But it was Selene who invited this confrontation.
Her actions would determine how it ended.
Flanked by the soldiers from the boat and dock, Darion stared ahead, where situated on a green hill at the heart of the island paradise stood a soaring palace of white stone crowned with multiple tile-topped, turreted towers.
The Atlantean royal palace.
Even he had to admit it was stunning.
Impressed or not, his tactician’s mind counted dozens of ways for an army to attack. The island realm and its palace had no visible defenses beyond the veil that protected them. Yet Selene was willing to expose those weaknesses to an outsider in exchange for another crystal.
Was she simply that confident in her own power once she had the second crystal she was expecting to receive tonight? Or was it certainty that once her prize had been delivered the only place Darion would be taking Atlantis’s secrets was to his grave?
He would find out soon enough.
The soldiers closed in tight around him and marched him through an opened gate, into the center of the gleaming palace’s ground floor.
Pale lamplight illuminated the airy interior of the cathedral-like chamber in which he stood. White walls glowed with a pearly iridescence. Mosaic tiles crafted of opalescent stone and shells glistened under his black boots, and high above his head a glass-domed ceiling sheltered what appeared to be no less than eight spiraling floors of arches, chambers, open-air galleries, and columned arcades.
The melodic sounds of fountain water trickling gently into a reflection pool that stood as the centerpiece of the incredible space was almost soothing.
Darion couldn’t pretend he wasn’t impressed. Not to mention surprised.
This tranquil haven was the lair of Atlantis’s tyrannical queen?
“Keep moving,” one of the guards muttered behind him. “Her Majesty is waiting.”
The swords that had remained sheathed on the boat and on the march to the palace came out now that he was inside. The soldiers urged him none too gently up one of the wide staircases that climbed the perimeter of the palace tower, drawing the curious out of chambers and other spaces to gape at the Breed warrior in their midst.
When he reached the second floor, he was brought into another spacious chamber even more opulent than the one that greeted him downstairs. Tall marble columns circled the interior of the enormous room with its glistening walls and masterful sculptures.
Every detail had been designed to draw the eye toward the sparkling, jeweled throne and the woman who was seated upon it with imperial grace and a lethal, watchful stillness.
Selene.
Holy hell.
If Darion had thought her beautiful before, he hadn’t been prepared for the sight of the Atlantean queen in the flesh.
When she’d appeared on the command center’s monitor, she had worn her long platinum-blonde hair unadorned and in loose waves, a simple gown of peachy silk floating against her pearlescent skin. Plain enough, though far from ordinary.
Tonight, she was resplendent.
And garbed like an immortal queen prepared for war.
She sat, head held high, wearing a golden crown sparkling with precious jewels and pearls. Her lustrous hair was gathered into a long, braided rope that hung in front of her right shoulder and coiled into her lap like a viper. Another gown with filmy skirts flowed from her tiny waist to the floor of the dais, this time in rich shades of violet with a bodice and tall, open collar of cerulean blue. A corset-like piece of golden armor hugged her torso and accentuated the perfect swells of her small breasts as she sat, regal and utterly silent, watching Darion as her guards shoved him toward the center of the huge chamber to face her.
He told himself the reason for his spiking pulse was simply adrenaline. No different from the way his body reacted any other time he strode into combat. Anticipation of the first strike against an enemy. Impatience to come out victorious on the other side.
Anything but the sharp jolt of desire that burned through his veins as he stared up at Selene in all her furious glory.
“Darion Thorne.” There was disdain in every syllable, and if she had tried to keep her disdain for him out of her cool expression, she hadn’t succeeded. Her arctic blue eyes narrowed on him. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted at your word.”
He smirked, unable to resist provoking her. “You said you wanted the Order’s leader. Here I am.”
Suspicion drew her pale brows together. “You? Where is Lucan?”
Darion wasn’t about to give her that answer. “Where’s Jordana?”
