “By all accounts, she was a difficult woman at the best of times. I don’t know how Father didn’t murder her in her sleep.”
“Because apparently she slept with a dagger underneath her pillow,” Callan said.
The queen really was paranoid.
Maeron clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Callan is our next Britannia. It’s a wonder House Duncan was willing to hand him over. I can’t think of any twelve-year-olds capable of leveling a city.”
Callan could’ve leveled his brother with a single look.
“I’m not a wizard,” he ground out. “I don’t level buildings.”
“No, but you emptied them of their inhabitants.” Maeron paused to consider his words. “They really should’ve given you a better nickname. The Ghost of Birmingham perhaps.”
“No alliteration,” Davina pointed out. “It wouldn’t have stuck.”
“Highland Reckoning isn’t alliterative,” Maeron argued.
“No, but it has Highland in it, which instills fear,” Davina said.
They both turned to regard her. “Does it?” they asked in unison.
Davina nodded. “It’s only been twenty years and immortals have long memories.”
“Only ten to go.” Maeron raised his glass. “Right, brother?”
Callan lifted his glass in salute. “Perhaps, but this will always be home to me.”
It never ceased to amaze how seamlessly the hostage has been integrated into House Lewis. Queen Imogen was his mother for all intents and purposes and he considered Maeron and Davina his siblings. He even referred to King Casek as ‘Father,’ which couldn’t possibly go down well with King Glendon.
Davina beamed at her brothers. “Too right.”
Maeron pivoted to me. “Did you know our favorite knight is now working on behalf of the West End Werewolf Pack?”
I wanted to take Maeron’s glass and smash it over his head.
Callan looked at me with interest. “Is that so?”
“From what I can ascertain, she’s investigating the unreported death of a werewolf,” Maeron said. “I, for one, am dying to know more.”
I would be more than happy to help him—with the dying part.
“Why was the death unreported?” Davina asked.
Maeron flashed an impish smile. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge the details of my assignment. The banner has rules.”
“And those rules are trumped by the law,” Maeron pointed out.
Callan swirled the liquid in his glass. “What do you suggest we do, brother? Arrest her? Torture the information out of her?”
“Don’t give him any ideas,” I muttered.
Maeron swallowed the remaining whisky and set the empty glass on the sideboard. “Do not think your position is so secure with our House that you can flagrantly disobey the law.”
“If you want more information, why not ask members of the pack and leave London out of it?” Davina asked. “She’s only doing her job and you’re making it difficult.”
“Wolves kill each other all the time,” Callan chimed in. “What business is it of ours?”
“That’s what I’d like to determine. The pack wants to keep the death a secret. Why?” Maeron pinned me with a cool gaze.
“Because they’re insular,” Callan answered for me. “I’m sure they’d prefer to keep all matters within the pack if they could get away with it.” He nodded toward me. “If facts come to light that impact this House or the community at large, I have every confidence London will do her civic duty.”
Davina yawned. “It’s been a long day and you must be tired from the festivities, brother. Why don’t we leave London in peace?” She stretched her arms over her head. “I’m meeting Kitty and Beatrix tomorrow for brunch. If I don’t look my best, there’ll be gossip.”
Maeron clutched his chest. “Heaven forfend.”
I rose to my feet, grateful for Davina’s intervention. “It was lovely to see you all again.”
“Callan will escort you out.” Before anyone could object, Davina looped her arm through Maeron’s and practically dragged him through the doorway.
Callan and I looked at each other and a feeling of awkwardness washed over me.
“I know the way out,” I said. “No need for an escort.”
“I’m headed in that direction anyway.”
I laughed. “The exit?”
“Actually, I’ll show you a shortcut. That way you can avoid the guards.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because they make you uncomfortable.”
And here I thought I was a master at disguising my feelings. I wondered what else he could tell. “Guards make everybody uncomfortable, especially those of us who aren’t vampires.”
“Fair enough.”
He strode out of the study and I followed. Instead of turning left the way I’d come in, he turned right and then left at the next corner.
“The palace is a maze,” I commented.
“You have no idea.” He cut a sideways glance at me. “Is the pack job dangerous?”
“Don’t know yet. I haven’t started.”
“My brother seems to think so or he wouldn’t have summoned you here.”
“I don’t know the details of what his spies told him. I guess you’ll have to ask.”
A familiar figure emerged from a doorway and I recognized Adwin, the royal winemaker. In his arms he carried a crate of a dozen wine bottles. The vampire blanched when he spotted us.
“Good evening, Your Highness.” He ducked his head. “Miss Hayes.”
“Nice to see you again, Adwin.”
“I was showing our guest to the private exit,” Callan said. I thought it was interesting that he felt the need to explain.
I glanced at the room from which Adwin had emerged. The door was ajar and I glimpsed rows of bottles like the ones in the crate he carried. Maybe this was the storage area for the royal wine collection between delivery and the cellar.
The winemaker noticed my gaze and quickly hooked his foot around the base of the door to pull it shut.
“I’d love to chat,” he said, “but sadly these bottles won’t walk themselves to the cellar.”
“Have a good night, Adwin,” Callan called after him.
“How many storage rooms does the palace have for wine?” I asked.