“With pleasure.” He helped her with the zipper and placed a final kiss at the back of her neck. Then he changed into a clean suit, a darker one more suitable for the evening, and as they left the bedroom, the dragon surfaced again in his mind.
He had once been much more feral, but age had taught him how to appreciate the more delicate aspects of warfare conducted over a well-cooked meal.
Because he had no doubt of it—while some of his guests tonight would be more moderate and open-minded, other guests were definitely waging war against him.
Tonight was his best chance to study them in order to discover the best way to defeat them.
If that included destroying them in the process, well then, so be it.
*
As the first of the guests arrived in a flurry of greetings, for the dozenth time that day, Pia did another mental head count of everybody attending.
The humans attending were the president, vice president, their respective chiefs of staff, the Senate majority and minority leaders, and the speaker of the House, along with all their spouses or plus ones.
On the Elder Races side—and even though Isalynn LeFevre was human, as head of the witches demesne, she counted personally and politically as one of the Elder Races—all seven of the demesne leaders were present, along with their spouses or plus ones.
Neither the Elder tribunal nor any of the members of the Supreme Court were involved in this week’s talks, just those involved in active governance.
So there were fourteen and fourteen. Then there was the security staff, but they didn’t count in terms of making sure glasses were refilled and seating arrangements at the dinner table.
Big and stately though the mansion was, it didn’t have the sheer space or capacity to hold the high numbers that the White House could, and after some discussion and negotiation, most of everybody’s security details awaited them outside, while each couple was allowed one person indoors, which made thirteen extra bodies to account for as a total head count.
Dragos and Pia’s security didn’t factor into that number, for their security staff was also the waitstaff. They threaded through the guests, offering hors d’oeuvres, wine and mixed drinks with polite smiles and watchful, smiling eyes. No expense had been spared for this evening. Five hundred dollar bottles of wine flowed like water, and only the highest quality liquors were offered to those who chose to partake.
When someone—Pia didn’t catch who—suggested they open the large French-style doors and enjoy the unseasonably warm evening outside, Dragos moved to open the doors up and people spilled out onto the wide terrace.
In anticipation of doing just that, earlier that afternoon, when they were sure the weather was going to hold, Pia had worked with the staff to set out tables covered with white cloths, bouquets of fresh flowers and candles. After the doors had been opened, Bayne walked from table to table, lighting candles, until the terrace and the half-acre of manicured gardens were lit with sparks of soft, golden light.
Sipping with moderation at a glass of French Bordeaux, Pia circulated too, joining conversations briefly with small clusters of people before moving on to the next, while her gaze kept roaming constantly to make sure everyone was getting his or her needs met.
Aside from polite smiles and the most basic greeting, she avoided the vice president and her husband altogether—she wouldn’t be able to change the Coltons’ minds about anything, and she felt no need to engage with them. Thankfully they were Dragos’s problem, not hers, and while she was happy to work to support him in what he did, she wouldn’t change places with him for the world.
After the first forty-five minutes, the tight knot between her shoulder blades started to ease. Relations between humankind and the Elder Races might not be improved after this week, but that wouldn’t be because of any fault in this evening.
At least she devoutly hoped not. Because, as Dragos would say, night’s not over yet.
Then Gennita, the head chef, appeared in the open French doors and said discreetly in Pia’s head, My lady? When would you like for us to serve?