If I was smart, I would have already moved. Or at least pressed the issue with security, she thought, cautiously stepping into the narrow elevator. She didn’t care to examine exactly why she hadn’t done the latter.
The elevator was blessedly empty. Her shoulders rounded with relief as the gold-plated doors slowly drew to a close.
It was too bad that she was a Solbourne. Fleeing with her tail between her legs was never an option. Pride and spite were baked into her DNA. While moving her temporary residence to somewhere more secure would have been smarter, it also would have been a blow to that pride. She would not abandon her territory just because a clever coyote shifter thought he could enter and exit her life whenever it suited him.
She would be gone soon enough, anyway. If the negotiations stalled, then she would just have to make a break for her mother’s Napa estate, where she’d spent most of her life in seclusion. She could continue to manage the vineyard while Cameron was on his tour and try to think of what in the world to do next.
Either way, Viktor would not be able to reach her.
Camille shoved her gloved hands into the pockets of her expensive black pea coat, her Solbourne crest pinned to her left lapel, and firmed her mouth at the thought of running away.
It’s not running, she silently argued. It’s a tactical retreat.
Never again would she run from Viktor Hamilton. She was not sixteen any longer, and she wasn’t that frazzled creature from the Summit. If she played it smart, he would never take her power from her again.
When she exited the building, an m-enhanced town car was waiting for her by the curb. One of the many self-driving cars in the Solbourne fleet, it needed no driver to find its way through the gnarled thicket of San Francisco’s streets or across the stately bridge. Camille needed only to briefly roll down her window to pass through the security checkpoint at the entrance of Treasure Island.
Solbourne Tower loomed overhead as the car drove itself down a single tree-lined street. Its gold accents glinted in the sunshine as the hard, monolithic face cut a stern shape against the powder blue sky. At its feet, smaller buildings housing secure elvish homes, nurseries, the Summit Hall, and Patrol barracks sprawled over the artificial island.
Elves weren’t restricted to living on the island, of course. Many lived in the city and beyond, but there was a sense of security in closeness. With a population as small and insulated as theirs, it was nice to be near one another.
At least, Camille assumed that was the case. Her mother never let her and her twin brother stay more than a few days at a time with the rest of the Solbournes — and even that was under duress.
Marian Dia Solbourne went to Grim’s arms hating the main branch of the Solbourne family with everything she had.
A swell of grief expanded in Camille’s chest as the car passed under the gated entrance to the Tower’s garage. As much as it confused and hurt her growing up, there was a comforting familiarity in her mother’s vitriol and constant, useless plotting. She didn’t miss either, but she did miss her mother.
Only the gods know why. I certainly don’t.
Climbing out of the car, Camille reminded herself that she was fulfilling her mother’s dying wish. She would not make the mistakes Marian had. She would not end up a bitter husk, wreaking misery wherever possible. She would live on her own terms or she would die trying.
Make a union. Get out of the family. Be free.
She just needed to secure Theodore’s permission first. He wouldn’t like it, but she doubted he would outright refuse her. How could he? Her union with a powerful elvish family would only strengthen his position. It wasn’t like any of his brothers were in a rush to make alliances, so she would do what was in everyone’s best interest.
Chapter Four
Camille kept her eyes ahead and her steps quick as she passed through the lobby, every one of her senses stretched to catch even the slightest hint of danger. The scent of shifter — coyote, specifically — was entirely absent from the people mingling in the luxurious, well lit lobby, but she didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until she was in the elevator and riding up to the private floors.
The Sovereign’s Guard, faceless and silent, nodded to her as they let her through the blast door and into the long, terrible hallway that guarded the Solbourne penthouse floor. Malevolent, watchful magic was thick in the air. Sigils painted in blood coated every inch of the ceiling, making it nearly impossible for intruders to pass through without being maimed, or scalded to death by their own boiling innards, or something equally horrifying. It made the Solbourne family apartments perhaps the safest place in the entire UTA.
Despite her semi-regular, enforced visits and the awful hallway, Camille never got tired of the Solbourne’s penthouse floor. It was a massive estate suspended in the sky, over which a dome of stained glass threw candy-colored light. The metal door opened into an octagonal space lined with pillars and doors. Each door led to another wing, though most of them were empty.
Someday, they might be filled with Theodore and Margot’s children and their families, but that was far enough in the future to be unimaginable to Camille. Her only concern at that moment was finding her way to Theodore’s office and securing his seal of approval.
Camille didn’t want to think about the promise of her cousin’s future when hers hung on the edge of a knife.
She knew his guards would have already alerted him to her entry into the penthouse, but she knocked on the heavy wood door anyway. One didn’t simply barge into the sovereign’s office — not even when they were once nothing more than naked babies cavorting together in the private gardens behind the Tower.
“Come in, Cammie.”
Breathe in. Breathe out. She steeled her spine. There was no backing out after this. Once she told Theodore, the whole family would know, and she was certain they would all have opinions on the subject.
But no matter how much she loathed asking for permission and wished she could continue to work in secret, Camille was no coward. She would be forthright with her plans. If Theodore disagreed with them, then she would just figure something else out.
Anything was better than living in perpetual fear of losing her mind, anyway.
She curled her gloved fingers over the door knob and gave it a sharp twist. It swung open on well-oiled hinges to reveal a room with a tall ceiling, glass-encased bookshelves, and plush leather furniture. A massive live edge desk stood in front of a wall of windows that showcased the San Francisco skyline beyond the thin strip of deadly water.
Strangely, it looked as though the familiar desk had been… expanded. A new, curved piece of live edge mahogany had been artfully attached to the right side, and a smaller chair stood behind it. On the far corner, a small pile of ancient pulp sci-fi novels stood beside a framed newspaper clipping — specifically a paparazzi shot of Theodore and his consort climbing into a car after their secret wedding.
Oh, Camille thought with a small start. That must be Margot’s desk now, too.
Theodore sat in a chair behind the desk, his usual suit jacket discarded and his elbows braced on the arms. One ungloved hand curled over his chin as he regarded her. “Hey Cammie,” he greeted, baritone smooth and comforting. There was a cautious warmth in his voice. “It’s been a while.”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Her eyes lingered on the empty half of the desk and then the bookshelves as she avoided looking at her cousin. He was dear to her in his own heavy handed way, but she found it difficult to look at him for too long without staring at the dark blue, healed marriage sigil between his brows.