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  Slowly she put her lingering, illogical pain aside. She had to begin to make some sort of life for herself here in this realm devoid of magic, while she sought this man she was supposed to wed. And Brigit had helped her with that as well. She'd given her clothing and helped her to find an apartment of her own. Of course, she'd have rather had Bridin live with her and her precious little Jonathon, and Adam. But Bridin had insisted on finding her own place. There was always a slim chance Vincent would attempt to hunt her down, and she wouldn't dream of putting her sister and family at risk by living with them.

  So with Brigit's help, she'd achieved independence. Even found employment in a shop a few doors away from her sister's.

  She'd never realized how very little she knew about existing alone in the mortal realm. Though she'd lived here from infancy, she'd been Tristan's prisoner for most of that time. He'd seen to it she had everything she needed... right down to the movie projector and reels upon reels of Disney films he'd procured for her when she was very young. And beautiful clothes to wear. And servants to see to her every need. A tutor to educate her. A cook who could make her mouth water just from the aromas of the meals as they were prepared. And his own constant guardianship, as he'd always called it. The older she became, the more often he'd neglect his duties of running her kingdom, to come and watch over her. To sit and share a meal with her, or slip into her bedroom and look on her as she slept. When she'd changed from adolescent to young woman, something else had changed as well. The energy between them had altered. And she'd known his desire for her, recognized it. She'd never admitted that she felt similarly drawn to him. But she had. And those feelings haunted her now.

  Familiar tears burned in the backs of her eyes, and she chided herself inwardly. Tristan was gone. Just one of the obstacles standing between her and her throne removed, and certainly nothing to mourn over.

  He was gone.

  She closed her eyes and sighed, popping them open again when a warm hand closed on her shoulder from behind. "Bridin, you've been polishing that same cluster for ten minutes. You keep it up, you'll rub it down to a handful of amethyst dust."

  She blinked and looked down at the large, glittering rectangle of amethyst in her palm. "I'm sorry, John," she said. "I drifted off, I guess."

  Her employer smiled at her and took the stone from her palm, turning to place it just so inside a glass case lined with other glittery crystals and countless pewter figurines. Wizards. Dragons. Fairies with painted butterfly's wings as big as their entire bodies.

  Bridin glanced at the latter and tried to stifle an ironic smile. Everyone in Rush knew that only fay folk of royal blood and purest magic were born with wings. And her dear mother had been the last of those. The bloodline was mingled with mortal blood in Bridin and her sister, whose father had been mortal. No wings. And if there had been, they'd have been thin and filmy and light.

  A gorgeous young female customer breezed in, smiled brightly at John, and then headed to the room in the back to check out the candle collection.

  "So how's the new apartment?" John asked, with the briefest nod at the pretty woman in the back.

  Bridin shrugged. "Small for the two of us, but I suppose it's better than a cave."

  John's dark brows drew close and he tilted his head to one side. "You know why I'm glad I hired you, kid? 'Cause you're an oddball. I like that in a girl." He winked and headed behind the counter when the telephone there started ringing.

  Bridin studied John for a long moment. When her sister had brought her here in response to John's help wanted sign, she'd taken one look at him and thought he might just be the one. He was handsome, and could, Bridin suspected, charm the venom from a cobra. In fact, she'd even secretly hoped he'd turn out to be the one. He was pleasant and kind and intelligent, and the two of them got along from the start, with an easy, almost immediate friendship.

  But as it turned out, he was married. Moreover, he had children. And if that hadn't been enough... well, she'd had Marinda consult the crystal on the matter. And the ball, Marinda said, had turned a cloudy shade of deep gray, which was a definite "no."

  John caught her gaze and gave her his sexy smile. Bridin sighed. Six months in this realm, and still no sign of this mate she was supposed to be awaiting. She was eager and more than a bit nervous about meeting this man who would help her to reclaim her kingdom. Eager because the sooner she found him, the sooner she could return home. Nervous because it would be difficult to follow through with the plan. Marrying a man she did not love had never been part of Bridin's vision for her future. And there was no doubt in her mind that she would not love him.

