Fate's Edge

too much upheaval lately. Things must go back to normal.”
    Ah. “Help me, and I swear on the throne of Gaul, I will leave in peace.”
    The larger of the men pulled the younger closer. “This is Adam. He will tell you everything you want to know.”

THIRTEEN
    THE continental breakfast buffet ran from six until eight thirty. When Audrey finally awoke, the clock by the bed said 8:09, and so she dragged herself downstairs to find the trays of bagels and doughnuts mostly picked over. She loaded her paper plate with fruit, snagged a yogurt and a cup of orange juice, and went upstairs to check on the boys.
    She paused by the door. Kaldar would be inside. Her throat constricted. Audrey stepped away from the door and walked down the hallway, trying to calm herself. Last night she’d lain in bed, thinking of Kaldar. He’d gotten deep under her skin. She’d thought about the wicked look in his eyes. She’d thought about his smile. She had imagined him touching her. She’d entertained improbable scenarios, where Kaldar decided to fall madly in love with her, and they went off on wild adventures. In her fantasies, they made love in the house where they lived together. It had gone on and on. All attempts of not thinking about Kaldar had led back to Kaldar.
    Audrey reached the end of the hallway and leaned with her back against the wall, holding her plate and her drink.
    One moment, she wished she hadn’t told him no; the next moment, she’d reasoned that it was the right thing to do, the best thing for them both. Would it be awkward now? Would he be angry, hurt? Would he act like nothing happened? The only way to find out would be to open that door.
    Knowing Kaldar, it could only go two ways from here. Either he cut his losses, or he would try even harder.
    She couldn’t stand here forever.
    Audrey made her way back to the suite. Her hands full, she banged her toes against the door. The door swung open, and Audrey almost dropped her plate.
    A trim man stood in the doorway. He was clean-shaven, meticulously groomed, but still distinctly masculine. His short hair, the color of dark brown sugar, was brushed back from his face. His long sideburns, shaped with surgical precision, made his face appear more narrow. He wore black leather pants of complex construction, with ornate Weird stitching and a wide-sleeved white shirt, with an embroidered high-necked collar. A vest clasped his narrow waist and wide chest, swirls and elaborate flourishes of pale gray leather over black. His hands, with perfectly clean, trimmed nails, were bare. He wore no jewelry except for a single silver earring.
    “Good morning, my lady,” he said. His smooth, cultured voice exuded quiet competence.
    It was Kaldar. Somehow, it was Kaldar.
    “Would you care to come in, my lady?” The new Kaldar stepped aside, holding the door with a slight bow.
    She stepped inside on autopilot. He shut the door behind her.
    “Your hair,” she said.
    “It was too dark before,” he said, his brown eyes solemn. “People tend to notice the extremes: hair color that’s too dark or too light stands out. By the nature of my role, I shouldn’t draw attention to myself.”
    He’d cut at least three inches off too, trimming his wild mess into a structured, functional haircut.
    She landed in a chair. Gaston was packing their bags. He wore dark brown leather, from his head to the toes of his tall boots. His hair had been brushed until it shone and braided away from his face. He put a wide-brimmed leather hat on his head and grinned.
    “You look like a highwayman.”
    “He’s our groom,” Kaldar said. “He’s meant to look menacing.”
    Gaston raised his eyebrows and bared his teeth. “Grrr.”
    Audrey laughed and picked at her fruit.
    The boys emerged from the back room, both scrubbed clean. George wore a white shirt, pants of a deep green color, tucked into gray boots, and a gray jacket, which was almost leather armor, with accents of matching green. His blond hair all but glowed, framing his face like a curtain. A blueblood prince from head to toe.
    Jack wore darker brown pants and a reinforced leather vest with brass-colored accents over a beige shirt. The vest sported a raised leather collar shielding his neck. Jack’s reddish brown mop of hair had somehow been coaxed into a perfectly slick bowl shape over his eyebrows that was completely wrong for his face. He looked about as happy as a boy who had just gotten himself a mouthful of overcooked spinach.