“The queen—who else?” The glow within his hands grew brighter, until it illuminated the entire room. A duke had the ability to change matter, and as a direct descendant to the royal family, his spells held more power than anyone save the queen—or a relic. Millicent truly did not want to see what he might conjure with the spell he was building up.
“What did she do?” she continued, hoping to keep him talking, and perhaps distract him from his magic.
“She is acting like a besotted young girl—and she has always shown such a level head for her age. She has always known she would be queen—she has always conducted herself accordingly. And now this!”
Gareth kept trying to position himself in front of her, and she held him back only by the grace of her were-strength. Millicent kept her voice low. “She is not herself, Lord Sussex.”
“Damn right she isn’t! A queen cannot hie off to Gretna Green and elope! The country would not stand for it.”
“These are not her decisions. She is being coerced, and we must save her.”
Her words finally seemed to penetrate the older man’s fury. The glow within his hands faded somewhat. He narrowed his eyes and peered at her. “Who are you?”
Sir Harcourt appeared to have regained his senses, and cleared his throat. “This is Lady Millicent, Lady Yardley, and Sir Gareth, my lord. He is the magic man from the relic—and brought it to us in hopes of saving the queen from Ghoulston.” The were-lion held up the bracelet like a ritual offering.
The Master’s eyes widened. “He brought it—but what is this about Victoria being coerced to marry that swine, Ghoulston?”
Harcourt glanced at Sir Gareth. “Apparently the blood within the magic man’s veins has been altered by the curse he has been under for centuries. The Duke of Ghoulston used it to drug the queen’s tea.”
With the prospect of his dear niece acting so uncharacteristically, the Duke of Sussex appeared all too eager to accept any explanation for her behavior, and needed little convincing to believe the dread plans of Lord Ghoulston. “Ha! A love spell, is it? I knew she couldn’t have fallen for that sop so quickly. But I scanned the queen myself for any sign of enchantment, and could find nothing.”
“Because it is not magical in nature,” interjected Gareth. “Although magic surely created it.”
The old man frowned. “But what of this tea? Nothing passes Victoria’s lips without being tested first.”
Claire flushed. “I gave the tea box to her myself, Lord Sussex. As Lady of the Bedchamber, I am trusted implicitly.”
“Nonsense. No one is trusted, including myself. But the young woman who tests her food… ho! She has been making moon eyes at Ghoulston herself—I should have noticed this before! But there is no such thing as a drug that can create true love—our best sorcerers have been trying to craft such a potion for centuries.”
“It took one of Merlin’s relics to do so, your lordship,” said Harcourt.
“Indeed. Indeed. But enough of this jabbering! Victoria may be halfway to Gretna Green by now, and we must stop that coach.” The old man stepped over the broken crockery and swept past them, the shifters standing just outside the door parting before him like the Red Sea.
Harcourt followed him. “Master—it’s not wise to leave behind loose magic.”
Lord Sussex glanced behind him, sparkling magic trailing from his hands. He gathered it to him, creating a small sun within his hands. When they reached the drive out front, he dispersed it over their heads, lighting up the night. “There, now. It will follow us to light the way… no broken legs for my horses. Sir Timison, sound the alarm to gather any other shifters in residence, and then fetch my coach, quickly.”
The man with the black-striped hair shifted to tiger and raced off into the mews, returning shortly in human form on top of the carriage, the horses racing toward them at amazing speed. Although Millicent had not seen them in the group of baronets, the horses must be shape-shifters themselves to cover ground at such a pace.
She blinked. The group of shifters surrounding them had more than doubled with the sound of the alarm. The speed of her own kind could still amaze her.
His lordship turned to his baronets. “I suppose you shall all move faster in your were-forms. When we catch up to the blackguard, keep to the shadows. I don’t want to spook the man. Ghoulston had his own guards with him, along with Victoria’s. If Ghoulston doesn’t stop his coach when I hail him, take out the guards, as quietly as you can. And try not to kill any of Victoria’s men; she is rather fond of them.”
He turned his sharp gaze on Millicent, Claire, Gareth, and Sir Harcourt. “I want you in the coach with me, to convince Queen Victoria if possible, to restrain her if necessary. She will not marry this man.”
“If Ghoulston sees us,” said Gareth. “He will know the game is up.”
“Hopefully, I will have my niece in my coach before the man is the wiser.” The Master clambered into the carriage, the springs squeaking. The four of them quickly followed; Claire, Millicent, and Gareth squished together on one seat, Sir Harcourt taking his seat beside Lord Sussex.
“The fastest road to Gretna Green,” shouted his lordship, and the coach lurched forward.
Millicent gazed out the window, trying to ignore the jolt of excitement that flew through her at the feel of Gareth’s warm body pressed against hers. Beyond the circle of the Master’s magical light, she could see the dark shape of lion, tiger, wolf, and jaguar keeping pace with the horses, and occasionally a flash of fur atop the roofs, a gleam of claw within a back street. They could easily pass them if they wished, since the were-horses were hampered with pulling the coach, but kept a protective circle around them. Millicent did not need to gaze upward to know that eagles and hawks and falcons flew above them.
An astonishing company. Ghoulston would be frightened out of his wits, for his magic could not defend against a one of them.
A smile crept across her face. For Nell. Ghoulston would pay for what he had done to Nell.
The coach swerved and smashed Gareth even closer against her, Claire uttering a squeal at the wild movement. Were-horses galloped at a clip that ordinary horses could not match, and Millicent could only be grateful that the Master’s coach appeared to be built to handle such extraordinary speed.
Gareth muttered an apology, which she felt more than heard, for the wheels crunched and the wind wailed and the carriage groaned.
Millicent scooted as close to the wall as she could and closed her eyes. What had it cost her to avenge Nell’s death? She had broken her promise to Gareth. A good man. A man of such honor, that she knew if their positions had been reversed, he would never have broken a promise he had made to her. And then she had the gall to tell him he should thank her for it.
Right after Gareth had saved her from the madness of her beast.
He would never forgive her. Indeed, why would she want him to? She had spoken truly, after all. If she could not free him from the relic, she did not want him to sacrifice his freedom to be with her. He might come to resent her, and she could not bear it. But it hurt to be so close to him and have to pretend she didn’t care.
But Millicent had not thought about what would happen when Claire brought the relic to the Hall of Mages. She had not thought beyond her need to avenge Nell. Of course the Master would keep the relic. He would not allow Claire to walk out of the Hall with it, to allow the ladies of Society to lead him a merry chase again. And what would the spymaster do with the bracelet? Perform magical experiments on Gareth, as Ghoulston had done? Keep the relic within a warded vault, never to be placed around another woman’s wrist again… trapping Gareth inside it forever?
No. Gareth would never forgive her. She had no right to ask it of him. She ignored the weakness in her foolish heart that kept wanting her to do just that.