A harsh bark left Fairbridge. “If you believe that, then you believe in fairytales, your Grace. My primary mission—myonlymission—is to ensure you return to England alive.”
The words struck Evander like physical blows. He stared at Fairbridge, his heart slamming painfully against his ribs as he processed this revelation.
“The Queen sent you to protect me,” he said slowly.
“Yes.” Fairbridge’s jaw tightened. “And you’ve made that task remarkably difficult. Charging into danger at every opportunity, treating your own life as if it were expendable—” He broke off, visibly mastering himself. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less intense. “You are not expendable, your Grace. Not to Her Majesty. Not to England. And not to the people in that room behind me, who would be devastated if anything were to happen to you.”
Evander thought of Viggo. Of the fear he’d often seen flash across his lover’s face during their battles with dark mages. Of his admonition and warning in Paris.
“I will not deny that I tend to put my own safety last,” Evander confessed quietly, his chest tight. “But I cannot standback and let others fight my battles.” He met Fairbridge’s gaze, his face hot. “That’s not who I am.”
“I’m not asking you to stand back. I’m asking you to stop throwing yourself into harm’s way as if you have nothing to lose.” Fairbridge’s expression shifted, something almost like pain flickering behind his eyes. “I’ve seen what happens when we lose people who matter. I won’t let it happen again. Not on my watch.”
A heavy silence fell between them.
Evander recalled what Fairbridge had told them the day they left London. That he’d lost someone close to him to dark mages.
He focused on the question that had been eating at him ever since the spy revealed that he was aware of his royal status.
“Who else knows?”
“The Prime Minister, Hartwick, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, and myself,” Fairbridge replied. “I believe Commander Winterbourne suspects you are related to the royal family, but he doesn’t have conclusive evidence.”
Evander’s shoulders sagged. For one horrid moment, he thought the entire government knew who he was.
A sharp knock came at the door before either man could say anything else.
Rufus’s voice filtered through. “Evander? There’s someone here to see you. He says it’s urgent.”
Evander exchanged a guarded glance with Fairbridge. Whatever had passed between them wasn’t resolved, but it would have to wait.
They returned to the main room to find a stranger standing near the entrance, flanked by a figure Viggo and Solomon were talking to in low voices.
“This is Franz,” the Brute said, turning to look at Evander. “Ginny’s contact from the coffee house.”
“Duke Ravenwood.” Franz stepped forward, tension straining his features. “Forgive the intrusion at this hour. But I heard what happened at the opera from my underground sources. About Ginny and your colleague.” He gestured to the man beside him. “This is Klemens Schmidt. He has information you need to hear.”
Schmidt was a solidly built man in his late fifties, with grey-streaked hair and the bearing of someone accustomed to authority. His eyes, however, were haunted.
“Duke Ravenwood.” Schmidt’s voice was thick with emotion as he stepped forward and grasped Evander’s hand. “I had to come. When Franz told me your name, I knew I had to thank you in person.”
Evander stared. “Thank me? For what?”
“My daughter.” Schmidt’s grip tightened. “Margarethe. She’s a research mage at the University here. She was taken months ago. Vanished without a trace. I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought she was dead. And then, two weeks ago, she came home. She told me she’d been rescued from a facility beneath London. By an English duke and his associates.”
Evander glanced at Viggo, understanding dawning. Viggo nodded.
Margarethe Schmidt was one of the mages they’d freed from Musgrave’s underground laboratory. And Klemens Schmidt was the man who’d given Franz the list of the missing mages and researchers.
“I’m glad your daughter is safe, Herr Schmidt,” Evander said in a strained voice. “Franz said you have some information for us.”
“I do.” Schmidt’s expression hardened. He reached into his coat and withdrew a folded document. “I received a fresh lead today. Rumours of dark mage activity in the Alps.”
Evander’s pulse quickened.
“Where?” Solomon said harshly.
“A monastery. St. Aegidius.”
