Bryce sighed, running a hand over an ancient tome full of legal jargon that required a degree to decipher. She’d never seen so many ergos and therefores and hence the followings and shall be included but not limited tos. But she kept looking.

So did Lehabah. “What about this, BB?” The sprite flared, pointing to a page before her. “It says here, A criminal’s sentence may be commuted to service if—”

“We saw that one two days ago,” Bryce said. “It leads us right back to slavery.”

A faint scratching filled the room. Bryce glanced at the nøkk from under her lashes, careful not to let him see her attention.

The creature was grinning at her anyway. Like it knew something she didn’t.

She found out why a moment later.

“There’s another case beneath it,” Lehabah said. “The human woman was freed after—”

Syrinx growled. Not at the tank. At the green-carpeted stairs.

Casual footsteps thudded. Bryce was instantly standing, reaching for her phone.

A pair of boots, then dark jeans, and then—

Snow-white wings. An unfairly beautiful face.

Micah.

Every thought short-circuited as he stepped into the library, surveying its shelves and the stairs leading to the brass mezzanines and alcoves, the tank and the nøkk who was still grinning, the exploding-sun light high above.

He couldn’t be down here. Couldn’t see these books—

“Your Grace,” Bryce blurted.

“The front door was open,” he said. The sheer power behind his stare was like being hit in the face with a brick.

Of course the locks and enchantments hadn’t kept him out. Nothing could ever keep him out.

She calmed her racing heart enough to say, “I’d be happy to meet with you upstairs, Your Grace, if you want me to phone Jesiba.”

Jesiba, who is at the Summit where you are currently supposed to be.

“Down here is fine.” He slowly stalked over to one of the towering shelves.

Syrinx was shaking on the couch; Lehabah hid behind a small stack of books. Even the animals in their various cages and small tanks cowered. Only the nøkk kept smiling.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Your Grace?” Bryce said, scooping takeout containers into her arms, not caring if she got chili oil on her white T-shirt, only that Micah got the fuck away from the shelves and those precious books.

He ignored her, examining the titles at eye level.

Urd save her. Bryce dumped the takeout containers into the overflowing trash can. “We have some fascinating art upstairs. Perhaps you can tell me what you’re looking for.” She glanced at Lehabah, who had turned a startling shade of cyan, and shook her head in a silent warning to be careful.

Micah folded his wings, and turned to her. “What I’m looking for?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I—”

He pinned her with those icy eyes. “I’m looking for you.”

Today’s meeting was by far the worst. The slowest.

Sandriel delighted in leading them in circles, lies and half-truths spewing from her lips, as if savoring the kill soon to come: the moment they yielded everything to her and the Asteri’s wishes.

Hunt leaned against the wall, standing between the Asterian Guards in their full regalia, and watched the clock inch toward four. Ruhn looked like he’d fallen asleep half an hour ago. Most of the lower-level parties had been dismissed, leaving the room barely occupied. Even Naomi had been sent back to Lunathion to make sure the 33rd remained in shape. Only skeleton staff and their leaders remained. As if everyone now knew this was over. That this republic was a sham. Either one ruled or one bowed.

“Opening a new port along the eastern coastline of Valbara,” Sandriel said for the hundredth time, “would allow us to build a secure facility for our aquatic legion—”

A phone buzzed.

Jesiba Roga, to his surprise, pulled it from an inner pocket of the gray blazer she wore over a matching dress. She shifted in her seat, angling the phone away from the curious male to her left.

A few of the other leaders had noticed Roga’s change in attention. Sandriel kept talking, unaware, but Ruhn had stirred at the sound and was looking at the woman. So was Fury, seated two rows behind her.

Jesiba’s thumbs flew over her phone, her red-painted mouth tightening as she lifted a hand. Even Sandriel shut up.

Roga said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Governor, but there’s something that you—that all of us—need to see.”

He had no rational reason for the dread that began to curl in his stomach. Whatever was on her phone could have been about anything. Yet his mouth dried up.

“What?” Sabine demanded from across the room.

Jesiba ignored her, and glanced to Declan Emmet. “Can you link what’s on my phone to these screens?” She indicated the array of them throughout the room.

Declan, who had been half-asleep in the circle behind Ruhn, instantly straightened. “Yeah, no problem.” He was smart enough to look to Sandriel first—and the Archangel rolled her eyes but nodded. Declan’s laptop was open a heartbeat later. He frowned at what popped up on the laptop, but then he hit a button.

And revealed dozens of different video feeds—all from Griffin Antiquities. In the lower right corner, in a familiar library … Hunt forgot to breathe entirely.

Especially as Jesiba’s phone buzzed again, and a message—a continuation of a previous conversation, it seemed—popped up on the screens. His heart stalled at the name: Bryce Quinlan.

His heart wholly stopped at the message. Are the feeds on yet?

“What the fuck?” Ruhn hissed.

Bryce was standing in front of the camera, pouring what seemed to be a glass of wine. And behind her, seated at the main table of the library, was Micah.

Sandriel murmured, “He said he had a meeting …”

The camera was hidden inside one of the books, just above Bryce’s head.

Declan hit a few keys on his computer, pulling up that particular feed. Another keystroke and its audio filled the conference room.

Bryce was saying over her shoulder, throwing Micah a casual smile, “Would you like some food with your wine? Cheese?”

Micah lounged at the table, surveying a spread of books. “That would be appreciated.”

Bryce hummed, covertly typing on her phone as she fiddled on the refreshment cart.

The next message to Jesiba blared across the conference room screens.

One word that had Hunt’s blood going cold.

Help.

It was not a cheeky, charming plea. Not as Bryce lifted her gaze to the camera.

Fear shone there. Stark, bright fear. Every instinct in Hunt went on roaring alert.

“Governor,” the Autumn King said to Sandriel, “I would like an explanation.”

But before Sandriel could reply, Ruhn quietly ordered, with eyes glued to the feeds, “Flynn, send an Aux unit to Griffin Antiquities. Right now.”

Flynn instantly had his phone out, fingers flying.

“Micah has not done anything wrong,” Sandriel snapped at the Fae Prince. “Except demonstrate his poor choice in females.”

Hunt’s snarl ripped from him.

It would have earned him a whip of cold wind from Sandriel, he knew, had the sound not been hidden by matching snarls from Declan and Ruhn.