a chair that aspires to be a throne, Muriel in her customary place at her right shoulder. Sienna lounges on a fainting chair, her head on David’s thick thigh, reading a book on some kind of theoretical physics, as if we weren’t just about to sit down to dinner.
Gaeton and I exchange a look and he drops to sprawl on the empty couch to the other side of Cordelia’s chair, pulling Isabelle down to tuck against his side. If shit gets heavy, he’ll use his body as a shield to protect her. I move around to stand behind the couch, close to the metal lamp that can be used as a weapon in a pinch. I’d prefer guns, but we both knew better than to show up armed to this meeting.
We don’t have to wait long.
The same frazzled man from before enters the room and stands aside to hold the door. I’m not exactly surprised to see Ursa come through the door next, but I honestly expected her to wait longer to make her move. She’s got her hair piled in a crown on her head and she’s wearing golden gown that shimmers as she walks. She looks around the room. “Good, everyone is here.” A glance at the man. “You can leave.”
Cordelia arches a brow. “Don’t give my people orders, Ursa. It’s rude.” She sounds cold and perfectly in control, the nerves I glimpsed earlier nowhere in evidence.
“I’m sorry, darling.” Ursa laughs. “I’m so used to being in charge. I’m sure you understand.”
“All the same.”
“Hmmm, yes. Of course.” Her attention lands on Isabelle and then slowly moves to Gaeton before settling on me. “I see the three of you have made things official. Congratulations.”
I tense. This is no meeting of congratulations, not when we were teetering on the brink of war before the three of us got our shit together. Not when we’re still teetering on the brink of war. This isn’t my show, though. It’s Cordelia’s, and I have to keep my fucking mouth shut and let her run this.
With that in mind, I lean down and grip both Isabelle and Gaeton’s shoulders. I might have the control to stay silent, but if Gaeton lets her rile him, this will be all over.
Ursa clocks the move and her red lips curl. “Cute.”
“Ursa.” Cordelia doesn’t shift, doesn’t seem to so much as breathe. “I intended to save this for an official meeting, but since you’re here, now is as good a time as any.”
“You want me to cease and desist with our little border skirmish.”
Border skirmish?
The gall of this woman. I might be impressed if she wasn’t threatening the very people I care most about in this world.
“It’s a waste of time and resources. You must know you can’t win.”
Again, Ursa’s gaze glances on the three of us. “A woman can dream.” She flicks fingertips with nails as red as her lips. “Ah well, not every plan comes to fruition. I am willing to, as you put it, cease and desist. For a price.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I don’t realize I’ve spoken until Isabelle’s hand covers mine and she squeezes my wrist. Hard.
Cordelia flashes me a look and then refocuses on Ursa. “I’m listening.”
“I have business with Olympus, which is troubling because I’m no longer welcome within the city limits.” She shrugs. “I’m sure you understand.”
“Explain it to me.”
“There is a girl there, an unfortunate soul if you would like to put it that way, who is in desperate need of my assistance. I require her.”
Now it’s Isabelle’s turn to tense. “We are not going to kidnap some girl from Olympus for you.”
Cordelia looks like she wants to strangle her youngest sister, but manages to get herself under control before Ursa looks back at her. “We have no issue with Olympus, and I fully intend to keep it that way. What my sister says stands.”
“I’m not in the business of stealing princesses.” Her smile doesn’t dim in the slightest, as if we’ve amused her. “I simply need a message delivered. I can’t send my people for obvious reasons.”
“Then send a text. An email. A goddamn letter. I don’t see why you need my people to play messenger.”
Ursa sighs. “It needs to be in person. She’s under lock and key so the normal modes of contact won’t work.” She looks at Isabelle. “She will, however, take you as a visitor.”
“No.” Again, I don’t mean to speak.
Gaeton’s protest echoes mine. “Fuck that.”
Ursa ignores us both. “Orsino’s precious youngest daughter. You’ve