by Emma Alisyn
The undercurrent in the office changed Monday. The change was subtle, but Bea felt it. Prince Malin came in as usual, nodded and gave her a morning greeting, but this time he paused a few seconds. Well, sometimes he paused anyway, with a quick question or comment about her weekend or her daughter.
“We’ll talk today,” he said, hand resting briefly on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. She knew what the talk would be about, and wasn’t really looking forward to it. She didn’t need any more complications in her life with her financial situation and the stress of dealing with Ben . . . and now Niko. Whatever it was between her and Niko, she knew he wasn’t going to just drop it. If he’d spent years training towards a certain goal of marital mastery, and he was a guard, it meant he knew how to wait, he knew how to watch. He knew how to stalk.
But Surah stopped by that afternoon right as Bea was gearing up for her employer to call her into his office. "How about some lunch? My treat.”
“Ah . . . Mr. Ioveanu said—”
Surah waved her hand. “I know, he told me. I think it’s better we talk first. You’ll need a woman’s perspective before having to deal with the Prince.”
Because it was the Prince, not her employer, she would have to deal with. Whatever the repercussions of her actions the other day, Bea understood that because of the quiet war going on in the gargoyle court, she had inadvertently picked a side, made herself a pawn. Not because she was important, but because she was something that could be hurt, the harm being proof Prince Malin was weak. Or whatever was important to gargoyles.
“All right,” Bea said. “I suppose ignorance isn’t bliss, anyway.” Surah’s dark, narrow eyes were sympathetic, but there was no softness on her face.
They walked to a small bistro down the street from the Ioveacorp office, Surah communicating briefly with Malin who gave instructions regarding their security.
Surah made a face, but shrugged, taking her dark glasses off as a server unrolled a wide umbrella to protect the princess from the sun. “I wanted steak, but things are tense right now and he doesn’t want us out long. We’ll have to settle for salads.” She grimaced.
“It’s fine.”
They took a seat and ordered. “Is Prince Malin upset with me?” Bea asked.
Surah looked surprised. “Upset? No, why would you think that?”
“I’m another problem, with everything going on already.”
“Hmm.” She sat back in her chair. “I’ve known Malin my entire life. He thrives on problems. Both creating them and solving them—though he’s been known to avoid one or two in his lifetime.” Something flashed across her face and was gone. “It’s hell to get him to take his medicine sometimes.”
Surah was a princess in their world. At one time, Malin had been the one who was supposed to be king, but his younger half-brother Geza took over because Malin had a degenerative illness. An illness that Surah, a brilliant doctor if the tabloids were right, was curing.
Bea coughed, hiding her snort of laughter. “Tell me about the mess I’m in.”
Their food arrived, and they ate for a few moments in silence. She’d always been interested in gargoyles, which was one of the reasons she’d applied for this job three years ago. There had been no way to anticipate that interest would get her in trouble. Bea checked her outfit, discreetly. She’d spent money at the beginning of her job to invest in high-quality basics, so she didn’t embarrass Prince Malin—or herself—by showing up to work in chain store suits with cheap fabrics and shoddy cuts. She was glad of that even more now. If their picture made it into the Gargoyle Watch e-zine this week, she wanted to look professional. Surah wore a sleeveless, white blouse that brought a golden sheen to her medium-brown skin, and soft jeans. Probably designer, and probably expensive. She’d kept her sleek dark hair in a ponytail, but Bea would bet her paycheck the jeweled hairpin in the strands was made of diamonds, and not crystal beads.
“Malin isn’t the first gargoyle to have a business with human employees,” Surah said. “It’s almost impossible not to hire humans, and I think illegal to discriminate, too. Besides, humans are better daylight labor. But Malin’s position is unique. I don’t think any of the other Princes’ actually head their own corporations. Many come from independently wealthy families. Landowners, investments, that kind of thing. Nauseating.”
Bea almost agreed, but kept diplomatically silent. Surah could trash talk her own people all she wanted. Bea couldn’t, even if she was that kind of person.
