High Voltage: A fantasy fated mate romance (The Queen’s Court, Book 4)
High Voltage: Chapter 7

“READY?” I ASK, HOLDING out my hand to Ash and taking in his shuttered expression.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” he says.

“It is too late, and I have no intention of changing my mind.” I zip up my high-heeled designer boots and skim a hand over my body-hugging sweater dress. Two weeks after announcing we’re going to visit Edmund Shaw, the Controller of the British Isles, Ash and I are preparing to make the jump to his Earthside territory. Because it’s a friendly court and Ash is with me, we’re only bringing six members of the Gorm. They’ve already jumped ahead with our bags to take up position outside our suite and make sure no one enters our rooms except the maids who will unpack our luggage.

Ash takes my hand, and we disappear from Avalon in a flash of light and arrive in Kilkenny Keep—Edmund’s castle. The Earthside castle is named for his sovereign island nation on the preternatural plane.

The afternoon welcome reception in the Scarlet Room is already in full swing when we arrive. The drawing room is packed with guests chatting in small cliques while uniformed waiters navigate the groups with trays of drinks and other refreshments. The room is decorated with crimson wallpaper, damask drapes and ornately framed paintings of hunting scenes. Music wafts on the air from the grand piano and harp being played in the back corner.

Ash snags us a couple of drinks from a passing waiter, and we overhear snippets of conversation from a nearby group.

“Edmund’s getting married again.”

“Tsk. Tsk. And to another human.”

“He definitely has a type.”

“She’s a beauty no doubt, but humans are a bit delicate for my taste.”

“Well, we all know your tastes run to the exotic . . .”

I smirk at the gossip and scan the room until I spot Edmund making his way to stand in front of the piano. Thanks to his shifter magic, he hasn’t aged since I was a child and looks to be in his midthirties. The hair on his head is shaved the same length as the stubble of his beard. He’s average height but is built like a heavyweight boxer and commands a room with the same je ne sais quoi my mother possessed. Edmund’s a lupine, a born wolf shifter, and he’s powerful on a scale that few can match. Although he always keeps it tightly controlled, I identify his magic immediately—an earthy, but not unpleasant, musk with undertones of vanilla scents the air, and his power brushes over my face like the softest fur.

Like me, he’s a Council of Seven member, but unlike me, he wasn’t born into wealth. He fought his way to the top, using any means necessary.

On his arm is a petite, voluptuous strawberry blond nervously playing with a gold medallion on a chain around her neck. This must be his bride-to-be. I’m not exactly sure how old Edmund is, but I know he’s older than my mother, and this is his fifth marriage.

I place my hand on Ash’s arm. “Let’s go say hello to our hosts.”

We set our drinks down and cross the wine-red Persian rug and wait to present ourselves to him while Edmund finishes speaking with another couple.

“Seraphina and Ashton. The queen and king of Avalon. Welcome to Kilkenny Keep.” Edmund greets us in his rough Brummie accent and shakes each of our hands. Then he puts his arm around the tiny waist of the strawberry blond. “Allow me to introduce you to my Isabel. Isabel Deerchild, the future Mrs. Shaw.”

I extend my hand to Isabel. “Lovely to meet you.” She looks my age—early twenties—which makes her much, much younger than Edmund.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesties.” Isabel takes my hand as she executes a curtsy.

“Please call me, Nina,” I say with a smile.

“And it’s Ash.” My husband takes her small hand in his as she curtsies again.

Edmund keeps his hand protectively on the small of Isabel’s back as she smiles sweetly at us. Her eyes, the color of faded blue jeans, are wide and unassuming. “My friends call me Elle.”

Elle is diminutive, probably around five two, but she has serious curves—an hourglass figure. I scan her for magic and can replace none. True to form, Edmund has chosen another human to wed.

“You’re staying in the Sage Room. I hope that’s all right. Edmund suggested you might like it since that was where you stayed when you visited as a child.” Elle’s voice has a musical tinkle to it, almost like a little girl’s voice.

“That’s wonderful. Thank you,” I reply and then turn to regard Edmund. “That was kind of you to remember, Edmund.”

“Only the best for you, Dolly. After you two get settled in and I’ve done my duty as host and greeted the rest of this hoard,” he says, waving a beefy hand at the room filled with guests, “we can meet privately in my office before dinner for a drink and a proper chinwag. Discuss our courts and plans for the future.”

“We’ll see you then,” I say with a parting nod for both Elle and Edmund. An invitation to his office is a good sign that an alliance can be reestablished. Although he’d been an ally of my mother’s since I can remember, I haven’t heard anything from him since my coronation.

Edmund signals a member of the household staff, who instantly joins us and says, “If you would allow me to show you to your rooms.”

We follow the liveried man out of the Scarlet Room, through the halls of the castle and up a flight of stairs to our suite. The interior of the castle features dark wood paneling and the lavish use of molded plasterwork to decorate ceilings, cornices and walls. All of the rooms are named after a color and decorated accordingly.

