“Why do you think?” London’s fangs were out, not because she was angry— she was always angry— but because she refused to be anything but what she was. She sneered at Lucy. It was a constant source of irritation that Lucy was mostly immune to her pheromones. “That has to stay here.” London didn’t approve of Lucy, never had. She thought mortals were too fragile for friendship, for the strength required to carry our secret. And she hated that she’d been every bit as mortal as Lucy before she was turned three years ago.

“As if I want to hang around you for a single second longer than absolutely necessary,” Lucy snapped. I knew she was lying; she’d been desperate to get a look at Veronique for years now. Under the bravado and temper she was disappointed.

Her pulse must have sped up, because London smirked. Nicholas licked his lips.

Marcus whistled between his teeth. “Bad luck, Sol. Veronique’s terrifying.” Lucy stomped on his foot. “You’re not helping.”

“Why’d she send you?” Quinn frowned at London. “You’re still one of Lady Natasha’s ladies-in-waiting, aren’t you?”

She nodded stiffly. Her divided loyalties were a sore spot with everyone. “I serve Veronique first, like everyone else in our family.”

“That doesn’t explain why she sent you.”

“Because Veronique isn’t the only one who’s summoned Solange. Lady Natasha has too. Once Veronique heard Solange was being called to the royal court, she wanted the first visit.”

“Crap.” My eyes widened. “Both of them? Tonight?”

“Solange can’t go now,” Nicholas said. “It isn’t safe.” London quirked an eyebrow. “You know as well as I do that it isn’t a request. Just be grateful I was already in the area so Lady Nastasha didn’t need to send one of her Araksaka boys.” The Araksaka were feared. Every single one of them wore Lady Natasha’s royal tattoo on their faces. They were her private army and answered only to her. Ever. And they were utterly ruthless about it; not only killing but torturing as well.

“Hell,” Quinn muttered.

“Fine.” I wiped my hands off on my pants. “Let’s get this over with.” London shook her head. “You are not going dressed like that.” I blinked down at my T-shirt and cargos, which only had one smear of dried clay on the cuff. “You’d be laughed out of the Hall. And Lady Natasha’d be insulted, having granted you a temporary reprieve from exile. Not to mention what Veronique would do.”

“Shouldn’t have exiled the Drakes in the first place,” Lucy muttered.

“She had to, because of the prophecy. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Give me a break.” Lucy visibly bristled at the disdain in London’s voice. “I probably know more about your own history than you do. The prophecy was recorded during the reign of Henry the Eighth, after he cut off Anne Boleyn’s head.

Some old madwoman in Scotland went into a trance and babbled about a blood-born Drake woman ruling over the tribes, and when Solange was born you all freaked out about it, including Lady Natasha.” She looked proud of herself. “See? I totally get it.

Although, I don’t get why she’s not Queen Natasha instead of Lady Natasha?

Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

“She hasn’t had a coronation,” Logan explained. “She’s technically not queen, because we technically don’t have queens. We have autonomous tribes and civil wars and a love of tradition.”

“So what’s the big deal about Solange stealing her crown then? If it’s all semantics?”

“The tribes are letting Lady Natasha play queen because she used to be part of the Host and she knows their ways. And she claimed power back in the twenties, before any of us were even born and a Drake daughter wasn’t even an issue. Drake women were discouraged from court but not outright exiled until Solange was born.”

“She sounds like a piece of work.”

“She’s the first to have ties strong enough even to hope to rule. She’s kind of our best bet if we want to stop all the infighting and control the Hel-Blar. ”

“Until Solange,” Nicholas added grimly.

“Exactly.” Logan nodded. “Half the courts would defect to Solange if given the chance. Natasha might be our best bet, but she’s also a power-hungry cow and still totally obsessed with Montmartre. Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t want her stupid crown,” I muttered. I hated all this talk of prophecies and politics. As if I even wanted to be queen.

“Why didn’t she exile you too?” Lucy asked London.

“I’m not really a Drake.” London looked annoyed at having to answer the question.

“Are so.” I frowned at her. She just shrugged.

“It’s different for me. Anyway, you should be grateful for the exile. She could have just had Solange killed at birth, you know.”

“And make her a martyr?” Connor asked. “Or draw Veronique out and have to deal with her wrath? Or have it look as if she might not believe herself to be the rightful queen after all?”

“She is the rightful queen,” London insisted. She turned to me. “But you’re the only Drake daughter born, not made.”

“I know what I am, London.”

“Well, then. Start looking the part.”

“So now it’s a fashion show, too?” I grumbled, following London and Lucy to my room. London went straight to my closet, made a face.