Chapter 11
An hour later, Shaw had coerced Rufus, Ginny, and Solomon into a card game. She collected yet another hand with obvious glee.
“I don’t understand how she keeps winning,” Rufus grumbled.
“It’s called counting cards,” Solomon muttered.
“She’s been doing it since the second hand,” Ginny added.
Rufus sucked in air, outraged.
Viggo had settled in a seat near the window, The Odyssey open in his lap. He’d been trying to concentrate on the Greek text for the past twenty minutes, but his attention kept drifting to Evander.
His lover sat across from him, poring over his case files with single-minded focus. He would occasionally pause to make a notation in the margin or flip back to reference an earlier page. The afternoon light caught his dark hair, bringing out hints of auburn Viggo had never noticed before.
“Does he do that when he’s worried?”
Viggo looked up to find Fairbridge watching him. The man had set aside his tome on European magical law.
“Do what?” Viggo asked warily.
“Review his notes obsessively.” Fairbridge nodded towards Evander. “Like he’s looking for something he might have missed?”
Viggo frowned faintly. “You seem to be watching him rather closely.”
“It’s my job to understand the people I will be working with.” Fairbridge’s tone was matter-of-fact.
Viggo’s jaw set in a hard line. “That sounds an awful lot like spying.”
“It is spying.” Fairbridge’s lips quirked slightly. “Though I prefer the term ‘intelligence gathering.’ It sounds more respectable.”
Viggo felt a reluctant twinge of amusement despite himself. “Does anything rattle you, Fairbridge?”
“Many things.” The levity faded from Fairbridge’s expression. “But I’ve learned not to show it. In my line of work, showing any kind of weakness can get you killed.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the excited chatter from the card game and the rhythmic clatter of wheels on rails.
“Greek,” Fairbridge said abruptly, nodding at the book in Viggo’s lap. “Original text, if I’m not mistaken.”
Viggo’s hand tightened reflexively on the leather binding. “What of it?”
“Nothing. Merely an observation.” Fairbridge’s gaze was thoughtful. “Most men of your background wouldn’t have received the education for classical languages.”
“Most men of my background are too busy trying to survive to worry about education,” Viggo said flatly.
“True enough.” Fairbridge paused. “Who taught you?”
“My mother. Before she died.” The words sounded more vulnerable than Viggo had intended. “She was the village schoolteacher. She believed knowledge was the one thing no one could take from you.”
“She sounds like a wise woman.” Something almost like respect entered Fairbridge’s expression. “And after she died?”
“I taught myself.” Viggo met his gaze levelly. “My uncle Jack helped when he could. But mostly I just read everything I could get my hands on.”
“Impressive.” Fairbridge’s tone suggested he meant it. “Greek is not an easy language to master on one’s own.”
“I haven’t mastered it. I’m still learning.” Viggo glanced down at the text. “Homer’s worth the effort though.”
“‘Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns,’” Fairbridge quoted softly in Greek. “‘Driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy.’”
Viggo stared at him. “You know Homer.”
“I did read Classics at Oxford before the military claimed me.” A faint smile touched Fairbridge’s lips. “A long time and a very different life ago.”
The train’s whistle sounded, long and mournful. They began to slow.
“Oh!” Shaw abandoned the card game and glued herself to the window. “I can see the cliffs.”
Viggo gazed past her and caught his first glimpse of the famous white bluffs rising stark against the grey Channel waters. Even in the weak midday light, they gleamed like bone.
Evander finally looked up from his files, his ice-blue gaze distracted for a moment as he reorientated himself.
The train shuddered to a stop at Dover’s modest station. They collected their bags and prepared to disembark, Viggo tucking The Odyssey carefully back into his coat. The weight of it against his ribs was oddly comforting.
The bustle of passengers and the sharp tang of salt in the air greeted them when they stepped outside. Seagulls whirled overhead, their cries sharp and their pale wings stark against the overcast sky.
