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THOUGH OUTFITS AT THE palace dressed wearers magically, they had to be fashioned by living hands. Connor spent the morning at the imperial tailor, being measured for a new pair of wings. He’d been summoned there without Georgie and Iksander. Despite missing their company, the tailor’s studio was interesting. Double height, bright and airy, its windows overlooked the great central courtyard with its enchanted sun. The tailor’s job must have prestigious. He had many assistants, each working busily in partitions—snipping, pinning, sketching out new patterns. Everywhere Connor turned, fabulous shades and textures astounded him. His surroundings were so intriguing he barely noticed the measuring tape moving here and there on him.
The sound of the tailor opening a large book of sketches finally drew Connor’s gaze to the worktable. “Since you’re curious,” the tailor said, “here’s what Her Graciousness thought you’d wear for your performance at the investiture.”
Connor leaned in to look. “Hm. Those wings are beautiful, but they look awfully long. I’m afraid my partner and I will get tangled while we’re fighting.”
“Really?” the tailor said, his face pulling with dismay. “Our Beauteous Leader specifically requested the length be luxurious.”
“What’s this sparkly stuff on the feathers?”
“Gold dust.”
The gold in the picture was thick enough to come off on Connor’s fingers. He rubbed them together and hummed again.
“What?” the tailor asked anxiously.
“Won’t this burst off in a cloud every time I flap? What if I choke or blind someone?”
“Her Majesty wishes to do you honor.”
She wished to win him over with gaudy expensive gifts. Because this was best unsaid, Connor tried to answer like Iksander. “To be asked to perform at such an august occasion is more honor than I deserve.”
His flattery must have missed the mark. The tailor appeared about to cry. “I promised Her Highness your costume would be grand.”
“You must blame any changes on me,” Connor said. “Explain I didn’t wish to dishonor her by causing an accident.”
“I don’t know if she will accept that. Couldn’t you—”
Connor’s palm began to pulse. The city’s other regent was summoning him. “Change the gold to enchanted dust,” he said. “It will sparkle as prettily. And shorten the wings. No longer than my ankles. If anything goes wrong during the performance, you could be blamed regardless. I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“But if you—”
“I have to go,” Connor said. “A previous engagement.”
The tailor wrung his hands, but Connor made himself turn away. He didn’t want to displease the city’s rulers any more than the djinni did.
As instructed, he hastened to the dining hall and the small chamber behind it. To his surprise, the hall was empty—no guards or courtiers about. The door to the smaller room was ajar, so perhaps he was meant to go straight in. He approached but stopped when he heard Henri speaking to someone.
“Still?” he was asking angrily.
A second male voice replied. “My squad searched the enemy’s city extensively. They cannot find the empress’s body.”
“It has to be there. Luna accomplished her enchantment. Her soldiers were turned to stone. If there’d been any way for her to survive the curse, she’d have been in contact. She wasn’t the sort to voluntarily abdicate.”
“I’m sure you are correct, Your Majesty. There were simply too many victims to examine all of them. Eventually, she’ll be found.”
“‘Eventually’ won’t suit my cousin’s timeline. She—and I—want a public viewing and funeral soon, so as to cast no shadow upon our investiture.”
“I could send a larger team through the portal, if you’d allocate the power for greater numbers to travel through.”
“Not unless we absolutely have to.” Henri exhaled in frustration. “The more troops we send, the greater the chance the district lords will catch wind of this. They’d love an excuse to curtail our authority. I suppose we could magick up a corpse.”
“We could,” the regent’s companion said cautiously. “The danger is that your subjects—and the Council—might see through a lookalike. That, unfortunately, would inspire more doubt than no corpse at all. On the bright side, my men report no incursions into Iksander’s lands. As of yet, no other nation has dared infringe on our right to claim booty.”
“‘As of yet.’” Henri’s repetition of the phrase was grim. “Very well. I shall discuss this with my beloved. I’ll inform you what we decide.”
Connor heard the rustle of someone genuflecting. Deciding it would be better to seem to have just arrived, he knocked softly on the doorframe.