“I think most of the court has accepted that employees are not the same thing as soldiers or vassals. This isn’t the dark ages. People can work for people, and it doesn’t mean they have oaths, or other feudal ties.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Bea muttered.
Surah pinned her with a look. “But. Because high-level employees are often privy to information that intertwines with the court, sometimes the lines are blurred. Leila stays out of gargoyle business. She’s done a good job of drawing that line and Malin is okay with that. But, you . . . .”
“I don’t understand why I’m different. I’m a personal assistant. Not a board member, or anything.”
“Yeah, but you’re my friend. That was the first blurring of lines. And personal assistant used to be called squire in the middle ages.”
Bea blinked, looking down at her salad. Surah used the word ‘friend’ so casually, like it was no big deal. They chatted, had lunch together several times. Bea had even been to Surah and Malin’s home on what she thought were casual, business dinners. Of course, life got in the way and business wasn’t always the only thing discussed. But Bea had always kept herself mentally in check, not letting herself get too comfortable. It was one thing for the boss’ wife to enjoy her company, another thing to presume on that enjoyment.
“Are we?” Bea asked. “Friends?”
Surah paused. “I thought we were.” She glanced down at her salad and speared a steak tip, glancing away as she ate.
Bea realized, with a start, that Surah might be as unsure as she was. She replied firmly. “We are.”
Surah grinned, then sobered. “Well, that means there’s an assumption of loyalty. Along with your being Malin’s employee at an upper level. Your position was already teetering—if you were even half gargoyle, the politics of the situation would have smacked you in the face a long time ago. You would have already been approached with requests to curry favor, maybe threats against you as a way to annoy Malin. But you’re human so you’ve been ignored, to a point.”
Bea pushed her iced coffee aside. She didn’t need anything to cause her nerves to jitter anymore than they already were.
“You acted at physical cost to yourself in order to protect the Princes. It won’t be seen as the act of a concerned bystander, or even as a casual friend. It will be seen as the act of a vassal. That Malin and Niko—a guard of the court—have placed you under protection, and publicly allowed you to help arrange security means you are valuable, and a potential target. So. All of this to say . . . .”
“I understand,” Bea said. “Is there anyway to backtrack?”
Surah shook her head. “No. Maybe after the difficulties are handled, you could quit Malin’s employ and never see Niko or I again. That might help in the long term. Eventually, people would forget. But I wouldn’t count on it. The craftier ones would assume it was just a ruse to protect you. And . . . .” Surah’s nails tapped a pattern on the table top. “I don’t get the sense Niko is going to let you just walk away from him.
Bea took a deep breath. “So, what do I do?”
“Are you done eating? Let’s walk back, then. This is the part of the conversation we need Malin for.”
They walked back mostly in silence. Casual conversation was difficult at the moment. Bea was certain Surah’s mind was just as occupied with things of import. When they arrived in Malin’s office, the princess walked to her mate immediately, and he enfolded her in a hug, placing a kiss on her forehead. The shad
es were pulled, and the daylight was from artificial, recessed bulbs overhead. Ever since Surah had successfully treated the Prince’s condition, he’d stopped allowing natural sunlight in as it began draining his energy the way it did for most gargoyles.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s not comfortable to be what we are.”
Surah drew away, looking up at her husband. “Gargoyle?”
“No. Ioveanu.”
He glanced at Bea and gestured. “Sit, Bea, please. Did Surah let you finish your meal?”
Bea smiled involuntarily and wandered over to the seating area of white-leather couches in front of the tall windows overlooking the city. She’d been to their house for dinner, and knew Surah wasn’t one to sit through long meals. Inevitably, she, Malin, Sililu, and whoever else might be present wound up snatching plates of tidbits from the table and following the princess to her informal study or open seating area outside.
“Yes, we ate.”
“I’ll ask Leila to send up some cookies and coffee, then.” His hand wandered over Surah’s backside, and the woman smacked his chest. He sighed. “I just need comfort, my heart.”
