Chapter 113

~~Beatrice~~

Jacob hadn’t been in the cave when she came back with everyone. She was kinda thankful for that. Stressful conversations could wait until another time.

Waking up was a strange feeling, and the memories hit her hard. Angela, Jeremiah, Athalia, the fucking twisted curse Jack, the huge gargoyle Sándor, it all came back to her a little faster than she’d have liked. Joy, over knowing Angela was dead, and Jeremiah too. Sadness, about Athalia; not a lot, but enough to make things bittersweet. She felt real good that every one of her witches lived, and hell, she even felt good about Azamel living, too.

Sándor was a bit of an anomaly. While Jack’s attack had gone freakishly well, to the point it hadn’t really been a fight, but a slaughter, she did completely forget they weren’t just killing some hunters. They were also freeing a slave. Christ, she’d completely forgotten that Jeremiah had a fucking monster as his slave, during that attack last night. All she knew, was she had a way to get past Elen’s magic, and with Jack’s curse, they could get revenge.

Revenge had. Now what? She wouldn’t be surprised if they had to hunt down a few of the remaining hunters, but compared to the shit they’d been through for months now, it’d be a cakewalk. Maybe Athalia would try and kill her. Certainly possible. If Athalia wanted to kill her, well, let her come. But something told her that it wouldn’t come to that, at least not yet, and not without at least one more conversation between them.

That meant she didn’t have a good reason to get up tonight. If she wanted, she could just lie down, and sink into a hole of depression. Fuck, who’da thought achieving revenge would leave her so empty? At least when Angela was alive, she had something to distract herself, something to pour her efforts into. Now, she had nothing.

Not completely nothing. The damn Ventrue slut next to her was a reason. Stupid girl wouldn’t let her drown in her pit of despair and self-loathing, and Triss knew that must have been hell for her. Triss was very much a ‘let people who can’t swim, drown’ sort of person, or at least she was, in the past. If she’d known a woman who was drowning in sadness because her lover died, Triss wouldn’t have helped her. You can’t get stronger when other people save you from your struggles. Few things terrified her as much as the idea of a clingy person dragging her down, until she drowned with them.

She hadn’t become clingy since Julias died, but she’d certainly been drowning. Jen helped her stay above water. Damn idiot.

Triss looked over at the stupid woman, who was sitting up with the vitae jolt that came with every completed sunset. Both were still clothed. Jen’s clothes were in good condition, but Beatrice’s looked like hell, and she smirked as she compared them.

“So, what now?” Jen said.

“Dunno. I suppose we talk to Jacob, next time that asshole shows his face.” She had a sneaking suspicion the man had been involved last night, and she didn’t know how. “And the Prince wanted to talk to us tonight. We should probably call Jack and see when she wants to do that.”

With a heavy sigh, Jen nodded, and lay back on the furs in their alcove. “I’m ... happy, that you got her.”

“I am, too.”

“You sure? You look torn about the whole thing.”

Course Jen would be able to read her, considering how long they’d been friends. And Beatrice was dogshit at hiding her feelings about anything, anyway.

“Yeah, I am,” she said. She whispered it, she realized, after she’d said it. Aaron and Othello were in the cave, and she didn’t want them hearing. Her voice grew quieter again, and she scooted in closer to Jen. “You know what her last words were? ‘Do it’. Christ, she was fucked up, Jen. Like, majorly fucked in the head, fucked up. She was happy to die.”

“Yes, you told me last night, but it still sounds terrible. She must have had a horrible life.”

“Athalia fucked her up pretty bad, judging from the ... the last words they had. In the end, she just wanted to save her daughter, but her daughter wouldn’t accept her help. It was ... it was so fucked up.” Triss pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged her legs close to her body. “I didn’t get to kill an evil woman who ruined my life. I didn’t get to beat some horrible bitch. I was just putting down some sort of injured, rabid animal.” She was on repeat, saying the things she’d already told Jen, but her mind was stuck on it and couldn’t work past it. Her vision of revenge had been ruined by the reality, and it fucking sucked.

Jen slipped in closer, hooked an arm around her, and hugged her tight. “Then, instead of being happy about revenge, be happy you did something good? You stopped her from killing more people, and it sounds like she was happy it was over. That’s a lot of pain you helped stop. Maybe even Athalia will be able to move on now?”