“Entrez,” Henri called as a fancily garbed courtier backed out of the chamber and nearly bumped into him.
The courtier seemed startled but not suspicious. Connor bowed politely.
“Good,” Henri said as Connor stepped inside. “Close the door behind you.”
Connor did so then offered a deep bend of knee and neck. “Your Majesty. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”
“Not at all. The minister arrived unexpectedly. Now we can be private. Eleanor rarely comes to this chamber unless there’s been a meal.”
Connor decided not to comment on Henri and his beloved competing to seduce partners behind each other’s backs. He straightened without a word, waiting for Henri’s cue as to what he expected of him next.
Henri took this in and laughed. “You look nervous. I promise there’s no need to be. I’m very glad you accepted my invitation.”
Connor wasn’t certain he’d had a choice. He must have hid the thought well enough. Henri stepped to him with a teasing smile. He slid his hands luxuriantly up and down Connor’s chest. His touch was practiced and pleasant, his loveliness undeniable. Connor’s blood and breathing both quickened.
Noting this, Henri used the lace that fountained down Connor’s front to tug his head to his.
“Kiss me hard,” he instructed smokily. “I’ve been dreaming of your lips on mine.”
Privately, Connor was curious to find out how he would react. Thus far in his life, he’d only kissed two people. Because aggression seemed to be what the regent wanted, he yanked Henri closer by the waist and kissed him forcefully.
The result wasn’t terrible. Connor’s genitals continued hardening, especially when Henri squirmed eagerly against them. Precisely what about the embrace was lacking he couldn’t say. He only knew he wasn’t as engaged as when kissing Georgie and Iksander.
This didn’t matter so much, of course. Connor wasn’t doing this to entertain himself—or not primarily.
With that in mind, he gripped Henri’s yellow hair. It was arranged today in a long bundled tail of braids. The handhold allowed him to pry Henri’s mouth from his. The regent liked being overpowered. He flushed, his ribs jerking in and out, his gaze held prisoner by Connor’s even as he seemed to debate whether to struggle.
“No,” Connor said. “I’m taking charge of you.”
This really made Henri wriggle in his hold. “I’m your superior.”
“You are,” Connor agreed. “And you’ve made it clear what you want from me.”
“Have I? Have I truly?”
Connor was taller than the djinni. He hauled him up, kissed him with brutal intensity, and thrust him back again abruptly. He’d barely had time to enjoy the kiss himself, but Henri blinked rapidly at the contemptuous treatment, his swollen pupils as black as the midnight sky. His narrow, clean-shaven jaw hung open in amazement.
“You need to be disciplined,” Connor said. “Have you instruments here for that?”
“Have you the boldness to use them?” Henri had to gasp the question; he was so excited.
By way of answering, Connor grinned wolfishly.
“Release me,” Henri said, “and I’ll bring them to you.”
Connor shook Henri once before releasing his grip on the djinni’s arms. “See that you don’t dally.”
Henri flashed white straight teeth. He walked away like a woman with his hips swaying gracefully. Connor didn’t mind watching that. The attractiveness of the djinni’s body transcended his gender. He stopped in front of a panel in the blue and silver brocaded wall. Pressing his fingertips to the molding, he murmured a nonsense word. A hidden compartment sprang open.
“This is my favorite toy,” he said.
What he drew out didn’t look like a toy to Connor. The six-foot braided leather bullwhip culminated in a handle resembling an erect cock. The popper at the other end, which Connor understood intensified the whip’s cracking noise, was a multi-tailed plaiting of silver cord.
“You’ve seen one of these before,” Henri concluded.
“I’ve come across them in junk shops,” he answered without thinking.
The magical translator must have supplied an appropriate term. Henri’s lips curved slyly. “Ever use one?”
Connor met his glittering navy gaze. “Not on a person. They’d do too much damage.”
“Only temporarily. A single shift to smoke form would erase every drop of blood.”
“Blood implies broken skin.”
