“No. It is not that. Not you. Not… not the prince. It is me. I am not fit for company such as this.”
Andy sniffed surreptitiously and checked the walls for any scorch marks. Through the double doors, he could see the rumpled bedclothes, and they did seem to be smoking just a tad. He’d heard that an ifrit’s… er… nocturnal emissions could be flammable, but that surely wasn’t anything for Hashim to be ashamed of. After all, most of the supernatural races had a few unusual quirks—Andy’s a case in point.
“It’s your choice not to participate, of course, but won’t you reconsider?” Andy offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’d venture to say all of the guests at the resort, not just our little group, have one or two eccentricities.”
Hashim shook his head and picked up a glowing fire gem from the coffee table, cradling it against his chest for a moment before he tossed it into his smallest suitcase. He shut the case with a decisive snap.
“No. I cannot. You and your staff….” He took a shuddering breath. “You have been nothing but kind, and I’m sure you will do what’s best for the prince. If you don’t mind, though, I would like to leave immediately.”
“Of course. I’ll call someone to escort you to the Intergate right away. If you’re sure?”
He nodded. “I am.” He bowed slightly from the waist. “It has been an honor.”
“Uh… thanks. I’m sorry you won’t be staying with us, though. The prince is a really nice person. I think you would have enjoyed your day with him.”
He smiled slightly. “Perhaps. But I believe this is for the best.”
“All right. Someone should be here to help you within ten minutes.”
Before Andy let himself out of the room, he looked back once, to see Hashim staring down at his suitcase, shoulders slumped.
Once in the hallway, he let the panic that he’d held back wash over him. Odin’s beard, three candidates down and the prince had only actually met—and rejected—one of them. At this rate, by the time the wedding rolled around, there wouldn’t be anyone left.
Except me, an insidious, hopeful voice whispered in his brain.
“Argh! Stop it.” He strode down the hallway, wrestling with the next big problem: which candidate should replace Hashim on today’s date. You didn’t just cancel on Hephaestus—not unless you wanted a lightning bolt up the butt—but the next candidate in line was the undine. Sending her into the heat of Mt. Etna was the equivalent of a death sentence. And since Margit flat-out refused to do anything more strenuous than ring for cocktails, that meant….
“Nils. Damn it to every hell and back. It has to be Nils.”
THE Enchanted Occasions staff who laid out Con’s breakfast were much too polite and discreet to mention his towering bad mood. He paced the suite, muttering curses to himself. Last night, he’d lain awake, staring at the cell phone on the bedside table, willing Rey to call. His will was singularly ineffective because the phone had remained stubbornly silent, leaving Con with nothing more than a headache and bleary eyes this morning.
He waited until the last brownie had bowed its way out the door before he collapsed onto the sofa and gave way to a good old-fashioned glower. Damn it, the least Rey could do was—
The phone shrilled, and Con tripped over his own feet scrambling off the sofa and across the room where he’d left the thing. He touched the green button. “Rey?”
“Hey, brother mine.” Rey’s cheerful voice was backed by loud music and odd whistles and bells.
“Where the hells are you? A bloody circus?”
Rey chuckled. “Sadly, no. A casino. You should try one sometime. They’re much livelier than the average state dinner and nearly as prone to periodic outbursts of hysteria.”
“Why aren’t you here? There’s less than a week until solstice, and you know I can’t stand in for you at the coronation, let alone your wedding.”
“Yes. I know, more’s the pity. You’d be a far better ruling prince than I ever would.” Rey sighed. “But we’ve still got time. And there’s something really important I need to do here before I come back. You’ll cover for me, won’t you?”
Ah, shite. Con had never been able to withstand that wheedling note in Rey’s voice. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t still angry with his flighty brother. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d slept with Kjersti?”
“Con, old boy, I’ve slept with all of them. Well, except the ifrit. I’m not that self-destructive.”
“Clearly Kjersti had expectations. Had you made any promises?”
“Hells no. None of them, no matter what they may tell you, have the least claim on me. So you can reject them all with a clear conscience.”