Triss managed a small smile for her friend. There was truth in what she said, and hell, maybe Triss could even start thinking of it that way. “Yeah, but I don’t know about Athalia. She ... really wanted to protect her daughter.”

“A wound can’t heal when the knife’s still jammed in there, Triss. Now that Angela’s gone, I think Athalia will ... probably get worse, first, and then she’ll recover. It might take weeks, months, or years, but she’ll recover. No more false hope dragging her down.”

No more false hope. Painful truth. Triss didn’t like it, but truth was better than bullshit. This whole thing didn’t have the ending she’d been hoping for, but it was over. Time for people to heal, and move on.

“So,” Jen said, “that Sándor. Wow.”

Oh good god. “Jen, the dude was getting revenge for a dead wife and son. I think you can safely say he’s off the table.”

“For the moment.” She grinned, and tapped her fingertips together, classic evil villain style. “It was four years ago.”

“And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were giving his monster form bedroom eyes.”

Jen giggled, a sultry and very feminine thing; undoubtedly a sound she’d practiced. “Well, you have to admit, it was gorgeous. He was utterly massive. Can you imagine, disappearing between those arms? Yum.”

Triss rolled her eyes, and looked around for some clothes. If she was going to the Elysium Tower, the least she could do was not wear clothes with giant tears cutting through it. The others would probably wear suits or something, but the witches would go casual. Casual didn’t mean with half her skin exposed.

She threw off her tank top, reached for another one, and before she could slip it on, Jen was on her. Hugging her from behind, she cupped Triss’s breasts, and pressed her chest into Triss’s back with a very obvious intent to squash her big tits into her. And to make matters worse, she hooked her chin over Triss’s shoulder, and set a small kiss on her temple.

“Jen. Seriously?”

“I know I know. Still too soon. But I think it’s good to remind you that, I’m perfectly willing to help you alleviate some of your stress.” And to make her point clear, her hands cupping Triss’s breasts found her nipple piercings, and lightly teased, circling around her areola with her fingertips. God damn it. Even without the Blush of Life, it still felt damn good.

So, for a little while, Triss just sat there, before leaning back a little, and letting herself melt into Jen’s body. Jen remained snug to her back, keeping her upright, and continued to gently massage her breasts. With slow, tender fingers, she circled Triss’s nipples, and set slow kisses on her neck, more relaxing than anything. And of course, Jen knew just how to touch her, just how to gently caress her moderate breasts, and how to place delicious, tender squeezes on them that were half massage, half tease. God damn. If Triss blushed, her body would have lit up like the Fourth of July.

“Thanks, for putting up with this stick in the mud,” she said.

“Ha, you are welcome.” Jen got up, held out her hand, and Triss took it once she got the cleaner shirt. “Call me a strong believer in sexual healing.”

Standing in the office room of the top floor of the Elysium Tower was a strange feeling. Everything was so clean, pristine, and expensive. The black marble with white lightning lines, the lights built into the walls, the fucking chairs, it was all so god damn richy rich. It made her cringe. All that money, and this was how Antoinette spent it? Then again, this probably didn’t scratch the surface of the money Antoinette had, and it was definitely a powerful symbol of her control.

Jennifer, Othello, and Aaron were all there with her, though each of them stood a little bit behind Beatrice, just enough so she would be the first others looked at. Kinda dumb, considering Jen was the one in a suit. She liked suits. Fucking Ventrue.

Clara was there too, dressed just like Triss, blue jeans and a tank top, white versus Triss’s black. Damn she was an attractive woman, and she screamed confident. Except, some of that confidence looked damaged.

It was Jack. Jack was standing in front of the group of them, and Clara was a couple feet behind. Whenever her eyes went to the little guy, they fell after a few seconds, and it took a few seconds after that before she lifted her eyes again.

Yeah, understandable. They were all having trouble looking at Jack. Even Jennifer and Aaron, who’d missed half the party, weren’t able to look at the kid’s back for very long. It was massive, on such a small body. The aura of his Beast was absurd, and dark, and being this close to him made her Beast reel in disgust and fear. Having a very real mental image and memory to attach to its horrid nature made it a thousand times worse.

Only Damien seemed to be ok with it. He stood beside Jack, in his suit and trench coat. No sword. Heh, maybe the broken thing was still in the dream? He didn’t waver, didn’t shake or quiver, didn’t do anything but stand there beside the demon. Solid.