Henri brought the braided coil to his mouth. With a sensual shiver, he bit the stiff leather. Connor discarded his previous plan of offering him a safe word. Advisable though this would have been, playing safe definitely wasn’t what the regent was asking for. The question was, could Connor keep him safe unilaterally? If Henri was this into pain, could he be trusted to change form soon enough? For that matter, could Connor bring himself to inflict real damage? He liked flirting with control and force. Hurting people in a serious way wasn’t his preference.
Henri frowned at his hesitation. “If you’re afraid I’ll turn on you for harming me . . .”
Connor was afraid he wouldn’t. Admitting that seemed apt to spoil Henri’s fantasy.
“Give me the whip,” he said, extending his arm for it.
Henri licked his lip and complied.
Connor stroked the tool while considering his surroundings. Though the room wasn’t large, it was big enough to snap out the tail full length. The silver thrones in the chamber’s center were the only furniture. He surmised they held symbolic weight for the regent—the same as they would for anyone.
“Banish your clothes,” Connor ordered. “Place one knee on the seat of each throne with your back to me.”
Henri studied him. “You don’t want to make love first?”
“Why waste time?” Connor countered coolly. “You and I both know what you’re most interested in.”
Whether this was true or not, the djinni responded to being addressed derisively. He wet his lips again. “What if I want to watch you while you whip me?”
“If you do what I say, perhaps I’ll permit you to turn around.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then this ends before it begins.”
Henri shuddered. The bulging crotch of his tight silk breeches was X-rated.
“Clothes,” Connor commanded with a snap of two fingers.
Henri gasped a word that sent them away. His naked body was pale but beautiful. Broad of shoulder and lean of hip, his shape was like an Egyptian statue. Statues didn’t breathe, or course, raggedly or otherwise. Average in size but violently erect, Henri’s cock rose from a small cloud of yellow curls. Connor’s concerns aside, the throb of that engorged spike thrilled him. The regents’ balls were drawn up, not even a handful in their current condition.
“Turn,” Connor said before the djinni’s excitement could distract him. “Kneel up across the thrones as I instructed.”
“You should forbid me to come on Eleanor’s side.”
Connor caused the whip to ripple out and crack. As he’d intended, the sharp sound made Henri jerk. “I shall order you to come only there, you idiot. As I told you, I am in charge.”
“Yes, master.” Sweat glittered on Henri’s hunched shoulders, one drop rolling down his spine to his tightly clenched buttocks. “Your wish is my command.”
Connor knew better than to believe that. Henri would obey as long as he was ordered to do what he secretly craved. The regent’s particular choice of words made him glad Georgie’s origins were unknown . . . and that she wasn’t here. A human would have fit the djinni’s submission fantasies too well.
Pushing that aside, Connor addressed the situation in front of him. He hadn’t reached out to his more angelic half in a while, but he felt a need to now. He wanted to protect the djinni but also fulfill his and Georgie’s goal of helping Iksander. He stilled his mind and prayed for guidance. Be in me, he thought. Strengthen the mercy and the wisdom we both received from our creator.
He knew the instant his request was granted. His skull suddenly felt lighter, his blood and body quieting. No voice relayed divine instruction. Connor didn’t need one to. He simply trusted he’d follow the nudges he was given.
“All right,” he warned the quivering, aroused royal. “Brace yourself for my discipline.”
~
STUCK IN THEIR ROOMS for the present, Georgie and Iksander kept busy. They washed their personal garments in the tub, drew a best-guess diagram of the palace complex, and carefully deactivated the emotion skimmers in their gift clothes. Devising a spell to make whoever emptied the devices think they were functioning occupied them for no small while. When they finished, Georgie resumed fretting.
“Connor will be fine,” Iksander soothed. “He’s intuitive and resourceful—maybe more than you give him credit for.”
Though he had a point, Georgie pinched her lower lip.
“He likes pleasing people,” she blurted. “What if Henri sucks him down some path he regrets? Or what if he defies an order and gets tossed back into a cell?”
“If that happens, we’ll be the first to know. We’re too liable to be tossed too.”
“That’s not funny!”
They’d been working cross-legged, side-by-side on the rug in the sitting room. Iksander patted her nearer knee. “Can’t you sense he’s all right? The bond between you seems strong enough.”
“Maybe,” Georgie admitted grumpily. “But sensing isn’t the same as being sure.”
