“You don’t think Britannia felt that way about her actions?”
I twisted to look at the portrait, clasping my hands behind me and out of his view. “I have no idea what she felt.” She was probably giddy with every vein she opened. There was a certain euphoria that came with bloodlust, one I hoped to never experience.
He leaned into me forcing me to bend backward or end up with my chest against his body. “Dine with us. At the very least I can promise it will be entertaining.”
I frowned. “You really want me to come to dinner at the palace? With your family?”
“I’m simply repeating Davina’s invitation. She’s taken a shine to you.”
“Davina would take a shine to a mirror if she liked the way she looked in it.” I immediately regretted the statement. One because she couldn’t see her reflection and two because she wasn’t the airhead that Maeron accused her of being. She was tough and resilient and ridiculously sweet.
Callan seemed to sense my misgivings. “You don’t mean that.”
I brushed past him. “Like Prince Maeron said, I have a lot of work to catch up on now that I’m back to my regular duties.”
He stepped aside and let me pass. “As you wish.”
I walked out of the palace, half expecting him to follow. I pretended not to be disappointed when he didn’t. The last thing I needed was a deadly vampire trailing me around the city. One look at me at the wrong time and he’d see me for what I really was.
I unlocked the main door and climbed the five flights of stairs to my flat. The building seemed ridiculously small after spending time in the palace. I pictured the walls of my flat covered with paintings of myself like Britannia and laughed at the absurdity, although arguably my knee on Callan’s neck in Hyde Park was worth capturing on a canvas.
Okay, I needed to imagine a scenario that didn’t include His Royal Ruckus. He was a lethal vampire, plain and simple. Not someone to fantasize about unless that involved beheading him or driving a stake through his heart—assuming there was one beating inside his chest. Vampires like Callan were the reason the species was believed to be undead and devoid of functional organs. Cold. Menacing. Deadly. Those were the adjectives I had to remember when describing him. None of that devoted brother and hot, sexy beast crap. That way lies madness—and certain death.
I turned the key to my flat and stepped inside. No more Mona to stop by and check on me. The thought saddened me. On the other hand, maybe the next landlord wouldn’t be a naive lunatic.
The flat was eerily quiet. The animals seemed to sense I’d had a rough time lately because they didn’t come running. Instead they cast cautious glances from their respective locations on the floor, the sofa, and in the case of Hera, on top of the curio cabinet.
“I’m home.”
The announcement was unnecessary. Every creature in my small kingdom had already gotten wind of my arrival. Even Barnaby was at the window. I crossed the room and opened it to let him in. Might as well let them all witness the final move in my playbook. Someone should witness my stroke of genius, even if it was only my speechless companions.
I dropped onto the sofa with a soft thud. My back was twinging and my legs ached. I peeled off my boots and examined my filthy feet. If the queen worried about Davina’s bare feet on the clean floors of the palace, I’d hate to know what she thought of mine. I wiggled my toes. My body cried out for a warm, soapy bath. Five more minutes.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I gathered you all here,” I joked. Multiple sets of eyes stared back at me, waiting.
I emptied the bag of coins from my satchel. I already had a regular hiding spot for valuables, but it was too small for my other acquisition.
I contemplated the Elemental Stone currently staring back at me from inside the curio cabinet. I opened the door and retrieved it. I needed a better hiding spot than in plain sight. It was too risky to leave such a powerful artifact on display, not that I entertained often—or ever.
My mother taught me the myths of many cultures when I was a child. One of my favorites was about Zeus and his mother, whose name she shared with mine—Rhea. My mother would be pleased to know I hadn’t forgotten the story. Even more than that, she’d be pleased to know I’d copied one of Rhea’s cleverest moments and made it my own.
In the myth, Rhea is fearful that her husband Kronos will swallow their infant Zeus because of prophecy. To prevent this, she swaps the baby and swaddles a stone to leave in his place. Kronos swallows the stone instead and doesn’t discover the deceit until it’s too late and Zeus grows up to overthrow him.
I crossed the threshold into the kitchen and opened the pantry. The flour container was the right shape and size. As much as I hated to waste the flour, it was the best option. I’d ward the container as well as the pantry door. Heaven forbid someone wanted to bake a cake in my kitchen.
As I submerged the stone into the remaining flour, the vibrations of magical energy tickled my skin. A vision flashed in my mind’s eye. Symbols danced, suspended in midair like marionettes tugged by invisible strings. I didn’t recognize any of them. I needed time to learn as much as I could about the stone. Maybe if I kept it close by for long enough, the stone would eventually whisper its secrets in a language I understood.
I secured the lid and hoped the decoy I’d left at the palace did its job. If my deceit was ever discovered, it didn’t matter how much the Highland Reckoning wanted to get into my pants. I was a dead knight walking.