  Clamping down on a twinge of envy for John's wife, she turned to see if she could help the pretty woman in the back. The girl looked to be of college age. Probably a student from the nearby university. She seemed friendly and sweet and greeted Bridin with a bright smile.

  "Is there anything I can help you with?" Bridin asked.

  "Just looking," she replied, stroking the bumpy back of a gleaming, brightly colored wax dragon. "I just love this shop. It must be sheer heaven to work here."

  Bridin smiled back at her. Young people reacted pretty much the same way to this place. They liked the New Age music John always had playing. They liked the smell of the incense he kept burning. They liked the jewelry and tiny collection of crystal skulls and the 3-D posters. But basically Bridin suspected they liked John. Brigit had been brilliant when she'd suggested this place to Bridin. There was magic here. One could almost taste it.

  "Ooooh, look at the stones!" the girl said, and went hurrying back into the main room, making a beeline for the amethyst cluster Bridin had been polishing when she'd first come in. "Can I see that one, please?"

  "Of course." Bridin took a key from her pocket, opened the case, and removed the deep purple stone, placing it in the girl's hand with care. The girl sighed as she held it and looked at its facets flashing up at her.

  "One of the most powerful stones in the place," John called, hanging up the phone and coming around the counter. "Look at that tallest point in the center. See the shadow inside it? That's special."

  The girl blinked, narrowing her eyes and staring.

  "Actually," John went on, "I was thinking about keeping that one. It's very potent. I can tell. That stone could really open up some psychic channels... probably do some healing work, too. No doubt in my mind. And—"

  "How much?" the girl said, drawing her now awestruck gaze away from the stone.

  "For you," John said with a wink, "fifteen bucks."

  "I'll take it." She hurried over to the counter and set the stone down. John slanted a triumphant glance at Bridin. She only smiled back at him and shook her head.

  The man knew as much as any mortal could know about spells and magic and crystals and herbs. She still hadn't decided whether he believed any of it, though.

  As John rang up the sale, and then carefully wrapped the stone and boxed it, the girl turned to Bridin and held out a hand. "I'm Tiffany," she said.

  Bridin took the proffered hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Bridin," she replied. "Pleased to meet you." It was only as the girl took her package and turned to go that Bridin caught the faintest vibration of deceit emanating from her. But it was so brief, she couldn't be sure.

  Tristan waited in a booth at a place called Hal's Deli; he sipped coffee that should have been licensed as an addictive substance, it was so good. Tate sat across from him, and Tristan suspected every mortal in the place thought he was a little boy. Tristan's little boy. The idea was so funny, he would have laughed aloud... if he hadn't been so damned nervous.

  He'd known well enough where to look for Bridin when his shoulder had finally healed and his body had fought off the infection that had set in shortly thereafter. Near her sister. And sure enough, he thought he'd finally tracked her down right here on Ithaca's Commons. A woman fitting Bridin's description was, he was told, working at a New Age shop known as 3-D Lite. Being that it was only a few doo
rs down from Brigit Malone Reid's flower shop, Akasha, he was nearly certain the information was correct. And in a moment he'd know for sure.

  "Don't be so nervous," Tate whispered across the table. "And for the fourth time, get me a cup of that coffee. It smells incredible."

  "Children don't drink coffee, Tate. Be quiet and drink your milk."

  Tate scowled. Then the pretty young thing they'd been waiting for sauntered in and headed for their table. She slid in beside Tristan and smiled at him. A smile she intended to be beguiling, Tristan knew. It had no effect on him. None whatsoever. And for a moment, he wondered why.

  "Well?" he asked her.

  "She's tall, very slender, has golden blond hair that reaches past her waist, and eyes that are so blue, they make the lapis lazuli in the case look dull." The girl opened the bag she was carrying and removed a small box. Then she lifted the lid and fingered a pretty purple stone. "She was very nice," she added absently.

  "And?" Tristan prodded.

