Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

Garanwyn out of this. Maeve na Feransel is Unseelie Court.”
    Dead silence. Alaric looked at Conlan. Conlan looked at Alaric. They both looked at him. Just when Christophe started to sweat, Conlan finally spoke.
    “I think we’d better go inside and call Ven. We’re going to need to do some planning.”
    “Fiona deserves to be in on it,” Christophe said. “She has a stake in this, too.”
    “What are you talking about? What stake could a human female possibly have in one of the missing gems of Poseidon’s Trident?” Alaric made no secret of his belief that only the Atlantean priesthood had a claim on the sea god’s most precious object of power.
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    “It’s kind of complicated,” Christophe said. “But she’s secretly a ninja, both vamps and Fae may want to hurt her, and the Unseelie princess who invited Denal to play? She’s Fiona’s best friend.”
    The priest and the prince both froze and stared at him for several long seconds.
    “Yes,” Conlan said finally. “We most definitely want to talk to your Fiona.”
    Alaric raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for Christophe to deny that she was his Fiona. When he didn’t, the priest sighed. “And so another one, as Princess Riley would say, bites the dust.”

Chapter 25
    Atlantis, the palace war room, half an hour later
    Fiona swallowed past the lump of awe that seemed to have permanently settled in her throat. First she’d had fruit and juice with the princess of Atlantis, who offered her the use of the palace gardens for her next book any time she wanted, so long as she promised to autograph a book for Prince Aidan.
    Then Christophe had come to find her, told her she was needed at a war council, and she’d walked through the palace—a classic concept of mythology turned historical fact. Now she was sitting at a scarred wooden table that was probably older than Scotland. Surrounded by unbelievably gorgeous men who were all cut from the same genetic cloth as Christophe. Tall, dark-haired, and muscular. High cheekbones and sensual mouths. Men to make women sit up and notice.
    They were almost as devastatingly attractive as Christophe. She only hoped devastating wasn’t the operative word.
    “Shall I make the introductions?” Riley briefly rested a hand on Fiona’s shoulder before taking a seat on the other side of the table. Without waiting for a response, she began, pointing to the various people as she named them. “Everyone, this is Lady Fiona Campbell, currently of Campbell Manor, Coggeshall. She also has a secret identity, but I think I’ll let her tell you about that.”
    Fiona flushed, wondering why in the world she’d revealed her secrets so easily to Riley. There was something about the princess, though, that invited confidence.
    “This is my husband, Conlan.” A tall man with a distinct air of command bowed to Fiona.
    “Your Highness.” She tried to rise from her chair, which wasn’t that easy with Christophe holding her hand, but Conlan shook his head.
    “Please don’t. We’re pretty informal here, as you’ll soon notice. Please call me Conlan, Lady Fiona.”
    “Just Fiona, please.”
    “This is Ven,” Riley continued. “My partner in crime in the love of B movies. He’s also Conlan’s brother.”
    “Pleasure to meet you,” Ven said, his eyes lit up with definite amusement. “Especially with Christophe.”
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    Christophe narrowed his eyes but didn’t release her hand.
    “We spend way too much time in here, by the way,” Ven grumbled. “I’m leaving after this to join Erin in Seattle at her witch’s coven meeting.”
    Fiona’s eyes widened until she was afraid they’d pop out of her head as Ven described what Erin was doing with her coven. Very powerful magic designed to aid the human rebels, from what she could glean from his brief description.
    “His wife is a very powerful witch. Human,” Christophe said quietly.
    “Is it some kind of rule? That you marry humans?”
    Christophe laughed. “No. Until Conlan met Riley, it was a rule that we couldn’t.”
    Ven wound down his report and Riley pointed to a man, dressed all in black, who sat at the far end of the table. “That’s Alaric, Poseidon’s high priest and head of the Temple of Poseidon.”
    Fiona gasped. “But—that seat was empty. Are you Fae, too?”
    “I certainly am not,” Alaric said, his lips curled back from