Iksander laughed and rubbed her back. The caress did calm her. She shook herself and touched his arm in thanks.
The sudden kindling of his eyes was a different sort of distraction.
The suite’s door opened before she could respond to it. Connor was back. Georgie leaped up to greet him.
“You’re here,” she said, hugging him happily. “Thank goodness.”
He hugged her in return, his cheek rubbing hers, his arms strong and warm. “I’m here. In one piece and everything.”
She pushed back, startled by his darker than normal tone. “What’s wrong? What happened with Henri?”
Connor’s face twisted ruefully. “Let’s say I found the limit of how much force I like to exert.”
“I thought that would be the way he bent,” Iksander said.
Connor released Georgie, his hands rising to scrub his face. Georgie touched him worriedly.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I just don’t want to do that again. Unless I have to. Better I deal with him than you.”
“Sit,” Iksander said. “I’ll bring you a glass of water. You can share what transpired.”
Connor chose a chair with a footstool on which Georgie could sit and face him. He didn’t miss her anxious expression. “I’m not in any trouble. I did everything Henri hoped and more. In truth, I’d say my ruthlessness dazzled him.”
Iksander handed him the water. “What did he want you to do?”
“Whip him until he bled.”
“Jesus,” Georgie said.
Connor drank and set down the glass. “I can’t condemn him for that. Sometimes created beings desire extreme things. Henri wanted to weep with pain. That, as it turned out, required a severe lashing. My main fear was that he wouldn’t shift into his smoke form and heal in time. Luckily, he possesses sufficient sanity.”
Georgie covered his hand with hers. “You can’t have enjoyed hurting him.”
“Not that much, no. Some things about the situation, though . . .” Connor wagged his head slowly. “My body found them arousing.”
Iksander stood beside Connor’s chair. At this confession, he dropped his hand to the other man’s shoulder. “If you won’t condemn him, you shouldn’t condemn yourself.”
“I don’t know that I am.”
“Your manner says you are. I understand what it is to want things—and do things—others disapprove of. For a human, Henri’s predilection would be . . . impractical, at the least. For a djinni, it’s not unheard of. I like a bit of force and pain in bed. Other things, too, that humans can’t do at all.”
He was striving to say this nonchalantly. The blood that darkened his cheeks undercut his delivery. For him, this was more a confession than a statement.
Connor came to the same conclusion. His breath caught in his throat, his gaze searching Iksander’s. “You wouldn’t want me to open you to the bone.”
“No,” Iksander said. “Possibly, the amount of force and pain I like is just what you prefer to give.”
“That would be providential.”
“It would,” Iksander agreed softly.
“The smoke thing,” Georgie said, the knowledge popping into her mind. “Having sex while you’re in your smoke form. That’s the other thing you like that humans can’t do at all.”
Iksander gaped at her, astonished.
“I, uh, read about it in the Daily Demon Mirror. The library gargoyle Ishmael subscribed. There was a gossipy article about you, um, walking on the wild side after you thought your wife betrayed you. I wondered if maybe you were thinking about . . . doing that when you flew me over Prospekt Primary School.”
“I . . . see,” Iksander said. Despite bringing this up himself, he didn’t seem comfortable with her having guessed.
“Is having sex in your other form really considered deviant?”
This question came from Connor. Iksander cleared his throat. “Among highborn djinn it is. I suppose the possibility that it could be done without the other person’s consent—or even knowledge—makes it scandalous. Succubus demons go in for things like that. No light djinni wants to behave like an ifrit.”
Unless they did, Georgie thought. Unless they secretly, like a whole lot did.
Iksander wasn’t ready to discuss that. He changed the topic back to Connor and the regent. “Where did you and Henri leave matters?”
Connor rubbed his chair’s scrolled arms. “Before I answer that, I should tell you what I accidentally overheard Henri’s minister say. As you suspected, the regents sent scouts to check on conditions in your city. The minister reported no other nations have showed up yet, and consequently they have no rivals for claiming spoils. Henri was annoyed they haven’t found Luna’s body. He and Eleanor want to hold a funeral before they celebrate being crowned emperor and empress.”