  Her head came up. "Look, I like her. You're not... like, a stalker or anything, are you? Because I won't be—"

  "I'm not a stalker," he promised. "I'm an old friend, just as I told you. But I don't want to make a fool out of myself by blundering in there until I'm sure she is who I think she is."

  "The girl you knew when you were kids," she finished, repeating his own cover story back to him.

  "Exactly."

  It was an awkward way to be sure, but he had to know before he saw her. He had to be prepared. And he couldn't send Tate in, because if she looked closely at him, she'd recognize him for what he was.

  "Okay," the girl said. "She told me her name is Bridin."

  It seemed to Tristan that his heart stopped beating just then. He'd found her. Gods have mercy, now he'd have no choice but to set this ludicrous plan into motion.

  "Well?" the girl said.

  Tristan fumbled in his pocket, pulled out a twenty, and laid it on the table. The girl snatched it up, quickly replacing her rock in the bag. She looked at him expectantly.

  "That's all," he said. "You can go."

  She shrugged, got up, and left them alone.

  "So," Tate said. "We've found her." Tristan closed his eyes. He'd led armies into battle with less churning in his stomach. "Tomorrow," he said. "I'll see her... tomorrow."

  Vincent of Shara was a man content with the way things had turned out. So much so that he nearly purred with it. He'd convinced the entire realm that his brother was a traitor, and that he'd died by the hand of fate itself. He'd convinced them that Bridin, the beloved of nearly all of the fools, had betrayed them, turned against her own people in a fit of rage and frustration. And that now she had fled them all, abandoning them to save herself.

  And they believed him. Left with no one else, they'd turned to him for advice and solace and guidance. Leadership. "They love me now," he muttered, as he sat in the royal bedchamber that had, until recently, belonged to his brother.

  "They fear you," said his first knight, Kenniwick.

  Vincent smiled and sat up a bit straighter on the satin-covered settee that rested near the hearth. "What difference does it make? They obey me. That's all that matters."

  "For now it is, my lord. But it could come to matter—and most easily."

  Kenniwick seemed agitated, his stance constantly shifting, and his hand opening and closing over the hilt of his sheathed sword. Vincent detested bad news. Therefore his men detested the job of delivering it. He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. "If you have a message for me, Kenniwick, then deliver it and be gone. I've appointments to keep, you know."

  Kenniwick swallowed hard, no doubt knowing exactly what sort of appointments Vincent referred to, and no doubt disapproving. Too bad. He was the ruler now. Prince, for the moment. King, when he found a woman worthy of him. And even then he'd continue the practice Kenniwick found so distasteful. The law that allowed for it was still on the books, one of the few "barbaric" codes his softhearted brother hadn't eradicated—but only because it had somehow slipped past his notice.

  "You Majesty," Kenniwick said, bowing low. "Reports on your brother's whereabouts have come in. It's been confirmed, Sire. He's returned to the other side."

  "Good riddance, then. Let him remain there."

  "But, my lord, should he return—"

  "Should he return," Vincent said, getting slowly to his feet and leveling his harshest glare on his knight, "he will be killed."

  Kenniwick swallowed hard, nodded fast. "Of course, Your Majesty. That would be your intent. But you promoted me to this position because you sought my counsel, and I feel that in this matter I ought to speak it. You may take my advice or leave it by the wayside, but I'd be slack in my duties did I not—"

  "Stop the jabbering, Kenniwick, and say whatever it is you have to say. Dire predictions of doom, no doubt." Vincent absently released the large gold pins holding his cloak to either shoulder, and let it fall to the floor. The servants would care for it later. He paced to his night-stand and dropped the baubles into the hand-tooled box there.

  "The other side, my lord, is also the place to which the lady Bridin has fled."

  "So?" he asked, fingering trinkets, and wondering which of the royal jewels he would wear on the morrow.

  "My lord, should the lady Bridin and Lord Tristan join forces to overthrow your reign..." He paused there, and when Vincent turned it was to see Kenniwick shaking his head. He looked up, met his sovereign's eyes. "Do you see the danger, Sire?"

