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Connor snorted a laugh. “Riley can play the badass when he wants to. I don’t know anything about Ruadan other than the fact that he’s Claudia’s consort.”
“Is he aiming for the throne?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Honestly don’t know. That must have been some conversation to get you this curious.”
“It’s not him,” I said. “Or not just.” Feeling suddenly impatient, I rose, walked to the counter, picked up a screwdriver, andtapped it against my palm. “It’s the fit they threw today. They decide there’s this deep conspiracy against them, but we give them a meaningless prize and they’re satisfied? As a strategy it doesn’t make much sense.”
“I’ll grant you it’s odd, but Claudia’s crazy.”
“So I’ve heard.” I put the tool down, leaned back against the counter, and crossed my arms.
Maybe Connor was right and there was nothing to this beyond a fading queen’s desire to matter, to have attention. That meant the talks would continue, the French delegation would be fine, and we might get peace in Paris.
“Maybe I’m just on edge,” I murmured.
“Shocking. You’re usually so calm and relaxed.” Connor tilted his head at me. “Why are you asking me these questions? Why not talk to your parents? Or the Ombudsman?”
“The deal with Cadogan House.”
“The deal with... Oh,” he said, realization hitting him. “Cadogan House is supposed to stay out of it.”
“That’s the theory. We talked to Yuen after the event, and he had the same thought you did—that maybe the fading magic has them concerned.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ve been out of the loop for four years. Maybe I’m just trying to adjust to the new sup order.”
“You look different,” he said, and I thought I saw appreciation in his eyes. “Still a vampire, of course, but different.”
“Thanks for the evaluation.”
His thoughtful expression didn’t change. “You look happy.”
The comment—so unsnarky—threw me off a little. “I am.”
“Did you find what you were looking for in Paris?”
Another question that sounded legitimate—like he was actually interested in my feelings.
The answer, of course, was both simple and complicated. I lived, ate, slept. I walked cobblestone streets and tried macaronsof every color (all of them equally gross), and no one knew who I was. For the first time in my life, I could figure that out—whoI was—without an audience.
“I got to be myself,” I said after a moment.
“And who is that?”
“Elisa Sullivan,” I said, meeting his gaze again. “Not the daughter of someone else. Not the first child. In France, they didn’t care who I was.”
His brows lifted. “And here they cared too much?”
“You know how it was.” I didn’t want to get into that with him, so I changed the subject. “The wine, women, and song seem to have agreed with you.”
He grinned. “Wine, women, and song agree with a lot of people.”
I snorted. “That’s why there’s a trail of brokenhearted shifters behind you.”
“Yours may be vampires,” he said with a crooked grin, “but they’re just as brokenhearted. Are you staying in Chicago?” he asked before I could contradict him.
I shook my head. “Heading back after the talks. I have nine months left of service, and then we’ll see.”
“We’re leaving for Alaska in a few days.”
The North American Central Pack was headquartered in Memphis, where the Keene family was originally from. But Aurora, Alaska, was the spiritual home of all the North American shifter Packs.