Fiona was there. Sándor was there as well. Both were giving Jack plenty of room, hanging out in the back of the office. Fiona was in her usual leather jacket, but Sándor was dressed a little more formally, some dark jeans with brown boots, black belt, and a blue, button shirt, undone a few buttons so the top half of his chest was visible. Where’d he get the clothes? Probably stole them just for this night, considering they didn’t fit him very well, a bit tight on his frame.

Beatrice couldn’t blame Jen for getting so flirtatious with him, attractive as he was. The buzz-length black hair, short dark gruff on his hard chin and lean face, along with his strangely dreamy blue eyes, made for a pleasing image. Deep-seated eyes, that held enough buried pain that the man just oozed tormented soul.

She hated that he reminded her of Julias. He helped kill Julias, against his will, but still, it made looking at him difficult. The fact that she recognized that morose look from Julias, back before she helped fix his life, made looking at Sándor beyond difficult. He was a sad soul, racked with pain, and guilt, all the things that screamed emo. Justifiably emo. And he was old enough that he didn’t grow hair over one eye, put on mascara, and wear a black t-shirt with some vague anarchist expression on it. Emo on a guy like him was a darker thing, subtler, and a hell of a lot more serious.

If he’d started fake smiling, and suddenly being flirtatious and suave to cover his depression, it’d have been so Julias, she would have had no choice but to rip his fucking throat out. But he didn’t. He just stood there, face solid stone like the gargoyle monster, once he’d merged with it. A cold face.

Maybe he’d start to heal. Maybe not.

“Everyone involved in your suicidal assault on the hunters is here, save for Athalia,” Antoinette said. She was sitting behind a big desk, and leaning back in a black leather chair that may as well have been a throne. “I am sure you can understand why she is not.”

No one said anything. Antoinette was giving some sort of speech, and the atmosphere was clear: let the boss woman talk.

“What you did was foolhardy,” she continued, “but ultimately, details of the circumstance were simply beyond my, or the Invictus’s, or Avery’s, or Jacob’s, or ... the Sanctum’s ability to quantify or qualify. Jack and the curse that plagues him have proven a powerful tool, and he made a decision to use it, one that he knew the Primogen would not have agreed to.” She smiled at that, and Beatrice raised an eyebrow. Ok, not expecting the smile. “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, Mister Terry?”

“Uh ... in a sense, Prince,” the kid said.

She nodded, smile remaining. The whole tone of the conversation changed from the military whooping Triss expected, to something a lot more lighthearted. Was the Prince happy with them? It kinda seemed like she was. “The hunters are defeated. Jeremiah and Angela are dead. Three hunters have surrendered. Harcourt has already sent a message to his fellow hunters explaining what has happened, a message I helped craft. Jack, I ask that you Dominate the man later, to insure that he is truthful about his intentions.”

“Will do, Prince. It’s ... difficult, to get past his barriers though, and with the curse, I could end up hurting him.”

“A risk worth taking.” She brushed a hand aside, dismissing the concern easily. Well, he was a hunter. No use crying over spilled milk in that regard, Triss supposed. “The remaining hunters in the city are considered a deadly threat, and are to be killed on sight unless they surrender first. I imagine they will flee, once receiving Harcourt’s message.”

“And ... Harcourt, and his friends?” Jack asked. “I made them a promise.”

“We will see. You overstepped your power, Mister Terry. I do not need to honor your promise to them. Be thankful your promise was to kine, and not another Kindred, or they would have had claim to a dispute.”

Beatrice grinned a little at that. Well, at least Antoinette wasn’t playing favorites with her boy toy.

“Yes, yes you’re right. I apologize,” he said.

“Lying to the enemy is a part of warfare, Jack Terry. Do not apologize.” She shrugged, again dismissing Harcourt’s life value with a small gesture. “My point was that, were such a promise made to Kindred, and it became a part of the Danse Macabre, you would be ... up shit creek, without a paddle, as it were. Be careful with such promises in the future.”

“Lesson learned, Prince.”

