Levet scowled. Since Inga had taken over the throne, she’d encouraged her people to travel throughout the world. They’d been trapped in the castle for a millennium. First, by Inga’s grandfather, who’d been terrified of dragons, and then by Rivan, who’d held them captive with brutal force. And this was how they repaid her kindness. By insulting him.
Thankless inmates. No, wait. Ingrates.
“Stunted.” Levet sniffed, taking another sip of ale. Maybe by the third or fourth tankard, the vile stuff would start to taste better. “I am compact, not stunted.”
Craddock shrugged. “Whatever lets you sleep.”
Levet scowled, but before he could convince the fool that size didn’t matter, the scent of fruit swirled through the air. An imp. And the sheer pungency of the scent meant it could only be one particular imp.
“Non,” Levet muttered. “It can’t be possible.”
The bartender looked confused. “What can’t be possible?”
“I smell…” Levet sniffed the air. “My nemesis.”
Craddock glanced around the crowded room, appearing more confused than ever. “There’s no platypus here. Course, I’m not exactly sure what one looks like, so it might have snuck in when I wasn’t looking.”
Levet rolled his eyes. “Not a platypus. I adore them. So tiny and cute. “
“Then what are you complaining about?”
“My nemesis.” Levet waved his hands in exasperation. “The Brutus to my Caesar.”
Craddock shrugged. “Yeah, I have no idea what that means.”
“Just look for a six-foot imp with long red hair and hideous taste in spandex,” Levet snapped.
Craddock’s eyes abruptly widened. Obviously, he’d at last spotted Troy. “Bloody hell. He’s…”
“A pain in my derrière,” Levet muttered.
“Levet. It’s been a while. How is my favorite lump of granite?”
The deep, rich voice swirled around Levet, even as Troy, the Prince of Imps, came into view. Levet pursed his lips, understanding Craddock’s stunned expression.
Troy was always flamboyant. Tonight, however, he was over the top, with his long, brilliant red hair pulled into a complicated knot on top of his head and his tall, muscular body hidden by a floor-length cape made entirely of pure white feathers.
Levet wrinkled his snout. “Were you eaten by an ostrich?”
Troy smiled, running his hands down the feathers with sensuous pleasure. “Isn’t it divine?”
“You look like a Cirque du Soleil reject.”
Troy clicked his tongue. His arrogance was impervious to insults. Probably because his features were flawless and his eyes as brilliant as emeralds. He was a gorgeous male, and he knew it.
“Jealousy is never attractive, mon ami,” the imp chided.
Levet folded his arms over his chest. He wasn’t jealous. He was…annoyed. For months, Inga had allowed this oversized buffoon to offer her advice on how to be a queen. As if she needed to change anything. She was perfect. And now he was popping up in places he shouldn’t be.
Like the black plague.
“What are you doing in London?” Levet demanded.
Troy leaned against the bar. “Searching for you. Unfortunately.”
“Why?”
“The Queen of the Mer-folk was concerned about you.”
A sudden warmth filled Levet’s heart. “Inga sent you?”
“She mentioned your latest escapade when we were chatting,” Troy said in dismissive tones. “I knew she would be fretting until someone she trusted arrived to keep you out of trouble.”
Levet’s brief joy at Inga’s concern was squashed by the imp’s rude words. “Trouble. Moi? That is absurd. I am never in trouble.”
Troy laughed. “Dude, it’s a weekly event. Do you want me to list the disasters you’ve caused?”
“I am a hero.” Levet sniffed. “You cannot make pancakes without cracking eggs, right?”
“Something’s cracked,” Troy mocked.
Levet glared at the aggravating creature. “Why were you talking to Inga at all? I thought you’d left the castle.”
“I stopped by to say hi. She depends on my sage advice.”
“Fah. She tolerates you because she is too nice to tell you to go away.”
Troy’s smile widened. They both knew that Inga had often turned to Troy when she was feeling uncertain in her position as queen. The knowledge was like a burr beneath Levet’s thick hide, constantly rubbing.
Thankfully, the imp didn’t press the sensitive issue. “Tell me why you’re in this nasty bar.”
“Hey,” Craddock protested, proving he was blatantly eavesdropping on the conversation.
“If I’m not honest with you, you can’t improve, right?” Troy told the bartender in patronizing tones.
“I…”
“Shoo.” Troy waved a contemptuous hand. Craddock frowned, but with a muttered curse, he turned to shuffle away. Troy waited until he was out of earshot before he studied Levet with a searching gaze. “Why are you here?”
Levet wanted to tell the imp that it was none of his business, but he knew Troy well enough to accept that the stubborn creature wouldn’t go away until he had his answers.
“I’m on a secret mission for Styx.”
“Secret mission?”
“Oui. Now, go away.”
Troy leaned against the bar, his expression curious. “I assume this has something to do with the evil dog you adopted? Inga said she’d mentally contacted you before you left the castle.”
Levet stiffened in outrage. “Don’t call Brigette a dog.”
“But she is evil.”
“Not anymore,” Levet protested. “She is attempting to redeem herself.”
“And her redemption has something to do with you being in London?”
Levet clicked his tongue. He wasn’t comfortable discussing Brigette and her inner motives. She was like him. Complicated. Misunderstood. A misfit who was often shunned by society.
What would a male like Troy know about such things?
“If you must know, I am searching for Styx’s old lair to discover if a bunch of smelly scrolls have been stolen from his hidden vault.”
Troy arched a brow. “Well, that makes zero sense.”