Thorn Queen Page 0,99

"Leather armor? Red shirts?"

"That's how soldiers dress, isn't it? Well, maybe not the red shirt. Depends on who they work for, I guess. I don't remember the color."

"Does it happen a lot?" I asked, recalling past thoughts about the similarities between the two of us. "Are guys coming after you a lot to...you know..."

"Get me pregnant? Yeah, sometimes." There was a sad look in her eyes, a very vulnerable one.

"But...you don't always give in..."

"Jesus Christ, Eugenie. I won't sleep with anyone. What kind of a slut do you think I am?"

A considerable one, actually. But I didn't say so, and I wondered if she'd ever been raped. "Sorry. You just seem so anxious to have that baby."

"Yeah, well, not with just anyone. And certainly not through rape." She held her head up, a fierce look in her eyes. "No one does that to Storm King's daughter. It's an insult to our father's awesomeness." Try as she might to deny her heritage, only the human part of her could have pulled up "awesomeness" to refer to a tyrannical fairy warlord.

"You know I don't quite share the same regard for him that you do."

"I know," she said. "Which is why you have such bad taste in men. You wouldn't catch me sleeping with a kitsune. I need someone worthy...like Aeson."

I started to argue again that Aeson had been a despotic asshole but knew logic and love rarely worked together-particularly if my own life was any indication. I was saved from further commentary when a coldness settled into the room and Volusian appeared.

"Fuck," said Jasmine. Man, did she have a mouth on her.

I stood up, crossing my arms and trying to look imposing. It was a common attitude I kept around Volusian so there would be no question of my control. "Did you go to Art's house?"

"Yes, mistress."

"And? Did you find anything?"

"No, mistress. I could not enter."

"What do you mean? Did he invite you out back for beer too?"

Volusian didn't blink. "The house was warded."

"The house was warded," I repeatedly flatly. "And you couldn't cross it?"

"They'd have to be some serious wards if he couldn't," said Jasmine.

"Thanks, Little Miss Stating the Obvious." I racked my brain, thinking of the local witch network. I didn't know them well enough, not like I knew the shamans. "Where the hell would he find someone that strong?"

"The wards were not the usual type found in the human world. They were laced with magic from this world as well," continued Volusian.

"What? How would Art get gentry help to lay wards-especially if he's abducting them?"

"Maybe he put a gun to their head," said Jasmine, in a fair imitation of my own dry tone. Another family trait, perhaps.

"I've got to get into that house," I muttered. "I guess that's gotta wait like everything else, though. Well, thanks for trying, Volusian."

"I neither require nor desire your gratitude, mistress. I want nothing in these worlds save your death."

Jasmine laughed.

"Well, I'm sure you guys'll have a great time together." I opened the door and beckoned the guards back in. With Volusian back, only two needed to be inside. "I'll see you both in the morning for demon hunting."

After that, I considered joining the others for their impromptu party but decided that would be the same as a boss crashing her employees' happy hour. Instead, I made my way to my own room but was intercepted by Girard.

"Your majesty." He swept me a bow in that flourish-filled way of his, making his cloak flare out dramatically. "I've made considerable progress on the project you requested."

"Already?" I knew he had magic for this kind of thing, but still.

He smiled. "The queen asks, and I obey."

From within the folds of his cloak, he produced a rolled-up piece of parchment, which he opened up for me. On it was a detailed diagram of a sword, and scrawled all around it were assorted technical notes about weight and composition. Those meant little to me. Mostly I noticed the sword's beauty, particularly its hilt.

"This is lovely," I said.

"I should hope so. Fit for a king."

In spite of myself, I smiled back. Dorian had left me in a miasma of emotions, but I'd been trying hard not to let that interfere with the honest favors he'd done me. And when he'd mentioned needing a new sword, I'd gotten the idea yesterday to have Girard make one. By all accounts, there were few more skilled, and his ability to touch iron made him particularly gifted.

Girard traced the line of the sword's