your own.”
Hart gave a slight bow. “I bring you greetings from the Northeastern United States,” he said smoothly, and reached out to shake David’s hand.
Hart was a handsome man; he had a polished look and demeanor that would not have been out of place debating on the Senate floor and appeared to have been in his early forties when he came across. He had silver hair and iceblue eyes; the overall effect was that of a man who presumably would have had no trouble landing women . . . willing ones. If David hadn’t known about the actions behind the suave façade, he might even have called him charming.
David turned to Miranda. “Allow me to introduce Miranda Grey-Solomon, Ninth Queen of the Southern United States.”
Hart looked Miranda up and down, then bowed a bit less than he had to David. Still, he smiled when he said, “A pleasure. Prime James Hart.”
Miranda bowed. “Welcome to our Haven, Lord Prime. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Hart had already returned his attention to David. “I look forward to the next three days,” he said. “I think it’s time the Northeast and the South renew their friendship, with a Council meeting coming up soon.”
Having fulfilled the requirements of Signet formality, David nodded. “Perhaps we could retire to the study to discuss matters of state.”
Hart nodded curtly, then gave Miranda a faintly dismissive look. “I’m sure your young wife has other matters to attend to and is quite busy with her household duties.”
David wasn’t quite quick enough to change the subject.
“I am neither a housewife nor a servant,” Miranda said coldly, staring daggers at Hart. “I am Queen of this territory and I don’t require a man’s permission to stay or go.”
Before Hart could reply, David interjected, “She does, however, have a performance in town tonight, which I’m sure she would much rather attend.”
Silently he willed Miranda to let it go this time—he wanted to know what Hart was up to, and if he stormed out now in a fit of pique they might never find out.
Miranda shot David a poisonous look but merely turned on her heel and walked away.
David gestured down the hall. “This way, please, my Lord Prime.”
The study David had chosen for their meeting was not in the Signet wing; he wasn’t going to let Hart anywhere near their private residence. It was a somewhat neutral venue with a square of identical love seats that put no one more in the spotlight than any other and was tastefully decorated to show off the Haven’s wealth without ostentation. There was a map of the U.S. Signet territories on the wall in their current configuration with Kentucky firmly in David’s grasp . . . just as a little reminder.
As they sat, one of the servants came forward to pour their first glass of whiskey. David hoped they’d brought up a very large bottle.
“Ice,” Hart said shortly to the servant without looking at her.
David felt himself bristle at Hart’s officious tone but said nothing. He couldn’t let every little thing Hart did aggravate him, or they’d be at war before the hour was up. Hart came from a different world and time than David; the rumor was he’d been a Crusader, son of a noble family somewhere in Europe. He’d been ordering people around his entire life. David had spent his childhood covered in soot at his father’s side, and as a vampire he had worked his way up through the ranks of the Western Elite. Plenty of Primes were disdainful and dismissive of their servants. He couldn’t let it get further under his skin just because it was Hart.
Not to mention it would be hypocritical to lecture Miranda about diplomacy and then start trouble himself.
“Why don’t we get down to business,” David said.
Hart actually smiled, though it wasn’t a particularly friendly expression. “And what business is that, Lord Prime?”
“Cut the crap, Hart. What are you doing here?”
Hart regarded him silently for a moment before saying
Hart gave a slight bow. “I bring you greetings from the Northeastern United States,” he said smoothly, and reached out to shake David’s hand.
Hart was a handsome man; he had a polished look and demeanor that would not have been out of place debating on the Senate floor and appeared to have been in his early forties when he came across. He had silver hair and iceblue eyes; the overall effect was that of a man who presumably would have had no trouble landing women . . . willing ones. If David hadn’t known about the actions behind the suave façade, he might even have called him charming.
David turned to Miranda. “Allow me to introduce Miranda Grey-Solomon, Ninth Queen of the Southern United States.”
Hart looked Miranda up and down, then bowed a bit less than he had to David. Still, he smiled when he said, “A pleasure. Prime James Hart.”
Miranda bowed. “Welcome to our Haven, Lord Prime. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Hart had already returned his attention to David. “I look forward to the next three days,” he said. “I think it’s time the Northeast and the South renew their friendship, with a Council meeting coming up soon.”
Having fulfilled the requirements of Signet formality, David nodded. “Perhaps we could retire to the study to discuss matters of state.”
Hart nodded curtly, then gave Miranda a faintly dismissive look. “I’m sure your young wife has other matters to attend to and is quite busy with her household duties.”
David wasn’t quite quick enough to change the subject.
“I am neither a housewife nor a servant,” Miranda said coldly, staring daggers at Hart. “I am Queen of this territory and I don’t require a man’s permission to stay or go.”
Before Hart could reply, David interjected, “She does, however, have a performance in town tonight, which I’m sure she would much rather attend.”
Silently he willed Miranda to let it go this time—he wanted to know what Hart was up to, and if he stormed out now in a fit of pique they might never find out.
Miranda shot David a poisonous look but merely turned on her heel and walked away.
David gestured down the hall. “This way, please, my Lord Prime.”
The study David had chosen for their meeting was not in the Signet wing; he wasn’t going to let Hart anywhere near their private residence. It was a somewhat neutral venue with a square of identical love seats that put no one more in the spotlight than any other and was tastefully decorated to show off the Haven’s wealth without ostentation. There was a map of the U.S. Signet territories on the wall in their current configuration with Kentucky firmly in David’s grasp . . . just as a little reminder.
As they sat, one of the servants came forward to pour their first glass of whiskey. David hoped they’d brought up a very large bottle.
“Ice,” Hart said shortly to the servant without looking at her.
David felt himself bristle at Hart’s officious tone but said nothing. He couldn’t let every little thing Hart did aggravate him, or they’d be at war before the hour was up. Hart came from a different world and time than David; the rumor was he’d been a Crusader, son of a noble family somewhere in Europe. He’d been ordering people around his entire life. David had spent his childhood covered in soot at his father’s side, and as a vampire he had worked his way up through the ranks of the Western Elite. Plenty of Primes were disdainful and dismissive of their servants. He couldn’t let it get further under his skin just because it was Hart.
Not to mention it would be hypocritical to lecture Miranda about diplomacy and then start trouble himself.
“Why don’t we get down to business,” David said.
Hart actually smiled, though it wasn’t a particularly friendly expression. “And what business is that, Lord Prime?”
“Cut the crap, Hart. What are you doing here?”
Hart regarded him silently for a moment before saying
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