“How very clinical.”
Nikolett was almost tempted to pull up the picture she’d taken of the board with Elena’s sparkly paper craft efforts on display. The glitter paper surely meant it wasn’t clinical.
“It can be hard for an admiral to marry. What you have to do, what Hande just did?—
picking your own trinity while being admiral—is difficult.”
“It is.”
“You may want to look outside your territory. There are less issues with the power dynamic there. Yes, your spouse will become a member of your territory when you marry, but they will view you as their spouse first, admiral second.”
“I don’t know how other admirals would feel if I started poaching their members.”
“You would have to ask of course. Or take suggestions?”
Nikolett laughed softly. “I don’t know how I would feel marrying someone another admiral suggested, since I could never truly know the admiral’s motives. Would I have a spy in my bed? A problem member they wanted to get rid of?”
Victoire smiled in approval of Nikolett’s suspicious, cynical mind.
“Then you choose members strong enough to see you as their wife first, admiral second. Or you find someone you can love, and bring them in to marry them.”
They lingered in the restaurant for hours, eating and drinking too much. Nikolett told Victoire about Idir’s lobster comment, which had them laughing all the way through dessert.
They’d just ordered after-dinner drinks, when several other diners stood up all at once, gazes sweeping the room.
Nikolett’s pulse jumped and she looked at Victoire.
“My people,” the admiral confirmed, going stiff in her seat.
“Grigoris?” Nikolett whispered.
His voice came through her earpiece. “Thechevalierare going to escort you to a secure location. Go with them.”
A second later, two men who’d been dining together were at Nikolett’s elbow, pulling her up out of the chair.
“My apologies, Admiral.” One of them swung her up into their arms. “I’m Remi.”
Across from her, Victoire was standing too, a tall woman draping a heavy-looking blanket over her head and back as they hustled her through the restaurant.
“What’s happening?” Nikolett demanded as the man carrying her strode between the tables at a fast walk. They went the opposite direction from Victoire and her guards.
“Someone tapped into the security camera feed, kicking us out, and now there’s someone headed our way.” Grigoris’ voice was low and urgent through her earpiece.
At the same time Remi said, “Two DS7 Vauban are headed toward us.”
Zoran’s voice came through her earpiece. “DS7 Vaubans are specialty armored SUVs.”
Nikolett swallowed hard. Armored cars headed toward them were a bad sign. Unless an actor or musician was making a surprise visit, no normal person would have that kind of car and arrive unexpectedly. And a celebrity probably wouldn’t have hacked the security feed.
The second knight, walking just in front of them, held up a hand, fist closed, when they reached a door with a discreet plaque reading “Accès privé.”
He eased open the door, one hand tucked into his jacket, no doubt on a weapon.
Nikolett looked over Remi’s shoulder, back the way they came. From this angle, she could see through the lobby, and through the open doors of the restaurant which was in chaos, most diners out of their chairs and scrambling to leave. They’d started a panic.
She could only see a sliver of the large window, but it was enough for her to watch as a black SUV in the style ubiquitous to politicians, dignitaries, and organized crime leadership pulled up outside, a second one right behind it.
The lone couple left in the restaurant looked at the all-black vehicles and jumped up, quickly grabbing their things.
