She resumed her perusal of the ballroom, spotting Dewdrop and Daisy easily. To Tate’s relief, most of those gathered around them were the younger crowd. Not much older than Dewdrop and Daisy.
Tate didn’t know if that was intentional or not, but it made her relax a little. She wasn’t naive enough to think the younger generation didn’t have fangs and claws, but she also knew they likely weren’t as adept at using them yet. With Dewdrop’s street smarts and Daisy’s quiet persistence, the two should be able to deal with any problems that arose.
Tate frowned when she didn’t see Night and Mia around the two. Roslyn joined her as she scanned the ballroom, still trying to spot the Veles.
She missed them the first time. It was only on the second pass that she caught the flick of Night’s tail and Mia where she stood a few feet from him, an intent expression on her face.
“Why does it look like they’re stalking the Obsidian Lord?” Tate asked herself.
Maybe they’re hungry,Ilith volunteered.
Tate ignored the dragon and watched the two. Yup. They were definitely stalking him. And here Tate was, thinking he’d gotten over that terrible habit.
Apparently not. It seemed he’d simply changed his focus from the old lord to the new.
Tate’s preoccupation with Night and Mia’s behavior made her too slow to react as the Obsidian Lord and his companion approached.
It was someone Tate recognized. The dragon slayer that Blaise and the rest had treated with hostility.
“Cousin,” George greeted Roslyn with a frosty voice.
That was enough to draw Tate out of her contemplation. She shot both women surprised looks. “Cousin?”
Why did no one ever tell her these things?
“Yes, I have the displeasure of being related to Roslyn Spiritly, formerly the daughter of my uncle, the Duke of Spiritly.” George stared Roslyn down, radiating a coldness that hadn’t been there even when she was addressing the dragon-ridden.
“It’s as she said,” Roslyn said after some hesitation.
Tate looked between the two, not missing the rising tension.
“I think I now have a better understanding of your earlier concerns,” Tate said after a long moment.
Warmth entered Roslyn’s expression as one side of her mouth quirked. “I appreciate that.”
The chilliness radiating off George deepened as the other woman frowned, not following their conversation. Tate’s answering smile was probably every bit as irritating as she’d hoped, judging by the way the very air around George seemed to freeze.
Roslyn covered her mouth, turning her laugh into a cough.
“The Obsidian Lord, I assume,” Tate said, abruptly tiring of dealing with whatever issue George had. “I’m Tate Fisher.”
“I know who you are.”
“Does that mean you’re going to introduce yourself?”
It was probably not the wisest of responses, but really, she couldn’t help herself. What was she supposed to call him? Lord? She could see why his order had so many issues if that was the case.
Anyone so narcissistic was bound to have a few crazies following him.
“Archibald Riven.”
“Archie,” Tate said on impulse, relishing the way his expression changed. It seemed he didn’t like that nickname. Too bad. Nicknames—especially one’s people didn’t like—were her specialty.
He would be Archie to her forever more.
“You are exactly how they describe you.”
Tate sketched a short bow. “Thank you.”
