Everyone but Logan and Magda drifted away on their own errands. We went through several rooms, each more decadent than the last. One was decorated in red silk and velvet with gilded framed paintings on the wal . Logan made a face.

“Lady Natasha’s tastes weren’t exactly subtle,” he said. “But we’re keeping the paintings and we’ve started adding more.

They’re a lineage of ancient kings and queens and whatever.” There were dozens of portraits, framed and unframed, mostly oil but some watercolors and ink drawings. There were a few photographs near the end of the line. It was like being in a museum. I recognized some of the faces from legend and stories Kala had told us: the Amrita family, the Joiik family, Sebastian Cowan, who’d loved a hunter in the nineteenth century.

“That one’s Veronique DuBois, our matriarch.” Logan pointed to a smal painting of a very dignified-looking woman in a medieval dress and wimple.

“Finn is drawing one of Kala,” Magda added proudly, not to be outdone.

But I wasn’t listening anymore.

On the end of the lowest row was an unframed oil painting of a familiar face. I knew the short black hair, the pale gray eyes, the smug smirk.

Philip Marshal , Earl of Greyhaven.

I took a step closer, feeling distant from everything except that face, as if I were underwater. The paint was stil moist in one corner, gleaming wetly. This portrait had been done recently, hung before it was ful y dried and cured.

I didn’t know what to think of that. I felt my lips lift off my elongated fangs, felt a growl rumble in my chest. At first I thought it was Charlemagne. It took me a moment to realize the pained sound was coming from me. I curled my hands into fists, wil ed myself not to explode.

“Isabeau?” Logan stepped closer, concerned. “What is it?” Magda insinuated herself between us, forcibly pushing Logan out of the way. “I’l take care of her,” she told him darkly, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, barely recognizing my own voice. It was hoarse, but soft as water. I forced myself to turn my back on the wal of portraits, even though I felt Greyhaven’s painted eyes boring into the back of my neck. I needed time to think. It was obvious to me, even without the warm tingle of the amulets around my throat, that something was going on.

“Let’s go,” I said, refusing to meet either of their gazes.

CHAPTER 9

LOGAN

I led Isabeau toward the antechamber my parents had reserved for private meetings. She seemed paler, her fingers tightening in her dog’s gray fur, as if searching for comfort. I didn’t think she even knew she was doing it. But I’d noticed. Something in that portrait gal ery had spooked her. But I knew however many times I asked her, she wouldn’t answer me.

So I’d bide my time.

For now it was enough to deal with the image of Solange making out with Kieran in a dark corner of the hal , where they thought no one could see them. Between Solange and her hunter and Nicholas kissing Lucy, Isabeau was going to think we did nothing but grope and flirt.

Which sounded just fine to me, but I didn’t think she’d oblige.

“Dude,” I snapped as Kieran’s hand strayed under the hem of Solange’s shirt. The cast on his arm was sharply white against his black clothes. The fact that he’d hurt that arm saving Solange was the only reason I wasn’t currently yanking him right off her. “That’s my sister.”

Solange peered over Kieran’s shoulder. “Go away, Logan.

You’re just jealous because you have no one to kiss. Hi, Isabeau.”

I could kil her. She was just getting me back for the princess comment from the night before. And Isabeau would scare easier than a doe in hunting season if she thought for one second I wanted to feel her lips under mine. I narrowed my eyes warningly at Solange. “Shouldn’t you be at the meeting?” Kieran pul ed away, having the grace to flush just a little. I didn’t like the tempo of his heartbeat, or the direction his blood was flowing. “I have to wait for my friend Hunter,” he said. “This is her first time in vampire territory and I promised I wouldn’t go in without her.”

Solange kissed him one more time just to annoy me, and then went to the antechamber.

“I begged Mom and Dad for a cat,” I muttered at her back.

She tossed me a grin over her shoulder, hearing me perfectly, as I’d intended. I grinned back.

“Helios-Ra real y are al owed in the royal caves,” Isabeau murmured as we trailed after Solange. She and Kieran gave each other a wide berth.

“It’s crazy.” Magda shook her head.

I shrugged one shoulder. “My parents want to do things differently. Dad’s big on treaties.”

“And your mother?” Isabeau inquired.

“She’s big on making grown men cry,” I replied dryly.

Isabeau’s smile was brief and crooked and practical y had me drooling. “I like her already,” she said. She let go of Charlemagne. “I could use a moment,” she said softly. “Are we expected right away?”

expected right away?”

I glanced at the pocket watch hanging from my black jeans.

“We have a good half hour. I just said that about the meeting to get Kieran off my sister’s face.”

“Are they betrothed?”

I nearly choked. “I sure as hel hope not. They’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.”

“Ah.” She and Magda exchanged a girly glance I had absolutely no desire to decipher. I decided to pretend I hadn’t even seen it.