“I will be hosting a ball in several days. All Kindred are to attend. Defy me at your peril.” She offered each witch a harsh glare, before looking to the others. “Uratha and Begotten, you are invited, but your presence is optional. I would appreciate your attendance. I—” She stopped, and raised her hand to her ear for a moment. Oh, she was wearing an ear piece, a tiny thing Triss almost hadn’t noticed. And she was too good to poker player to do something as stupid as call attention to it by lifting a hand to her ear. So, if she was willing to let them know she was hearing something, then—

Everyone snapped to awareness, weight going onto the balls of their feet, as Daniel stepped out of the corner of the room, from behind them. Holy fucking shit, he’d been in the room all along, Cloaked, hidden, invisible. Everyone was caught by surprise, everyone except Jack.

A grunt came from Daniel’s direction, and that did draw Jack’s attention, as if he’d known about Daniel, but not who was going to make that noise. Everyone turned to watch the deadly fucker walk toward the center of the room, and they made way for him, and his prisoner.

“Mark?” Jack said. “You...”

The dude said nothing. In jeans and a hoodie, the man frowned up a storm as Daniel, with a sword drawn and pressed to the Begotten’s throat, escorted him to the big desk Antoinette sat behind.

“Mark.” Antoinette said. “You never gave me your last name.” The dude said nothing, but it was clear he hadn’t expected to be found doing whatever it was he was doing. “I suspected, based on my last conversation with Azamel, that she knew far too much, about a great many things. She hinted that you had helped her learn of Jeremiah’s defenses, and to extrapolate from that was not difficult.” She leaned forward, and glared ice into the monster. “I wondered why Azamel kept you close, Mark. You do not seem to possess combat prowess. What value would you have as bodyguard? It took time before I realized that you are not a sword, but eyes and ears. A rather devious set of eyes and ears.

“Unfortunately for you, your underestimated my sheriff’s ability.” She netted her fingers in front of her, elbows still on the desk, and she smiled a deadly smile. My god, she was enjoying this, indulging in catching the fucker who’d been spying on her. Dude had balls, Triss had to give him that, to spy on the fucking Prince.

Triss found her eyes drifting to Jack more than anyone. He hadn’t reacted to Daniel’s sudden appearance, while the rest of them had. But, he’d been surprised by Mark’s presence. Did he sense Daniel? Did he just assume the sheriff was always around, Cloaked? Either way, Mark had managed to surprise him. Hell, even Antoinette looked pleased that the fucker had been caught, as if she hadn’t been able to sense him either. Giant balls and insane sneaking skills.

“Release me,” he said eventually.

“Fiona.” Antoinette turned to look at the redhead, and the tiny girl stood up straight. Poor girl probably thought she’d be nothing but a sideliner through all this, but Mark’s presence changed that. “Did you know of your colleague’s ambitious attempts at spying?”

“N-No! I didnae ... know...” She couldn’t hold Antoinette’s gaze for long. After a few awkward moments, where Antoinette was obviously waiting for Fiona to fill in some blanks, the redhead lowered her eyes and glanced Mark’s way. “I only knew that he works close with Azamel, and he spies for her, and stuff.”

The Prince glared at Fiona for a few more seconds, and the room waited for something to happen. Fiona was innocent. No way that dumbass ditz was up to anything sinister; other than her usual Begotten stuff, hunting kine and feeding off their fear.

“Needless to say, this damages my trust of Azamel.” Sighing, Antoinette got up, stepped around her desk, and looked down at Mark. Damn tall woman. “The only reason I do not kill you, is because—”

“Because you’re afraid of Azamel. I—”

Everyone took another quick step back from Mark and Daniel, when Antoinette snapped out her right hand, and wrapped her fingers around Mark’s throat. Her arm moved fast enough, Beatrice fucking heard it moving the air, long after the Prince’d already gotten her hand around the monster’s throat.

Like a queen of ice, the white-haired woman squeezed on Mark’s neck, silencing his grunts as she lifted him a foot into the air. With her arm outstretched and solid, she glared at the man, and Triss swore she could see literal blades of ice shooting out of her red eyes, and into the man’s body.

“I have been far too passive in this ridiculous game, but my patience has been stretched to its limit. You think I spare you for fear of your master? I could kill Azamel myself, worm, and I was capable of such a feat before her injury. She is injured now, weakened, and I could have her head on a platter if I so choose.” A quiet growl rumbled in her throat, and Triss gulped as she felt her Beast do its best to disappear into the environment. Mark, clutching her wrists, squirmed and wriggled, obviously unable to breathe, and the only reason he wasn’t kicking Antoinette, was probably because she’d literally squeeze until his head popped off if he did.