“Assuming they are,” Georgie said.
“Henri mentioned the district lords might try to throw a wrench in their confirmation.”
“They’d have to do more than try,” Iksander put in resignedly. “Those two may seem dodgy to us, but they’re popular enough. Plus, they’re Luna’s choice to hold down the fort. Along with their lineage, that counts for a lot. Djinn who dislike the Villeneuves still admire her. Luna was powerful and smart and rose from humble origins. Whether they should or not, many in this city consider her one of them.”
“Sometimes people are idiots,” Georgie said. “Luna didn’t give a damn about anyone but herself.”
“Yes, well, people’s idiocy aside, it’s good to have confirmation there’s a functioning means of travel between this city and mine. The minister specifically mentioned a portal?”
“He did,” Connor said. “He offered to send a larger search party through if Henri would approve the expenditure. Henri said he didn’t want to unless he absolutely had to, but he’d talk it over with Eleanor.”
“His reluctance could imply awareness of the link between Hodensk’s amped-up power and the demon cloud.”
“About that.” Connor reached into his shirt to pull an unfamiliar chain over his head and off. A golden disk the size of a quarter hung from the links like an oversized saint medal. “Henri gave me this after he had his fill of me whipping him. He told me I was a treasure and ought to be protected. He had a supply of these in the compartment where he’d hidden his favorite toys. He instructed me to keep it on my person, preferably where Eleanor wouldn’t notice.”
Iksander took the medal, turned it back and forth, then returned it to Connor’s palm. “The pattern looks familiar.”
“We’ve seen it recently,” Connor said.
He recognized what it was, or he couldn’t have sounded so sardonic.
Georgie leaned in to see. “That’s the seal Luna put on the tunnel hatch, the ‘nothing in, nothing out’ spell that keeps the demon from escaping. If Henri gave it to you . . .” She trailed off and stared at Connor in mounting shock.
“They do know,” Connor said. “Exactly what’s causing the cloud to grow and exactly how to steer it away from their favorites. The regents will never have to pay the price Paulette and others did. They’ll just keep putting everyone else at risk.”
His fist curled around the coin.
“If Luna made those,” Georgie said, trying to think the angles through, “there might be a limited supply. They’ll have to pick and choose who they give them to.”
“What they’re doing is wrong!” Connor said, more upset than Georgie had ever seen him. “I feel dirty just holding this.”
Iksander chafed his shoulder. “You’re not that, my friend, though I’m afraid you do need to hold onto it. Henri will think you’re rejecting him if you don’t.”
“I won’t wear it,” Connor said stubbornly. “Not here at least. If you’re not inoculated, I shouldn’t be either.”
Iksander smiled, his hand sliding up to caress Connor’s neck. “I certainly misjudged your nature when I met you.” His fond gaze shifted to Georgie. “Both your natures.”
As easy as that, happiness expanded inside of her. She touched Connor’s leg, and he dropped his hand over hers. That sent even more pleasure through her veins. How strange it was that these circumstances could lead to personal joy. Maybe, like Connor, she ought to feel guilty. She just couldn’t manage to.
“We forgive you,” she teased Iksander. “As long as you promise you won’t misjudge us again.”
~
IKSANDER DIDN’T KNOW what would have happened next. Maybe they’d have shared what humans called a group hug. He’d have enjoyed that, he thought, but a knock on the door redirected their attention. Georgie went to open it.
The same elegant female servant who’d come the other times stood there. She held fresh wrapped packages of gift clothes.
“Felicitations,” she said, handing the bundles to Georgie. “The three of you are receiving a great honor. Her Most Gracious Majesty has invited you to attend tonight’s banquet at table. She sent these clothes to ensure your attire is appropriate.”
“Her Gracious Majesty,” Georgie repeated.
“My speech is audible,” the djinniya replied tartly.
“Of course,” Georgie said. “Thank you for bringing these. Is there anything else we need to know?”
“Don’t be late,” she said and left.
“Hm,” Georgie hummed, pushing the door shut again with her hip. “Attending ‘at table’ suggests we’ll be eating. If the invitation had come from Henri, I’d say we have Connor to thank for that.”