“Grabbing my ass is comfort?”
“Anything else would be inappropriate in company.”
“Not if you were Geza, it wouldn’t.”
Bea stifled a laugh, and when Leila came up, rose from her seat to take the tray and set it on the coffee table. Malin and Surah might act like they were all casual buddies, but Bea was paid to ignore such things. She was an employee, even if she was a friend. She would serve as flawlessly as possible at all times because not only was she paid to do so, but because the couple had won her loyalty—and deserved it from the way they treated her with respect, courtesy, and caring.
Bea stared at the tray, coming to a realization in that moment.
“What’s wrong, Bea?” Surah asked. “You have a weird look on your face.”
Bea looked up, met Prince Malin’s eyes. “I just realized why your court won’t let me be neutral.”
Surah walked over, plopped on the couch, and snatched several cookies. “Oh?”
Malin held Bea’s gaze, knowledge in them. And a kind of pity. Which she didn’t want. “Because I’m not neutral. I’m not good at pretending, so anyone who’s ever been through here probably already knows. But I’m just human. Nobody important.”
Which meant that no matter how loyal she was, how much she might want to fight on their behalf . . . how could she? She had a daughter to protect, a life.
Malin crossed the room slowly, and took a seat next to his wife, his movements heavy with gravity. “There is more than one type of power, Bea. Not just the power of martial prowess, or great wealth, or birthright. Some power can be grown into, and wielded like an artist wields a brush. Delicately, with many shades of application.”
Surah was quiet now, staring at her husband, expression hard. “Malin.”
He ignored her. “I like you, Bea. You’re competent, intelligent, and discreet. You’ve proven yourself to be loyal and able to respond well in crisis. A fiefdom is built with the loyalty of well-placed servants, those who share the vision of their Prince. I can extract you now—it’s almost too late, but it can be done. But the cost will be—”
“My job. Never seeing Surah or Veda or Niko again.”
“You’ll have to leave the city as well, perhaps the state. I’d ensure you were financially taken care of until able to get on your feet, but all ties would have to be cut. There are already speculations in court on how you might be played, what influence you wield, what knowledge you’re privy too. Can you be bought? Are you in love with me, or are you Surah’s lover?” His lips curved humorlessly.
Bea was caught. His gaze was hypnotic, and if she wasn’t already emotionally entangled with Niko, she might very well have felt something inappropriate for the Prince. Especially with that frank, dark gaze.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Surah said, voice dry. When Bea glanced at her, the woman grinned knowingly. “I’m already taken.”
“And if I don’t take Door A?”
Malin sat back on the couch, took Surah’s hand, and began making patterns in her palm. “You swear an oath of fealty. It will place you completely under the blanket of Ioveanu protection. I would then see your real education begin, so as not to embarrass us. We’ll teach you what you need to know to navigate court, and to become truly useful to us—and to gather power of your own you may leverage for your own gain.”
Bea blinked at him. “Um . . . ”
“It’s a benefit, Bea. Learn some greed, female.”
The desk comm unit beeped, and Leila’s voice interrupted the discussion. “Mr. Ioveanu, Sir Nikolau has arrived.”
Bea stood without thinking, turning towards the door. A moment later it opened, and Niko walked in, skin paler than normal, mouth thin. It was always a shock to see his human form. Shorter, leaner, golden-brown. His eyes speared her, sweeping professionally over her body as if to assure himself she was still in one piece. Then he glanced at Malin and bowed his head. “Highnesses.”
“It’s the middle of the day,” Malin said, grave. “You don’t look well.”
Niko moved forward, frowning, staring at Bea. “There was work to do—I can handle the light for a few hours. I’ll rest soon.” He glanced at Malin again. “You’re up, too.”
“I’m used to it now, though my doctor is a genius.”
“Did he give you your choices?” He stood in front of her, barely a hand's width between them. “You know what the safe option is.”