“The only reason you live,” she continued, “is because it brings me no pleasure to make enemies of fellow paranormals. The only reason you live, is because Azamel has never directly attempted to harm me. The only reason you live, is because she proved true to her word last night. The only reason you live, is because I can understand the measures of an old, dying woman, doing her best to control her world.” She still wasn’t letting up her grip, and it was clear the man was beginning to feel the effects of asphyxiation. As fucked up weird the Begotten were, with strange powers, and Mark himself probably being immune to something like being choked to death when he was in his rot form, here in the real world, he was vulnerable.

“Hear me, filth,” Antoinette said, and she brought the man in close to her face. “You are not invited to my ball, and for this transgression, neither is Azamel. One more misstep from her, and I will have the Invictus detonate the explosives placed in the precious tunnels. Go back to the old crone, and give the shadow creature Athalia a message. If she behaves, she is invited, and will be safe under the protection I give all those who enter my walls.” After a quiet growl, Antoinette threw the man back, and everyone spread apart to let him crash into the office floor.

Mark got up, looked around, eyed the sheriff with what Triss could only guess was professional rivalry, before glaring at Antoinette again. But, he said nothing. He turned, and walked out of the room.

“Uh ... you invited Athalia?” Triss said.

Antoinette snapped her a look, and she froze. Ok, yeah, talking without being asked to talk was not a good idea right now.

Once Antoinette calmed down in a second, she nodded. “Indeed. Samantha wishes to speak with her, or at least see her once for herself.”

Triss winced and looked to Jack. His mom wanted to see the mother of Angela. Fuck, what was that interaction going to be like? Hell, what would any interaction with Athalia be like, after the death of her daughter?

“Can Mo—Samantha be trusted with such a decision?” Jack said.

“Yes, she can.” Antoinette gave the small Ventrue a harsh glare not unlike the one she gave Triss, before she stepped around her desk to sit in her chair again. “We may discuss your mother later, Mister Terry. For now, understand that all are invited to my ball. All, except for that ... thing”—she gestured to the door—”and his master. If last night had not gone as it did, if Azamel had lied to me, or deceived me, Mark would be dead, and I would personally see to killing Azamel myself.” As she said it, she looked to Fiona, as if daring the woman to challenge her.

Fiona did not. She put up her hands, an exaggerated surrender, before putting them down and doing her best to disappear by holding perfectly still.

“Miss Moreno,” Antoinette continued, looking to Clara, “I understand that Avery may disagree with your actions last night. Should I not mention you at the ball?”

“Um, the boss already knows, the sneaky bitch. So I guess it doesn’t matter. But, mention?”

“Oui. I will be making an announcement at the ball, of who defeated the hunters.” Her eyes fell to Sándor, and she looked at the quiet man for a little while, probably trying to gauge how the gargoyle would react. The problem was, the man barely reacted at all. His eyes were locked onto her, and the room as a whole, obviously paying attention, but Mark and Daniel’s sudden appearance, and Antoinette’s aggression toward his fellow Begotten had barely made him move. He just, stood there, like a gargoyle.

Which the Prince took as a silent yes, apparently.

“Excellent. Dolareido has come unto strange times, and I expect that, by explaining the different forces involved in this act, I can nurture an atmosphere of cooperation. The assault was a joint effort of many groups, after all.”

Ah, politics, the worst reason to do anything. But Antoinette was smart, and good at the Danse Macabre, better than Triss would ever be. Better to just do what she said. Not like Triss had a choice anyway, since only the Uratha and Begotten were optionals. Everyone else was just expected to do what Antoinette wanted them to, and they would, too, unless they wanted to get on her bad side. No one wanted that.

“Dress well. Suits, dresses, and do not be afraid to show some skin. Some, mind you.” Nodding, Antoinette waved a hand, a tiny gesture, motioning for them to go. “Jack, please explain the rules of my city to Sándor.”

“Me?”

“Oui. I trust you, and I am pressed for time.”

Jack nodded, and everyone left.

“So, your mother is coming to the ball?” Jennifer said to Jack, in the elevator. In it were Triss, Jen, Jack, Clara, and Sándor. Othello, Aaron, Fiona, and Damien took another one, not wanting to crowd.