“I expect he’s still the reason,” Iksander said. “When we see who’s wearing what from those bundles, we’ll know for sure.”
His prediction was correct. Though all three outfits represented the next rung up on the ladder of court prestige, Connor’s costume was by far the most lavish. Pearls and sapphires and stiff gold thread swirled over it. Lace fountained not just at his neck and cuffs but also from the tops of his heeled musketeer-style boots.
“Crap,” Connor said, his hands flying to his skull. Eleanor must have liked his hair in long corkscrews. The magic had returned them to him again.
Fighting a smile, Georgie pointed to his face. “You have a beauty mark on your right cheekbone. It’s a red velvet heart.”
“Damn it,” Connor huffed. “This is uncomfortable.”
Iksander took in his gilded appearance. “I’ll give Eleanor this: she knows what you can carry off. Any male a pinch less magnificent would look ridiculous.”
Connor frowned and ran his finger around his lace-swathed neck. “You think I’m magnificent?”
“Very,” Iksander confirmed. “Between you and Georgie, my senses are awash.”
Georgie laughed. “You’re never at a loss for a good compliment.”
“I mean it!” he said.
She hugged his waist and kissed him, which he liked very much. “You’re magnificent too. Even with a thousand less pearls than him.” She considered her own plunging décolleté. Her beauty patch was simply black. Despite its plainness, the creamy mounds of her breasts weren’t any less lickable. “I hope these clothes have magical spill repellants. If they don’t, being allowed to eat could be hazardous.”
A gong rang distantly in the corridor, their signal to proceed to the banquet hall.
Once there, they learned Connor had made even more of an impression on the female regent than they supposed. They were seated within roll-tossing distance of the U-shaped table’s head, where Henri and Eleanor presided in glittery gold-on-gold splendor. Tonight, they wore stiff accordion ruffs around their necks, creating the interesting and probably unintentional appearance that their pretty heads were served up on plates.
Iksander managed to hide his smile at the thought. Glancing up, he noted with some surprise that most of the binoculars in the gallery were aimed at him and his companions. Was there presence “at table” truly so singular?
“Good Lord,” a woman murmured in annoyance a few seats farther down than them. “Do they even know which fork to use?”
Ah, he thought. He’d forgotten their cover identity branded them as non-aristocrats. He and his friends were upstart provincials. He could cue Georgie and Connor through tonight’s rituals, but perhaps a fumble or two would be authentic. Georgie settled the question by spearing a potato a tad too firmly with her meat knife.
She ate the thing from the tip like a peasant would.
It was hard not to laugh at that—especially when the woman who’d spoken shrank back and gasped at her. Georgie’s expression was serene, her handling of the knife impossible not to take as a warning that she could use the implement for other purposes than eating. Iksander concluded he needn’t worry about her feelings being delicate.
Seated on Iksander’s other side, Connor seemed to have missed the exchange.
“Well,” he commented quietly, “that’s one way to avoid spilling.”
Iksander followed the angel’s gaze to the head table. The regents’ ruffs presented a greater challenge to eating than other people’s lace. They worked around this by magically floating their laden forks to their rosebud mouths.
Perhaps because he’d been watching for it, Connor’s attention caught Henri’s. The regent’s dark eyes smoldered, his tongue curling out to give his fork more of a licking than it required. This caught his sister’s notice. She jerked her head back and glowered. Her concentration must have faltered with the rise of her emotion. Her fork clattered to her plate, splashing sauce onto her bodice along the way.
“Darling,” her brother exclaimed sweetly. “How unfortunate. Allow me to assist you.” He charged his napkin to blot away the stain. That done, he held a languid hand to a server to replace the dirtied cloth. Two rushed forward, one to help him and one to straighten Eleanor’s slightly disarranged place setting.
It was then Iksander realized he’d seen the plates before. They bore a hand-painted scene of the Glorious City’s harbor, with the golden domes of the white-walled palace surmounting the highest hill. They’d been a gift to Iksander’s father. Friendship plates, he’d called them—not for the grandest meals but those shared with intimates. The first time he and Iksander broke bread on them was the first he felt his father saw him as an adult. For a while, after his father died, he put them away. When he was ready, the memories they brought back to him comforted. In the entire djinn dimension, four of those plates existed.