When we enter the Sage Room, it’s just as I remember it. Expansive, tranquil and opulent—much more suited to an adult than a child. The walls are covered in silk depicting a garden scene of flowers, trees, birds and clouds. The high, four-poster bed is draped in heavy velvet, and the carpeted floor is strewn with white fur rugs. All the fabric and covered furnishings are in various shades of the soft gray-green the room is named for.

“It’s a big room for a little girl. How’d you get up on the bed?” Ash asks.

“A step stool.” I chuckle. “What’d you think of Elle? Sense any magic on her?”

“She seems nice enough. I didn’t pick up on any magic. Besides the staff, she was the only human in the room.”

I look around the bedroom where we’ll sleep for the next four days, happy that I’m not alone in it this time, that I have Ash. “Nothing has changed in this room since I was here last. It’s like time has stood still.”

“One thing’s different.” Ash lowers his mouth to mine in a drugging kiss. “You’ll be sharing the room with me.” He bends down and grabs the hem of my sweater dress before peeling it off me and dropping it on the floor. He looks me up and down. “I do love your fancy underthings. And these boots. Keep them on.” Then he lifts me into his arms and tosses me up onto the bed.

Landing with a bounce, I giggle and pat the mattress. “Why don’t you come here and show me the benefits of sharing.”

After he kicks off his shoes and drops his laundry, Ash joins me and pulls the velvet drapes closed around the bed, cocooning us. “These should help dull the sound of you screaming my name.”

His salted-caramel scent permeates the confined space, and I breathe it in, inhaling it as if I need it to live. My eyes flutter closed as the rest of the universe falls away and our bodies entangle on the bed. When he kisses the spot on my neck where he marked me as his fated mate and his tongue licks lazily over the sensitive flesh, I feel it between my legs and groan loudly.

We’re going to need thicker drapes.

After rolling around between the sheets with Ash, I’m sitting at the makeup table, getting ready for our meeting with Edmund. I’m swiping on another layer of mascara when my phone buzzes.

Gia: Another example of why you can’t believe everything you see online. I’ve already responded. Check these out.

I cinch up the tie on my white satin robe and click the first of two links. It opens a beautiful brunette model’s Instagram account and plays another video starring Ash. This time he’s riding down an escalator in what appears to be a crowded airport. He’s looking at his phone when the model, riding up the adjacent escalator, leans across the divider and touches his arm. Then she hands him a slip of paper. The video ends as he’s reaching for the paper.

Are you kidding me? Did he take her phone number? He does like brunettes, and he has been traveling without me a lot over the last six months. No, he wouldn’t do that. He would never cheat on me. I stomp all over my old insecurities. I’ve moved on from that ugly place and will never go back there again. But while I do trust Ash, I don’t trust this model. Who is she, and what did she hope to gain by posting this?

With my blood at a low simmer, I click the second link. It’s a longer version of the same video and posted to my Instagram account. Watching without blinking, I see that Ash actually isn’t reaching for the piece of paper at all; he’s lifting his left hand to show her his wedding ring.

Not the least bit deterred, her carnivorous eyes sparkle at him and she makes a take-it-off motion as the escalators carry them apart.

He takes off his ring and shows her his wedding band tattoo. Then he turns his back on her with a laugh and a shake of his head.

Although the full video has a happy ending, I’m pissed at the model for the blatant and public attempt to pick my husband, posting a false version of what actually happened online and forcing Gia to post the actual version on my account to set the record straight.

Ash and I had a lot of drama early in our relationship, which makes what we have now even more sacred. We’re devoted to each other and I hate that our marriage is being falsely represented.

“Why are you grinding your teeth?” Ash comes up behind me and meets my eyes in the mirror, looking as if he was born to wear a tux.

“When did this happen?” Pulling the edges of my robe together, I turn in my chair and play the full, unedited version of the video for him.

“I don’t know. A week or two ago maybe. I barely remember it. She didn’t make an impression on me.”

“How often does this happen? Are gorgeous women throwing themselves at you so much that you can’t remember them all?”

He slides his hands into his pants pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I’m not sure what the problem is here.”

I play the edited version of the video. “This is making the rounds. It looks like you’re about to take her number.” I don’t need to say more.

“Okay, I see the problem now.” Ash takes his phone out of his breast pocket and makes a call. “Hey, Luke. There’s another video. You’re already working on it? Thanks.” Then he ends the call and gives me a pointed stare. “I’m not sure why these videos are popping up now, but I feel like they’re related. That someone is going out of their way to stir up trouble for us. Don’t allow this to become a distraction. You’re on your first diplomatic mission and need to stay focused. Don’t get sidetracked or forget why we’re here.”

“I won’t. This trip is too important.” Is someone purposely trying to get under my skin or are these videos just a toxic online coincidence? Either way, the negative PR couldn’t come at a worse time.