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“Highly valuable subjects,” Margaret added sharply, “created by your predecessors explicitly to protect the monarchy!”

Without the infamous werewolves of Normandy at his back, William could never have conquered the nation in 1066. Without the vampires who’d been created by King John in self-defense, the country would have been seized by the French—in tandem with his faithless barons—less than two hundred years later. The legendary supernatural artifact that had facilitated both transformations might no longer exist, but its handiwork had altered the pattern of British society forevermore.

“Understood, understood,” King Thomas said hastily. “No need for any history lectures, madam. My own mother hammered me with plenty of those when I was younger, I assure you.” Setting down his drink, he plucked impatiently at his goatee. “Besides, I’m not trying to cause any trouble. My ministers are always nattering on about how we should clamp down, appease the haters and all that rubbish, but I say, without the monsters of Britain, I wouldn’t even be here. So, how can I be expected to take a stand against them?”

Margaret’s eyes narrowed even more dangerously. “And yet, you allowed last year’s shocking new property law to pass, stealing the estates and the livelihoods from any vampire unfortunate enough not to have a living relative in residence.”

Her own husband’s Shadowcroft Manor would be lost to them forever if they spent too many months away this year. Indeed, part of her impatience with this royal summons stemmed from the fact that her precious time in the Black Forest—divided between fascinating research and the exhilarating effort of co-founding a new center for supernatural studies with the first true friends she’d ever made—was draining inexorably away with each new day that drew her closer to that painfully unjust deadline.

“Ah, but that’s all politics and well above my head, thank God. It’s not as if I were an all-powerful Habsburg emperor—I can’t choose a chancellor myself to carry out my will. Parliament and the PM are out of my hands! The only way my mother got so much accomplished in her reign was by bloody force of will and personal persuasion—and there’s no use in my making any such attempt. Just look at me!”

The king took another long sip, emptying the glass, and shook his head, his brows furrowing into a pugnacious expression. “Now, I summoned you to deal with a supernatural matter, Lady Riven, one of far more significance than petty wrangling about estates. None of us want another war, do we?”

Margaret’s eyebrows shot upwards; behind her, Lord Riven said, “We certainly do not. How may we help to prevent one?”

“Now, that’s the right question to be asking!” Setting down the empty glass, King Thomas pointed a forefinger at Margaret’s husband with vigorous approval. “I knew if I summoned you two, you’d take care of it.”

“Take care of preventing a war?” Margaret shook her head in disbelief. “Your Majesty, I’m not sure what you expect us to⁠—”

“No, listen!” Shaking his head, he spoke over her. “You two clever clogs must know why I came here in the first place, don’t you?”

“Ah...” Margaret glanced around the scandalously private dressing room. The answer seemed obvious enough, but even she wasn’t tactless enough to speak it aloud to her anointed ruler.

Lord Riven cleared his throat, rescuing her. “I take it you are referring to the ongoing Grand Exposition here in Vienna, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, yes. Showing off fabulous new technologies and art from around the world, etcetera. That’s the official reason.” King Thomas waved it away dismissively. “But the truth is, we—the crowned heads of Europe, for our sins—agreed to come here with our staff in hopes of healing the breach, as you might say, between my more hotheaded cousins, their ministers, and so forth.

“You’d think everyone would be happy enough to be left alone to enjoy themselves in peace nowadays—God knows, we’ve had more than enough bloodshed in the past decades!—but even now that the French shut down that piddling attempt at an invasion by the north German states, and the damned Habsburgs finally agreed to let go of Italy, some men just can’t be satisfied without showing the whole world that they have the biggest⁠—!

“Ah, beg pardon, Lady Riven.” Coughing, he nodded apologetically. “Got carried away there. I, ah, may need a bit more wine to clear things up.”

Amalie slipped from his grasp to fetch a bottle from one of the many side tables, and the king downed his refilled glass in a single gulp. “That’s better! Anyway, everything was going perfectly well and tediously, just as we’d expected, ’til...” His voice slowed, his brows lowering. “Well, until the first few balls took place. But now, with all those slippers, and the stories, and the music...that music...!”

For a long moment, silence filled the small room. Then he shook his head as vigorously as if he were shaking off a trance. “That’s why I need you to be there, dancing at the next few balls, before that cursed waltz can ruin everything!”

Clearly, the king had drunk far too much already. His words made very little sense, and Margaret doubted they would improve with further interrogation.

Still, some things were already crystal clear, so she let out a quiet sigh of resignation.

She wouldn’t be leaving Vienna any time soon after all.

When they finally stepped out of the opera house, more than half an hour later, Margaret tipped her head back and breathed in the fresh night air with deep relief.

They were still in the middle of a crowded city, and many horses had all too tangibly left olfactory marks nearby. But now that the thick crowd of opera-goers was gone, the square itself was nearly clear, and no suffocating perfume overwhelmed her senses. Only her husband stood close, arm-in-arm with her now. As she breathed in his comforting cinnamon-and-clove scent, she relaxed for the first time since their arrival.

“Well,” she said bracingly, “at least there is one consolation. You should have plenty of opportunities in the nights ahead to spread the word in the right ears about our new venture!”

Unlike Margaret, Lord Riven found inexplicable enjoyment in conversing with strangers. For all that it baffled her, that truth made him the perfect emissary to move about a crowded ballroom, discreetly alerting any supernatural attendees to the remarkable new center for research they were co-founding in the Black Forest for the sake of the community at large.

He cocked a fair eyebrow as he glanced down at her. “You surprise me, my dear. I feared you’d spend the rest of tonight wholly despondent at the prospect of so many social obligations thrust upon you.”

“So many!” Her stomach twisted at the prospect. She’d been so happy to escape high society when they’d left Paris! After seven halcyon weeks of comfort and companionship in its wake, bracing herself once more for endless evenings of overwhelming crowds and sly gossip felt like falling back into a nightmare. “At least I’ll have an intellectual challenge to focus on this time. Besides, I did promise to support you in your own work too, from now on.”

“And I deeply appreciate that sacrifice.” Gently directing her via their linked arms, he turned towards the brightly-lit coffee house on the ground floor of the tall building that loomed across the street from the opera house. Its tables spilled out onto the torchlit pavement, full of elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen even at this late hour. “For now, shall we find you new fuel for your research?”

Margaret blinked as she took in the prospect. “It’s well past midnight. How in the world is any respectable establishment still open?”

“Not every nation is quite so hidebound as our own,” he said, “and of course, the Habsburg empire was co-ruled by a vampire for over a century. Apparently, the capital city adapted to the late empress’s hours...and to those of quite a few of its current archdukes and duchesses.”