“I don’t want to leave my home.”
“What about the Little Bea?”
“The little . . . Aeezah? Ben would never let me take her out of state anyway.”
“I could reason to him,” Malin said neutrally.
Bea grimaced. “No, thank you.”
“Told you she wasn’t going to go for it,” Surah said.
Niko threw Surah an irritated glance. “Did you even try and talk her into leaving, or are you thinking like a female?”
Surah snorted, unfazed. “Ask her if she wants to leave you.”
Niko’s mouth thinned, and he took Bea’s arm. “We need to talk alone.”
11
They left Malin’s office and walked down the hall. Niko chose one of the smaller waiting rooms with doors that locked from the outside. She glanced at him warily. Their first meeting had been rocky—she’d locked him and his companions in the room on instructions from Prince Malin. To say she’d earned a snarl and a few nasty looks behind Malin’s back when they were finally released was an understatement. Though if she thought back to that time, despite Niko’s foul attitude, she hadn’t sensed any actual danger from him. Some of the others she wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley on the way home if they ever decide to throw lots in with Malin’s enemies.
The door slid shut silently and Bea took a seat on a backless couch, smoothing her hands down her lap, back ramrod straight. Sitting immediately lowered the confrontation level, but he remained silent until she raised her head to meet his eyes.
“Why, Bea?” he asked. “It’s safer if you leave.”
“Maybe. Not much, I’ll guarantee you. At least not enough to be worth losing a job I love, friends I’ve made, and the life I’m forging for myself here. Plus, I can’t just snap my fingers and sell the townhouse. Fleeing could ruin me financially.”
“Money isn’t a problem.”
She paused, thought about the tone and inflection of his words. “Ben wouldn’t let me leave with Aeezah. He could go to the courts, and they would order me back. If I tried to plead, and they discovered why I was leaving, they could take Aeezah away from me. They might think living with me was unsafe.”
He stared at her, dark eyes narrowed slightly. Sometime during the last several hours he’d forgotten to change clothing, unless all he had in his wardrobe were black shirts and black jeans and ankle boots with a low heel. His skin was pale, flawless, otherworldly over
the sculpted bones of his face. He didn’t have Malin’s harsh, exotic beauty, but like all gargoyles his features were exquisitely balanced. She wondered if gargoyle males grew facial hair. She’d never seen so much as a shadow on Prince Malin’s jaw, and not on Niko’s either.
Niko moved forward, crouching down in front of her. “You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”
“Do you want me to go?”
His lip kicked up at the corner. “That’s a female’s trick question. I want you safe. That’s more important than what I want personally. And Little Bea is too young to defend herself.”
Her fingers brushed his chin. She couldn’t quite help herself, but it wasn’t as if he would flinch away from her. He’d made his attraction plain enough to give her the right for a small, simple touch. And, the closer he came to her, the itchier her fingers became. She wanted to touch, to explore the planes of his face and the strong column of his throat. To feel if the inky darkness of his hair was textured like hers, or silky like Surah’s, so silky she couldn’t even braid it.
He turned his head, pressing lips into her palm. A soft kiss, even more compelling for the fact that she knew he was a predator, maybe even a killer.
“Inexplicable,” he murmured. “That I only first saw you a few weeks ago.”
She pulled her hand away slowly, confused. “We’ve been around each other for two years now.”
“I know. But I didn’t see you. And now—” he paused, voice rough, and stood.
Bea looked up at him. “And now?”
“Court politics ruin lives. I don’t want it to ruin yours. You don’t deserve it.”
“No one does.”
His brows rose. “You’d be surprised.”
“What do you want me to do, Niko?”
He turned on his heel with a curse in the guttural language Malin and Surah sometimes used. Walked to the other side of the room even though it was just a few feet, and stared at the wall. She wondered what, exactly, he was looking at.
“Fine.”
He didn’t say anything else, didn’t move. Bea rolled her eyes. “Fine what, Niko?”
