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Rik didn’t say a word, but he swelled, rock sliding beneath his muscles. I reached out and laid a soothing hand on his forearm. “If I’d wanted to use her to expand my power base, I would’ve taken all of hers and Rosalind’s blood into my reserves rather than sending it to the Mother. Perhaps then I wouldn’t be so desperate as to drain every single one of my Blood repeatedly, including you, Sir Warwick.”

“Shara Isador is unlike other queens,” Rik growled. “Don’t insult her by lumping her into the likes of the Dauphine.”

I took another sip of my soda and let a small smile curve my lips. “Besides, Marne Ceresa is already dead. While I was prepared to bring her to justice after credible testimony was given before the Mother and all Her Daughters detailing how she betrayed the Triskeles Triune queens to Desideria while they were actively in service at Her table, another queen claimed Marne’s blood as her own.”

“So, then, Your Majesty, what is left? Who is your next conquest?”

“I’m still cleaning up after the Dauphine, Sir Warwick. I go to New York City next to make sure her thralls aren’t converting humans in the tunnels and subways beneath the city. Then I’m going home to enjoy some peace and quiet before visiting Mayte and her daughter in Mexico.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but that doesn’t answer my question. What use do you have for the Knight of Pestilence if all you intend is to enjoy some peace and quiet with a sibling?”

Fine. I felt Guillaume approaching with a potential Blood I had deliberately called last night. “I don’t care to persuade someone to stay who’s not one hundred percent eager to be here. You might be an endless grail of blood, Sir Warwick, but you’re here simply because one of my mother’s former Blood heard you trapped inside the chimney before he was tortured and killed. You brought my Blood back to life, for which I owe you a debt of gratitude. We would all be dead without your blood flowing through us. I thought merely to return the favor, but if you’re not interested…”

The door opened and Guillaume stepped inside with his guest. “I will pull out what little of my blood you still carry and send you on your way. I have other Blood to take.”

WARWICK

Insulting an Aima queen was a dangerous game, especially one so powerful, though that had not been my intention. My questions were necessary in order to expand my understanding.

I trusted no one, not even Sir Guillaume de Payne. Once upon a time, his oath as a Templar knight would have meant something to me, but trust had rotted and decayed in me long ago. I’d seen how even the most honorable knights behaved once trapped in the depths of hell. Even if he truly cared for this young queen, I wasn’t foolish enough to hope his honor had survived centuries of Desideria’s service.

He came to stand beside me with another Aima and bowed low to his queen. “Your Majesty, may I introduce Durandal de Aude, though human history knows him as Durandal de Roland. Durandal, my queen, Shara Isador, Last Daughter of Isis and Triskeles Triune queen.”

My jaw was on the floor, though she apparently had no idea who stood before her. I turned to stare at the man, more suspicious of his identity than even of this queen’s nefarious intentions.

He wore a base of leather with a short maille tunic over the top that jingled as he moved. He wore no helm and carried no weapon that might help me confirm the veracity of his lineage. Over simple linen chausses he wore short leather greaves to protect him from knee to ankle. Enough maille to confirm he was high-born, despite the long scar bisecting the right side of his face.

“What am I missing?” Shara asked.

“Even in my time as a Templar we knew La Chanson de Roland.” Guillaume’s lips twitched. “It’s an epic poem about the Frankish champion, Roland, and his unbreakable sword, Durandal, a highly fictionalized tale of the Battle of Roncesvalles.” He coughed lightly. “In the year 778 AD."

Shaking away my awe, I blew out a snort of disbelief. “I suppose you’re going to claim that your beast is Veillantif, Roland’s famous horse.”

Completely ignoring me, the man stepped closer to the queen and dropped to one knee. Bracing his elbow on his knee, he bowed his head. I didn’t understand the language he spoke, but Guillaume translated for him. “Long I have waited to serve, Your Majesty.”

She laid the tips of her fingers on his head, but he didn’t lift his gaze to hers. “Do you revel in blood, Durandal?”

Again, the man spoke in his gruff, harsh voice and Guillaume repeated it. “Point my blade in any direction, Your Majesty, and I will give you all the blood you desire.”

Durandal straightened slightly, his jaw flexing.

“Though I should warn you that I have lain in wait for a Call for so long that I may very well twist in your grip and damage you beyond recovery. This sword is difficult to wield and thirsts for blood. My cutting edge never dulls, yet it must be satisfied in order to keep me by your side.”

“Nothing damages my queen,” the big alpha growled. “Not on my watch.”

Guillaume repeated the alpha’s words for Durandal. Eyes narrowed, he looked up at him. Silence weighed heavier as the two stared at each other. The alpha didn’t flex or bulge in threat, like he’d done to me earlier, but the air thickened, making it difficult to breathe.

Durandal suddenly grinned and let out a surprisingly husky laugh for such a disreputable, grim-looking fellow, his voice light and rapid.

Guillaume translated, “Then I look forward to serving, Your Majesty, in any way you desire. You must have the capacity, or I wouldn’t have heard your Call, though again, please heed my warning. I am no ordinary Blood and will be extremely difficult to wield the first time. Once my blade is conquered, it will be yours for all time.”

She raised her gaze to me. The hairs on my nape prickled in warning, but all I felt was a trickle from my nose. I swiped at it, surprised to see it was blood. Not a lot, only a few drops, and then the blood disappeared.

“You may leave, Sir Warwick.”

Then she offered the kneeling man her inner wrist. “If I can hold General Sekh of the All Seeing, Never Sleeping legion, then I believe I can wield you. Though I feel as if I should warn you as well, Durandal. My blood is not an easy swallow.”

Reverently, he took her fingers in his, pressed a tender kiss to her palm, and then with exquisite care, he sank his fangs deep.