Con pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the screen as if it would bring Rey’s image into view. Surely Rey didn’t intend…. “What do you mean, ‘reject all of them’?”
“Exactly that. It occurred to me that if you—that is I—refuse to select any of my mother’s stellar candidates, she won’t be able to force me to get married.”
“I don’t think that’s the way it works. Whoever is the last one standing is who you’ll be stuck with, and if that’s just whoever’s at the end of the line, you might end up with somebody worse than a prior reject.”
“You’ll think of something. I have faith.”
“What? Rey—”
“I’ve got to go. Love you, Con.”
“Wait. You can’t—” But the noise cut off, leaving nothing but silence. “Damn it.” Con drew his arm back but stopped himself before he hurled the cell phone across the room. It wasn’t the phone’s fault that his brother was behaving true to form.
He poured himself a cup of tea from the magically replenished pot on the sideboard and resigned himself to another day’s imposture. At least today’s candidate didn’t have an intimate history with Rey. Con had never met an ifrit, although he’d met Hephaestus once at a reception on Mount Olympus when Rey was off at the Interstitial Cup finals. Maybe he could make it through the day with his dubious honor intact.
After a single clanking knock, Talus entered, followed by Hector, the Faerie court tailor, who had several garments draped over his arm. Hector nodded at Con.
“Good morning, Your Highness. I have your coronation robes here as well as your flame-resistant suit for today’s venture.” He offered the garments to Con. “If you would try on the coronation outfit first, Highness, we’ll get that sorted before we encase you in the volcano suit.”
“‘Encase’? That sounds ominous,” Con said as he accepted the armful of fabric.
“Well, we don’t want any accidents, do we?” Hector smiled. “Do you need any help dressing? I know you don’t have your valet with you—”
“Talus can assist me.” Con lowered his chin and gave Talus a speaking look. “We need to talk anyway.”
Con led the way into the bedroom and closed the door.
“Highness, you realize I am not qualified to help you with your clothing.”
“I know. That was just an excuse.” He tossed the clothing onto the bed. “I’ve heard from Rey.”
“He has returned, then?”
“No. He called me on that blasted cell phone. From a casino, no less.”
“Casino?”
“Yes. Apparently it involves loud music, earsplitting shrieks, and more bells than a Morris dance.”
“Ah. Much like the Midsummer Revels at the castle.”
“Somehow, I doubt there’s any similarity,” Con grumbled as his stripped off his tunic.
“I take it that His Highness is not returning immediately to take up his duties.”
“He is not. You don’t sound surprised.”
Talus blinked in a tink-tink of his metal eyelids. “I am never surprised.”
“No, of course not.”
“However, Sir Anders—”
“Andy.”
“Yes. Sir Andy has asked me to tell you that your companion for the trip to Mt. Etna today has changed. Instead of M
aster Hashim, you will be accompanied by Nils Torvaldsson, of the Brynja clan.”
Con froze halfway into the wedding tunic as anger surged through his chest. He wrestled his head through the neck with less care than the delicate satin deserved and heard an ominous rrrip. When he could see Talus’s impassive face again, instead of calming him, it set him off.
“Oak and bloody thorn, that sodding twit? Couldn’t Gloriana have chosen some decent people as prospective mates for her only son?”
“Decency is not a requirement for adequate governance.”
“Maybe not, but it would certainly benefit our people.”
“Sir Andy seems to share your opinion. He was quite flustered when I encountered him outside Master Nils’s suite. Apparently Master Nils tried to…” Talus’s forehead wrinkled. “…play grab-ass?”
Con’s anger went ice-cold. “He did what?”
“I hadn’t noticed any donkeys hereabouts, but I assume Sir Andy knows whereof he speaks.”
“That’s not what he meant.” Nils was an entitled boor, and Con already despised him based on their one previous encounter. But now he found he actively loathed the bloody bastard. He eyed the protective suit sprawled on the bed like a dragon’s discarded skin. “You know what? I’m not doing it.”
