The queen’s upper lip curled. “There is no comparison between Ljósálfheimr andMidgard.”
“No, there isn’t. They are too different, but exile has taught me the charm of other realms, and I am content in that one. I wish tostay.”
Nicholas grasped Andor’s arm. His dark eyes held both wonder and desperation. “Andor, because I move freely among men, you could too as my ward. It’s a dispensation granted to you during your exile. You can’t live them among them elfin and immortalnow.”
Andor nodded. “Iknow.”
The saint’s fingers dug into his bicep. “Do you understand what you’resaying?”
“Yes.”
“It isn’t just Midgard, is it, Andor?” Dagrun had abandoned her throne to stand in front of hernephew.
Andor bowed to her. “No, myqueen.”
Where before her mouth had curled in contempt, it now curved in a knowing smile tinged with sadness. “I will hold you to exile a little longer so you may help Nicholas one final year. And to give you more time to consider your decision. If you don’t return to Ljósálfheimr by the dawn ofSolis Invicti, your grace will leave you. You will be mortal, human, and without magic. Our realm will be forever closed to you. You will age, and you willdie.”
Nicholas’s eyes glistened with tears. “Andor.”
Andor didn’t share the saint’s sadness or the queen’s melancholy. The smothering dread that had draped itself on his shoulders the moment he crossed into Ljósálfheimr was gone, replaced by euphoria and a restless need to fly from here and return to the world and the woman he’d grown to love. He grinned at the saint. “Forever is a notion, Nicholas. You said soyourself.”
9
Claire checkedher appearance in the mirror one last time and pronounced herself ready. Andor was on his way to escort her to the Carmichael’s benefit gala. The program in her purse had promised an enchanted evening of holiday fantasy among the Christmas exhibit in the Ainsley exhibit hall. Dinner, dancing, an open bar and most importantly, a silent auction. The last garnered a lot of money every year from the wealthy museum patrons who attended the gala and bid on luxury items from first-class trips to rareantiques.
She presented herself to Elise and Jake who sat at the dining table gluing pieces of felt to construction paper for an art project. Jake kept licking glue off his fingers, and what he missed, he rubbed in his hair. Elise patted him on the back. “Dude, it’s bath time after this, or I’ll be able to stick you to thewall.”
She whistled when she saw Claire. “Damn, you are seriously hot in thatdress.”
Claire pivoted slowly, hoping she didn’t wobble too much in the heels. “Look okay? No panty lines? Pulledthreads?”
Elise wiped a smear of glue off Jake’s cheek. The boy flashed a glance at his mother. “Hot,” hesaid.
The two women laughed. Elise gave her another once-over. “You’re good. Better than good. You look great.” She covered Jake’s ears with her hands. “Mr. Andor sex-on-a-stick is gonna be sporting a boner allnight.”
“Elise!” Claire laughed, secretly admitting to herself how much she hoped that was exactly what wouldhappen.
The dress she wore was a classic formal black sheath. Long-sleeved, with nude netting stitched in black lace across the collarbones, it hugged her body in sleek lines that ended in a short train. Both modest and sensual, it had appealed to Claire’s sense of style and contrasted attractively with her hair andskin.
Her shoes were the work of Satan’s minions. Created and engineered to cripple the wearer in the most painful manner, they made any pair of legs look fabulous and every dress look haute couture. Claire had promptly succumbed to temptation and sold her soul, as well as her arches, to the demon posing as a sales clerk in the shoestore.
When the doorbell rang, Elise rose from her seat and pointed at Claire. “You just stand there and look—” She lowered her voice. “Fuckable. I’ll get thedoor.”
Claire shook her head. She adored Jake’s babysitter, even if Elise’s word choices took her abacksometimes.
Andor’s comments when he saw Claire mirrored Elise’s admiration if not the vulgarity. His gaze slid over her, slow as honey, hot as a bonfire. “I don’t think there are enough of the right words in any language to describe how youlook.”
Claire blushed. “Good or bad will dofine.”
“Sublime,” he saidsimply.
“Thank you. I can say the same foryou.”
She could say a lot of things if she wasn’t virtually tongue-tied with awe. A tuxedo worked like her Satan shoes. It made just about anyone look good. Andor, however, went beyond good, beyond striking or sublime to jaw-droppingly beautiful. His features were too hard to be called angelic, unless one compared him to an archangel—that celestial warrior who engaged demons in battle. Preferably those like the one who designed the shoes shewore.
He wore his hair in its usual ponytail, and the casual look somehow gave the formal tux more pizzazz and interest. It was positively criminal to look that lickable in abowtie.
“Are you two going to stand there all night staring at each other, or are you going to yourparty?”
