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Loren was at the door with Marlow when he pivoted to bow to those who occupied the room, and nearly ran into Tor.
“Tor, what the—?” he started.
“I think, since Lahn and True followed me, we’re all feeling the need for some adventure.”
“Of course they are,” Farah remarked.
“Horses, sergeant,” Tor ordered.
The guard at the door started sprinting.
“A certain madam?” Tor asked as they marched to the stairs. “The one involved in that extortion business you shut down?”
By the gods.
How had he forgotten?
Satrine had said, “We need to defuse her.”
We.
“I may not have mentioned my affianced is spirited,” he said by way of reply.
Lahn emitted an amused, approving grunt.
They all ignored the attention they received as they jogged past patrons and staff at the hotel.
Their horses were waiting for them at the front doors.
They swung up and followed Marlow’s lead.
But Loren came abreast of him.
“You deal with the others, I’ll be seeing to Satrine.”
Marlow grinned, then bent over his horse, dug his heels in, and expertly navigated his galloping mount through the busy streets.
Loren did the same.
And three kings behind them did the same.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marquess of Badass
Loren
“I can’t even with you!” his beloved snapped, rounding on him and slamming her hands on her hips. “You nearly rode right over Carling!”
“My dearest love—”
“And the minute you and your…your…” She twirled and took in Lahn, her head tilting far back to do so. She staggered away a step and muttered, “Whoa, you’re huge.”
Lahn slowly smiled.
“Whoa,” she repeated, this time breathily, not tearing her eyes off the warrior king.
“Satrine,” Loren bit out.
She focused on him and remembered her snit, not allowing a moment to lapse before taking up where she left off.
“Your merry band of hot guys, they scattered. And they had something to tell us about that awful Dupont woman.”
He opened his mouth.
And said not a word.
“Did we get the chance to hear what they had to say?” she demanded. “Noooooo. Galloping in comes the Marquess of Badass…”
Cora and Circe gasped.
Satrine ranted on.
“…picking me up while you kept riding, and I was treated to the indignity of racing through the streets of the fine city of Newton with my belly in a pommel and my arse in the air!”
“Are you finished?” he asked.
“No,” she bit off, and carried on, “Then, behaving like a savage from a savage land, you drag me through The Heritage, where but two weeks ago, all the patrons of Le Cirque applauded our betrothal, but as you noted at the time, and I too feel safe in saying, some of them were applauding my amazing gown.”
“I only saw the end of it, but that was very ‘savage from a savage land,’ and I should know,” Circe mumbled.
Farah and Cora laughed softly.
“Now are you finished?” Loren pushed.
“Do I need to say more?” she pushed back.
“Allow me to introduce you to King Noctorno, the ruler of our realm. His lovely queen, Cora, the Gracious. The King of Korwhak, Dax Lahn and his Dahksana, Circe. And from across the Green Sea, King True and Queen Farah of Wodell.”
He indicated them each in turn while, woodenly, Satrine shifted, taking them all in.
The color had rushed from her face as he spoke, but then it rushed right back. And when it did, there was quite a bit more of it.
“Am I…supposed to curtsy?” she asked out of the corner of my mouth.
“It is customary,” he answered.
“Don’t you dare,” Cora ordered. “Loren knows we don’t stand on ceremony, at least not in private quarters. I’m afraid my king demands I be ‘Your Majesty’ in company, but now, I’m Cora, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Cora had come forward, she took Satrine’s hand, and Satrine remained dumbstruck as she touched cheeks with her.
Circe and Farah followed suit.
And Loren found it odd, regardless of her indecorous behavior, the way Cora and Circe continued to regard her even after they stepped away.
“I’m sorry. So sorry. I had no idea,” Satrine muttered. “Sir. My lord. Your grace. Your magnificence. Uh…my king.” She bent her head to Tor.
“By the gods, I like her for you, my man,” Tor decreed.
Her head snapped up.
“It was the ‘your magnificence,’ I’m pretty sure,” Cora murmured under her breath to the other women.
They again laughed.
“Allow us to continue our conversation elsewhere,” Loren requested.
“Please don’t,” Lahn drawled. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen a woman spit such fire.” He turned his eyes to his wife, they gentled, and he said, “I spoil you.”
“He does do that,” Circe agreed.
More laughter from the women.
“I would…maybe I would…like a hole to open up and swallow me,” Satrine remarked, just as the door to the suite opened.
Marlow sauntered in, fist in the collar of one of the cretins that, as he’d ridden upon them, Loren had seen meeting with Satrine, Carling and Beacher in that alley.
The most filthy, fetid one.
