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“When will they arrive?” Mrak asked.
“Any minute now,” Karn replied. “You should ready yourself.”
“I can go with you,” I offered, which seemed to surprise Karn.
He looked me over appraisingly. “I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“You are not one of us.” There was no judgment in Karn’s tone, but the implication was clear: A human was not welcome.
Mrak approached me and extended one large hand. I took it and his fingers easily wrapped around and dwarfed my hand. “Aisling is their queen. She will join me. That is the last we will talk of it.”
Karn’s jaw locked hard. “I must advise—”
“Isaid, that is the last time we’ll talk of it,” Mrak said, cutting him off. “Now, where are we meeting the refugees?”
Karn’s gaze met mine and his eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. I held the stare, not wanting to back down when Mrak had just defended me. In the end, both Karn and I appeared to want the same thing: Mrak alive and well and sitting upon the Kithonian throne.
“At the palace gates,” Karn finally said, his tone even. “There are a number of armed guards outside to ensure your safety… and that of your queen.”
“Ourqueen,” Mrak demanded, an eyebrow raised.
Karn nodded. “As you wish.”
Mrak studied him for a moment before making his way toward the door. Karn followed, which left me alone for a few seconds, long enough to study the war table before me.
The politics of vampire covens and feeder communities were simple compared to this. Of that, I was growing increasingly sure.