They waited until the porters assembled their trunks before making their way to the exit and the carriages the Met had arranged to take them to the port. It didn’t take long to realise something was amiss when they reached the waterfront.
A commotion erupted near the harbour master’s office as they exited their transports.
Evander looked around at the sudden surge of activity. A contingent of uniformed guards on horses appeared, forming a protective corridor through the crowd. Behind them came carriages bearing a royal crest, the lion and unicorn gleaming gold against black lacquer.
His stomach dropped when he realised what he was looking at.
“Bloody hell,” Rufus breathed. “Is that—?”
“The future German Empress,” Fairbridge said quietly. His expression had gone carefully neutral.
Tension knotted Evander’s shoulders. He glimpsed Viggo’s frown out of the corner of his eye while he kept his gaze locked on Princess Victoria’s entourage. He’d known she was visiting her mother the Queen. He hadn’t expected her to stop at Dover on the way to the continent.
An excited flutter ran through the crowd as the royal party emerged from the carriages in a flurry of silk and ceremony.
Princess Victoria, Crown Princess of Prussia, stepped onto the dock with the bearing of someone born to command.
At thirty-five, she was striking rather than beautiful, with her mother’s pale blue eyes and an intelligence that showed in every gesture.
Her gaze swept the crowd and landed squarely on Evander.
Recognition flashed across her face, followed by unmistakable delight.
Evander swallowed a curse as Victoria said something to one of her ladies-in-waiting and began moving in their direction, her entourage scrambling to keep pace.
“Your Grace?” Shaw looked between Evander and the arriving procession, her confusion clear in her face. “Do you know her?”
“We’re acquainted,” Evander said tightly.
“Evander,” Viggo said in a low voice, “what’s happening?”
“I’ll explain later.” Evander straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, acutely aware of every eye on the dock turning toward them. “Right now, I need to follow royal protocol.”
He moved to meet Princess Victoria halfway, conscious of Viggo’s tension radiating behind him like a physical force. She reached him first. Propriety demanded he bow. He did so, deeply and formally.
“Your Imperial Highness,” Evander said in a polite tone. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Duke Ravenwood.” Victoria’s voice carried across the dock with unrestrained warmth in contrast to his own. “How wonderful to see you. I had no idea you’d be travelling today.”
She extended her hand. Evander took it and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Victoria’s eyes sparkled with barely contained amusement at the formal gesture.
“I’m leading an investigation for the Metropolitan Police,” Evander said levelly. “We’re en route to Paris.”
“How fascinating.” Victoria’s gaze shifted past him to where his team waited. “And these are your associates?”
She headed resolutely past him. Evander twisted on his heels and caught up with her, his stomach sinking.
“They are, Your Imperial Highness.” Evander had no choice but to make introductions as they stopped in front of his group.
“Inspector Rufus Grayson of Scotland Yard. Miss Lyra Shaw, forensic mage from the Arcane Division. Lady Genevieve Hartley. Mr. Viggo Stonewall and Mr. Solomon Barden of Nightshade. And Mr. Hector Fairbridge, representing the War Office.”
Each member of his team bowed or curtsied as appropriate. Shaw looked like she was considering squealing in excitement and awe. Viggo’s posture was stiff, his expression carefully blank.
Victoria’s sharp gaze lingered on the Brute for a fraction longer than the others before returning to Evander.
“An impressive ensemble indeed. Mama mentioned you were working on something important.” She smiled.
“Walk with me, Duke Ravenwood. I should very much like to hear about this investigation of yours.”
Evander felt Fairbridge’s eyes boring into the side of his face. It wasn’t a request and they both knew it.
Evander dipped his chin curtly. “Of course, Your Imperial Highness.”
Victoria took his arm with the easy familiarity of old friendship and ignored the curious eyes tracking their movements as they moved toward a less crowded section of the dock.
Two of her guards and one of her ladies-in-waiting followed at a discreet distance, close enough to protect her but far enough to grant the illusion of privacy.