“Not doing what, Highness?”
“I’m not spending one minute with that arsehole. Not one, do you understand?”
“But Highness—”
“Tell them I refuse.”
“I’m not sure you’re allowed to do that. As part of the contract, you’re required to allow each candidate equal time.”
“He can consider his equal time disallowed for being a total prick.”
Talus scratched his head in a faint screech of metal. “I believe that will reflect poorly on Sir Andy and Lady Brooke. They are tasked with successfully implementing the terms of the contract after all.”
Shite. Con couldn’t do that to Andy. But he couldn’t stomach a day with Nils, either. “Tell them I’m sick, then. As I recall, all of the candidates succumbed to some ailment or other during the first two days.”
“Yes, but that was the result of poisoning.”
Con frowned. It wouldn’t do to cast any blame on the kitchen staff. “Tell them it’s… I don’t know… a chronic condition. Consumption. Vapors. An inflammation of the lungs. Anything.”
“Are those ailments still acknowledged?”
“I don’t care what you decide, Talus, but keep me away from Nils.” Or I might just reject him permanently. Con yanked off the wedding tunic and pulled on his Keep Portland Weird sweatshirt. “Tell Hector I’m sorry about the damage. It can just be patched, not remade. After all, Rey will only be in it one time.” Con looked up from tugging his sweatshirt over his hips to see Talus fairly vibrating, his lips stretched in a grimace. “Talus? What’s wrong?”
“You… ask me… to prevaricate. It is not just to ask Hector… to abandon his… professional pride. To claim… illness where… there is none.”
Ah. Got it. Con strode over to the distressed Iron Knight and grasped his shoulders. “Think of it more conceptually. Is it fair for Rey to expect me to cover his arse for him?”
Talus scowled. “I have never thought so.”
“Well, consider this tipping the scales of justice a little more in my favor. Will you help me?”
Talus shuddered once with a clank of all his joints. Con suspected the grinding noise he heard was the gnashing of metal molars. However, Talus nodded. “I will of course serve you to the best of my ability, Highness.”
“Excellent. Do this for me and I might consider forgiving you for calling me Highness.”
Chapter Eleven
AFTER Andy raised Smith on his headset—finally!—he waited outside Hashim’s suite and escorted the subdued ifrit to the Intergate.
“I respect your decision, of course, but I wish you’d reconsider. I think you would like the prince very much.”
Hashim shook his head, his limp hair flopping around his face. “It is not the prince. It is not you or the accommodations or even the poisoning—”
Andy winced.
“—however unfortunate. It is me. I am not worthy of such an honor. I shall no longer inflict my presence upon you.”
Andy blinked at the dramatic throb in Hashim’s voice. “That’s a little… um… okay. I truly am sorry to lose you, though.”
Hashim inclined his head. “I thank you. You have been most kind.”
They reached the door that led to the Intergate, tucked away behind the ice machine on the first floor. Andy tapped his headset. “Smith, is the portal keyed to Hashim?”
Smith grunted. Andy glanced at Hashim and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. He’s usually a little more on top of things. I think he had a rough night.”
Hashim gave a somewhat strangled laugh. “Didn’t we all?”
“Smith?” Andy kept his smile frozen in place. “The all-clear, please?”
“Go.”
Guess that’s all I’m going to get. Is everybody grumpy today? Andy opened the door to the chaotic swirl of the Intergate. “Goodbye, Hashim. I wish you the best.”
Hashim merely nodded before disappearing through the portal.
Andy sighed as he closed the door. Would anyone believe that this hadn’t been his fault? Probably not, but he really had no clue why Hashim would suddenly decide to withdraw. Had he been forced to participate by his clan sheikh? That was just wrong. Political marriages were one thing, but this was the twenty-first century. Even the most traditional realms allowed for right of refusal now.
He trotted back to the EO suite, trying to calculate whether Smith would have consumed all the bacon from the staff breakfast buffet by now. Andy was in dire need of comfort food this morning. If one more thing went wrong….