  Vincent rubbed his chin. "I suppose there might be some risk," he said thoughtfully. "Do you suppose the people would heed their words, did they speak against me as one?"

  "I fear so, my lord. If Tristan and Bridin both spoke publicly about what truly happened here, they would likely be believed."

  There was a sound from beyond the closed door, and Vincent smiled softly. When he pulled it open, two armed guards stood there, clasping two women, one who struggled and one who wept. Vincent tilted his head, and the guards shoved the women inside, pulling the door closed.

  "My lord," Kenniwick whispered. Vincent didn't turn from his perusal of the tender female flesh, however. He held one slender arm in each hand, gripping hard enough to bruise, and he let his eyes roam his night's entertainment, head to toe.

  "Speak your mind, Kenniwick, and then be on your way."

  "My lord," he repeated, full voice this time. "It might be wise to refrain from practices which... vilify you in the eyes of the people. Perhaps did you show mercy, or kindness to them, they would return to you loyalty should ever you need it."

  "The law clearly states," he said slowly, "that the king has the right to take the virgins before they are given over to their husbands."

  " 'Tis an antiquated law, my lord. Not practiced in centuries."

  "But still written," Vincent said. "What I do is perfectly legal and right." He looked at the women, the sniveling one with raven hair, and the other, who held her chin high and stared at him with fire in her eyes that matched her fiery red mane. "Remove your clothing."

  The dark-haired one returned to sobbing. But the one with the strength in her eyes glared at him. "Your reign will be a short one, Vincent of Shara," she hissed from between clenched teeth. And as she spoke, she tore the dress from her own body and flung it at his feet. "Do your worst, but know that I will have vengeance."

  She was perhaps the most strikingly beautiful creature he had ever seen in his life. Fire and brimstone in her, and courage he found nothing less than amazing given the circumstances. She stood there, naked before him, as well as the two guards and Kenniwick. And yet she remained rigid, proud. There was no hint of shame in her. Nor should there be. Hers was a body that made him ache with yearning.

  "What is your name, defiant one?"

  " 'Tis not who I am, Sharan, but what I am that ought worry you."

  "You're fay, aren't you?" He studied her, the rounded curves of her. "And no trembling virgin, either. You fay women conceal the truth of your
age from maiden to crone. A man never knows what he's getting."

  She narrowed her eyes. "Tell me, great king. Do you prefer that I fight you wildly, or comply to your every request willingly tonight?"

  Vincent's brows rose. One corner of his mouth pulled into a smile. "You interest me, Fay woman. You're saying you'll comply with my every request?"

  "Let this other one go free," she said softly, "and I'll give you the pleasures you've known only in your dreams, if then, Sharan. You'll never know a night as erotic as this one I will give to you." She glanced toward the other woman, cowering in fear. "Or keep her, and I will become as limp and unresponsive as a wet leaf, and you will never know what you denied yourself. 'Tis up to you."

  Vincent swallowed hard, unwilling to let her have any say at all, but so aroused by her challenge that he didn't care. Without looking away from her, he whispered, "Kenniwick, take the weak one away. Do what you will with her. And see that I'm not disturbed until further notice."

  "Sir," Kenniwick said, hastening forward to gently take the arm of the weeping woman, and guide her toward the door. "But about the other matter, Sire. We must take action to assure that your... enemies do not join forces in conspiring against you."

  "Yes, fine," Vincent muttered, and licked his lips. "Send assassins to... to the place where they are. Kill them. Kill them both."

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  Kenniwick backed out of the room, bowing, guiding the woman, and pulling the door closed all in one graceful round of motion.

  Vincent smiled. "Fight me," he said softly. "And make it good, or I'll have her brought back."

  "So long as you have me here, you loathsome cur, you'll have no desire for any other."

  So she was doing this to protect the young women of the villages from his attentions, was she? He almost believed she could live up to her wild claims.

  "If you're as talented as you would have me believe," he said, "you might well hold my interest for a good many days."