Gareth crossed the spacious room toward his brother until he towered over the prospective king. “Alas, no, Cesare. I have more pressing matters at present.”
Cesare hissed, “There is nothing more pressing in this world. Our father is dead.”
“Yes.” Gareth paused, then breathed out with suppressed rage. “You were obviously a magnificent caretaker.”
The younger brother smiled with extraordinary boldness. “Well, the poor old thing had been ill long enough. He's better off. As are we.”
“You are miserable and disgusting, Cesare. I can't believe you are a son of Dmitri.”
“Yet I am. You were his favorite, there's no doubt. More the pity then. Perhaps if you had not abandoned him, he might still be alive.”
Gareth slashed out with ferocious instinct, but he was too slow. Cesare blocked the attack and another. A third blow shredded the younger prince's coat before he slipped out of arm's reach to the side of Honore, who shouted, “Stop! You are in my father's court!”
Gareth halted, already winded from the exertion.
Cesare inspected his ripped clothes bitterly, and said, “Have some decorum, for a change, Gareth. We can discuss family matters when we return to London. Prepare yourself and we will depart.”
“I said no.”
“You must.” Cesare glared at him. “I have declared it. It is the law.”
“Technically, there is no king. You must convene a clan council to summon me.”
“You insolent worm. I am to be king.”
“So you shall. But I must accomplish several things first.”
“Damn you!” Cesare stepped forward, and his claws darted out, seizing Gareth's throat. “You will do as I say.”
Gareth didn't struggle; he merely reached up and grasped his brother's wrist. He squeezed slowly, grinding bone against bone, staring straight into Cesare's eyes. His strength was failing, but he focused on one thing only—crushing his brother's arm. Every fragment of his consciousness went to that single task. The younger prince narrowed his gaze with alarm and tried to push his claws deeper into Gareth's flesh.
“Retract your claws,” Gareth hissed, “or I'll snap off your hand.”
Cesare felt his wrist begin to crack. His claws pulled out, and after a second, Gareth let off the pressure. Both brothers lowered their hands together.
Gareth leaned closer. “Don't ever send your deluded fanatics against me again.”
Cesare started to act innocent, but gave it up. He wasn't frightened or concerned; he simply saw no reason to deny it. He whispered, “You swore you would not stand in my way, Gareth, and you may not believe this, but I took you at your word. I won't stand by and watch you have second thoughts about the throne now. Don't you think I know why you're here with your old friend Lothaire? There's nothing that occurs that I don't know. I'll kill you before I'll let you ruin my coronation.”
Gareth said, “I will come to London for a coven at the new moon. You have my word.”
“The new moon? That is too far away. We are at war and the weather is warming.”
“My schedule without a fight. Or yours, and I will contest you. Choose.”
Gareth knew his brother wasn't fond of being dictated to, but by offering his own surrender, even an incomplete one, he would entice Cesare to play for the long gain. Even though the younger prince fumed at the situation, he would accept it, and plan his revenge later on his own terms.
Cesare's scowl subsided and he raised his voice. “Very well. Was that so difficult? That's all I asked, for you to honor your vow. I will see you at Buckingham Palace. Try to clean yourself up a bit. Maybe you can borrow more suitable attire from your host.” He turned to Lothaire. “Your Majesty, thank you for your promises of hospitality, but I fear I must hurry back to London. Lady Hallow will prepare a conference to discuss folding the French packs into the coalition forces. I will send Flay to consult with your war chief, Prince Honore.”
King Lothaire nodded. “We are bereaved that you must leave us so soon, Prince Cesare.”
Cesare spun back to Gareth. “Three weeks. Don't do anything that might make me nervous. And don't make me find you again because the first place I'll look is inside the rib cages of every man, woman, and child in Edinburgh.”
Gareth remained coldly silent as his brother bowed and departed with Prince Honore at his heels. Then he slumped exhausted into a creaking chair. “Lothaire, I regret to tell you that your son seems to have fallen in with a bad crowd.”
“Family.” The French king shrugged hopelessly.
SANAH STOOD IN the center of a room in Victoria Palace that was opulent to the point of gaudy. Adele and Captain Shirazi observed her unseen through a one-way mirror.