When he walked in, Smith was at his desk as usual, hunched over his keyboard, peering at his bank of monitors. Thank Freya, at least that’s back to normal. It was just wrong not to have Smith in his usual place during a booking.
Andy made a beeline to the sideboard and—score! Bacon! In fact, the chafing dish was completely full. He loaded his plate up with half a dozen slices along with kringle and some mixed berries.
“Did the kitchen staff replenish the buffet already?” he asked Smith.
“No.”
Andy hesitated with a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. “No? But….” He crept across the room to peer over the monitors. For the first time since Andy had met the half demon, Smith wasn’t eating. He didn’t even have an empty plate by his elbow, or a half-drunk cup of coffee. “Smith? Is something wrong?”
Smith shot a glance at Andy through his shaggy bangs, his eyes flashing red. “Nothing’s wrong. At least nothing more than has already bitten us on the ass.”
Oooookay. Smith wasn’t exactly sweetness and light, but he wasn’t pessimistic either. That was Forrest’s gig. Practical. That was Smith. When Andy needed help with problem-solving, Smith was his go-to guy. I guess everyone needs a little reassurance now and then.
“We’ll pull this off yet, you’ll see. We’ve still got choices for the prince. Nils isn’t exactly turning handsprings, but he’s promised to be there on time.” Even if the sleazy jerk had thought Andy owed him a little something-something on the side for his cooperation.
“That’s not—Yeah, sure, Andy. We’ve got this.” He pulled his keyboard closer and started typing, his fingers blurring in their speed. “I filed the visa changes for the Mt. Etna trip and registered Hashim’s withdrawal. Paperwork’s all up to date, with what you did last night. Sorry I wasn’t here to handle it for you.”
“Hey, no worries. You’re entitled to a break now and then, and nobody expected the dragon-doo to hit the fan with an early rejection.” He munched on a piece of bacon. “This whole gig has gone sideways from the first.”
Brooke sauntered in and picked up a plate from the stack on the sideboard. “Oh, I don’t know. I think you benefited fro
m some of the sideways shit. You got a couple of dates with a prince out of it.”
Heat rushed up Andy’s neck. “Thanks to you.”
“Exactly,” she said, loading lox onto a bagel.
“If the Queen ever finds out—”
“She won’t. And even if she does? There’s nothing in the rules that says we can’t augment the candidate pool in an emergency. I’d argue that it’s covered in the Acts of Gods, Monsters, and Apocalypses clause.”
Andy scowled at his plate, suddenly not hungry anymore, not even for bacon. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean Odin will buy that I didn’t cause it.”
“Why not? It wasn’t in your interest to disrupt the event. It’s your ass on the line as well as all of ours. It’s not as if you want the prince for yourself.”
Andy hunched his shoulders, wishing his powers extended to fading into the woodwork like Forrest, but Fate wasn’t so kind.
“Oh my gods. You do. Andy, are you kidding? You’ve fallen for a fricking prince?”
He crumbled a piece of bacon, then dumped the whole plate’s worth into the trash. “I haven’t. Mostly. I think.”
Smith tilted his chair back on its rear legs. “I’ve always said you were too fussy.”
“Me? I’m not the only person in this room who hasn’t gotten laid recently.”
Brooke pursed her lips, whistling soundlessly, and pretended to be interested in the ceiling. Smith dropped his chair back on the floor with a thump and hunched over his keyboard.
“You’re kidding. You’ve both gotten some action? When? It’s not as if we— You know what? Never mind. I really don’t want to know.”
“Come on, Andy,” Brooke wheedled, “it’s not as if we have to be celibate for this job.”
“I never said that. But….” But what? He didn’t want to let on how envious he was—not that they had had a little fun, because gods knew they deserved it. But because Andy didn’t care that he hadn’t. Now that he’d seen the prince—or rather gotten to know the prince, spent time with him, learned what books he liked to read, what made him laugh, what foods made him close his eyes and moan with bliss—Andy couldn’t imagine ever wanting anyone else again.
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