The only explanation for Henri and Eleanor having them was that they were looted.
Did eating off plunder thrill them? But maybe the plates were simply a few more trinkets they’d taken but not paid for. Iksander doubted they cared about conquering his city like Luna had. The empress had burned with a thwarted and very personal ambition. Compared to her, Henri and Eleanor were children. They wanted to sit atop the heap, pretending everyone adored them while they controlled all the toys. Who the credit belonged to for winning prizes wouldn’t matter a jot to them.
His clothing prickled as if electrified. Though he and Georgie had neutralized the emotion skimmers, the hidden spells were trying to reawaken and draw off energy. He should calm himself, be like Connor and see the silver lining behind adversity.
Spinning gold from straw would have been easier. His hand tightened on his meat fork, temper causing the metal to bend slightly.
Aware he was close to snapping, he scraped his chair back and rose. Georgie and Connor both turned startled heads to him. He squeezed their shoulders then offered the room a bow. Without a word, he strode from the hall with his palm flattened to his stomach. Hopefully, his abrupt departure would be blamed on digestive disturbance.
Though no one stopped him, a single black-garbed guard peeled off from the group near the door to follow at a discreet distance. The reminder he wasn’t free to wander didn’t reduce his wrath. Molars grinding, he continued around a corner to the Hall of Mirrors. Judging this was as far as his leash would stretch, he forced himself to halt at one of the bright windows. The sun that glistered above the courtyard was a symbol of his constrained position. No matter who’d created it, the regents commanded a lot of power. He’d do better to remember they held the leashes here.
He closed his eyes, his arms braced straight on the cool stone frame. Breathe, Iksander, he ordered. People are counting on you. You need to keep it together.
“Sir?” said a surprisingly kind male voice. “Do you require assistance?”
It was the guard in the black uniform. Older than Iksander, his weathered features said he was real security, the sort who’d seen fighting and didn’t make light of it. Not for this djinni the rabid loyalty that led his comrades to kill Lord Moore. If he’d been wearing Iksander’s colors, he’d have passed as one of his men with no trouble.
“I believe a . . . potato disagreed with me,” Iksander said.
“I can take you to the health center. Perhaps one of their teas would help.”
Iksander smiled gently and shook his head. “The walk has restored me, but thank you. My main regret is disrupting the regents’ meal.”
“They do put on a show.” The guard wasn’t being critical, just making a statement. “Hopefully you’ll be invited again. For now, why don’t I escort you to your room?”
Iksander understood this wasn’t a request. Resigned, he bent his neck in thanks.
The djinni didn’t ask his name or where he was billeted. Side by side, at a measured pace, they proceeded along the sparkling mirrored hall. The guard’s golden buttons flashed on his uniform. Something in his demeanor—beyond his professionalism—touched Iksander with homesickness.
His steps faltered as his brain caught up with the sensation. The guard’s demeanor wasn’t all that reminded him of home. He smelled like Iksander’s city—like seaside air and spices, like blooming flowers and sun-warmed stone.
“You’ve been there,” he blurted.
“Excuse me?” inquired the guard.
He’d been looking for Luna’s body . . . or scouting for treasure. A steady man like him would have been trusted with either task. Again, the guard’s buttons winked, as if trying to burn off the sluggishness in Iksander’s mind. Luna’s sun was so bright its reflections stung.
Her sun.
Her magical, super-charged, designed-to-impress sun.
Awareness dawned. It was the royal portal, hidden in plain sight. He’d never encountered one so large, but Luna’s city possessed the power to charge a big one.
More than power tingled across his scalp.
“Forgive me,” he said, noting the guard’s raised eyebrows. Please God he wasn’t able to read his expression. “I meant you know which room to return me to.”
“Of course,” said the guard. “Senior staff stay apprised of important guests.”
Iksander didn’t argue the regents’ take on the guest concept. He was too grateful the guard relaxed.