“Yes, she is,” Jack said, and he glared at Jen with a hard squint. “Please don’t wear what you wore last time.”

“Jack! A woman never wears the same dress twice. Not to a ball, at least.”

“You know what I mean. Can you cover up a bit? Mom’s been single since my dad died years ago, and now she’s getting hammered in all directions by”—Triss snorted on a laugh, and Jack glared at her as well—”by changes.”

“She’s Daeva!” Jen said. “Daeva love new experiences.”

Jack jammed a finger in the girl’s shoulder. “New experiences does not necessarily include an orgy buffet.”

Orgy buffet. Well, Daeva did have a habit of becoming addicted to sex, and lining up kine like a buffet to drink, and then fuck. Or fuck, then drink. Or drink fuck. Triss could understand Jack having trouble imagining his mom doing that, but then again, the kid basically got to do just that, frequently.

So, she elbowed him in the side a bit. Half of her said don’t do that, don’t touch the demon, but the other half won over. This wasn’t Jack the psycho. This was Jack, kid Jack, growing up far too fast but still her friend Jack. She could feel the curse, but it felt like it was asleep or something, or lurking under the surface. Strangely, she managed to relax around him, a little.

“Jack, come on, your mom’s an adult. If you can survive a foursome on the reg, I think your mom can, too.”

The kid cringed, and she laughed. Yeah, that was Jack, young Jack who could still get caught off guard by aspects of Kindred life he never predicted. Orgies and whatnot was one hurdle most Kindred dealt with; not her, considering she was Nosferatu and had a stick up her ass, but still. The hurdle of a family member also becoming Kindred, and then getting involved in their own orgies? It happened to a lot of Kindred, she supposed, those who got their family pulled into the Masquerade.

“Seriously Jack,” Jennifer added, “you let go of your issues with sex, didn’t you? That should extend to your mother, and I’m sure she’ll let go of hers, with a little incentive.” Smiling, Jen combed back her shoulder-length black hair over one ear, and took a step toward Sándor. “Mister Sándor, I ... what is your last name, if I may ask?”

The man, who’d been watching them with an unreadable, muted expression, softened his stone gaze. Or at least, softened a little, as if he was making an effort.

“Pavel.”

“Mister Pavel! I know your life has been quite hectic as of late. You’ve only been a free man for a single night, and the ball is in several days. Would you like some help finding clothes?”

That sneaky, crafty bitch. She was roping him in, giving him reasons to want to lean on her, and trust her considering she’d given him the location of their base. Not that it was a secret base, but there were plenty of Kindred who didn’t know where it was; not exactly widely circulated info.

“I didn’t plan to go.” Again, deadpan face.

“You must come!” She came in closer again, until she was only a foot from him, fluttering her eyelashes up at the man. “Everyone will be there, and it will be the perfect opportunity for people to meet the Begotten who killed Jeremiah.”

Mentioning Jeremiah managed to get a reaction from the statue, but it passed quickly.

“I’m only here because I know Dolareido is a safe enough place for me to rest this body. Once I ... feel well enough to move on, I probably will.”

Jennifer stood up straight, and frowned. “Move on? Why?”

“Because ... this place is not my...” He didn’t need to say it, he’d said it before. His wife and son were dead, and they were his home. His human half had been a slave for four years, too, so if he went back to his old life, the result would be obvious. He’d be accused of killing his wife and son. Christ, that’d suck.

“Well,” Jennifer said, “I think Dolareido could be your new home. It’s a huge city, with endless indulgences and interesting distractions.”

“I don’t have—”

“If you need money, I’m sure Jack will help you. Invictus are all rich. And they can create a new identify for you.”

That earned a raised brow from the man, some of the largest expression Triss had seen from him yet. He looked to Jack, and the little guy nodded.

“Yeah, that’d be easy. There are Invictus in every branch of government, keeping information under control. It’s the least I could do. And money, too.”

Triss grinned at the Begotten, not having to say a word as the two Ventrue, predictably, handled the negotiations.

“Something tells me the Prince—”

“Nonsense,” Jen said. “The Prince will be glad to have you in the city. She ... may not be happy about the Uratha and other Begotten, but you seem a good deal more civil. And it is civility that the Prince seeks in others.” She came in even closer, and held out a hand, just as the elevator door opened. Planned, no doubt. “Come, let us help build you a wardrobe.”