Dinner with her family had been a whirlwind of new sights and sounds. The castle’s electric lights were different than the kind I’d seen in Bucharest. They were brighter, for one thing, and they came alive when we entered the room. It was a bit like magic, although Portia said the humans created it.
Cormac had been another surprise. Rumors of the king’s madness had circulated for centuries. But when his golden eyes met mine across the table, I saw no trace of it. Just fierce love as he watched his daughter—and cautious acceptance as he studied her mates.
Niall was as intimidating as he’d been the couple of times we’d met, the dark power of House Balfour whispering around him. But the Consort had been gracious, thanking us for protecting Portia.
One look at Isolde, and I knew where Portia had gotten her fire—and her keen mind.
Portia’s brother was just as intelligent, grilling us with questions in a way that reminded me of Albie. He’d disappeared after dessert with a knowing wink in his sister’s direction.
Smart lad.
“Here,” Portia said now, pushing open a heavy wooden door.
We followed her inside, and I stopped, taking in the spacious chamber.
A large bed dominated one wall, its bedposts carved from sturdy wood. Another wall held rows of books, some leather-bound and ancient-looking, others with bold, bright writing on the spines. The hearth was large, its fire reduced to smoldering embers. A desk sat beneath tall windows that overlooked the sea. Moonlight streamed over everything.
And Portia’s scent soaked the air, as if clusters of evening primrose bloomed under the bed.
“This is your chamber?” Albie asked, eyeing the bookshelves with undisguised longing.
“Yes,” Portia said. She pointed to a door on the other side of the room. “There’s a full bathroom through there.” She smiled as she caught Albie’s eye. “It’s a lot bigger than the one in Bucharest.”
He got half a dozen steps forward before he seemed to remember he’d left us behind. His spectacles caught the light as he turned with a sheepish look on his face.
“Do you mind if I take a look?”
Portia’s smile spread. “Not at all. I’ll go with you.”
“Me too,” I said, grabbing her hand. She laughed as I hurried to Albie, caught his elbow, and hustled them through the door.
One of the magical lights flicked on.
Albie and I released identical gasps. The bathroom wasn’t the size of the one in Bucharest—it was the size of the entire hotel room. White marble gleamed on a sunken tub that looked likesomething out of the Roman baths Albie and I had toured in Italy. More marble decorated a massive washstand.
A second door stood ajar. Through it, a toilet sat against the wall, but it was different from the one in Bucharest. No tank perched above it, and the pull chain was missing.
Curiosity tugged me toward it. The lid slowly ascended.
I jerked back, my hand going to where my sword would normally hang.
A soft blue light glowed inside the bowl.
“What in the name of the gods?” I breathed.
Portia appeared at my side, humor and affection dancing in her eyes. “It’s okay. It’s just a motion sensor.”
“It opened itself,” I said, pointing.
“Magic?” Albie asked, peering around my shoulder at the glowing toilet.
“Technology,” Portia said. “The light is to help you see at night.”
Albie and I looked at each other. “Bloody convenient,” I said.
“Very.”
Portia looked like she was fighting laughter. “It has other features, too.”
