Page 46 of Strange Familiar

She gazed at him, a myriad of emotions passing over her face. “You’re absurd.”

“Very likely, but that doesn’t change how madly, deeply I love you.”

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips. “I thought you were all determined to let me go, to bond a familiar, live my life and become Lady Elal.”

“I can and will do all of that and still love you.”

“But you won’t just go and let me stay here.”

He studied her face, so lovely in the flickering light, the despair in her so clear. “No. I can’t in good conscience abandon you to him.”

“Cillian, he’ll take Bria in my place. I can’t—”

“I have news on that front, also. Grandmother, once we settled our differences, allowed me to present the problem to House Harahel’s finest legal librarians. They believe we have plenty to keep this issue tangled up in the courts for years. By then we’ll have dealt with him—along with all the conspirators against House Phel.”

She cocked her head, clearly surprised. “House Harahel would help with that?”

“We already are. No one is touching Bria. She’s safe from your father.”

“You’re that confident.”

He considered, going through all the logical points he’d assimilated. “Yes.”

She smiled, started to laugh, then sobered. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Come away with me in the morning and I’ll show you.”

“He might not let me go easily.”

“I have a solution to that,” he told her.

Her winged brows climbed. “Even this newly confident and daring Cillian Harahel can’t be planning to engage in a duel with my father.”

He liked that, that she found him newly confident and daring—and that she even considered the possibility that he might duel her father for her. Not Sylus devastating his enemies, but a wizard worthy of the name. Someone to be reckoned with. Except that he wasn’t that sort of wizard. He planned to win by guile. And the old-fashioned Harahel way.

“You’ll see,” he promised.

“What will you do?”

“It’s better if you don’t know. You’ll see in the morning.”

“I think it almost is morning.

She was probably right. He slid his thigh between hers, kissing her deeply, loving how she went hot and supple against him. “I know just how to spend the time,” he said against her lips.

To his everlasting delight, she agreed.

They assembled for breakfast in a different salon, this one filled with morning light. Alise had harnessed a grooming imp for him, so he was at least clean, though he wore the same clothes, considerably more rumpled from a night on the floor. She had slipped out in the early morning hours, returning to her chambers, and had donned a fresh outfit. Fancier than she’d been in the habit of wearing as a student, with pants of Ophiel-fitted black leather and a deep green blouse with flowing sleeves caught up in embroidered cuffs at the wrist and a black vest over it embossed with the Elal crest. Her skin glowed with satiated happiness and her dark eyes sparkled like the green jewels she’d fastened to her ear lobes.

The five familiars joined them, exclaiming over her loveliness, fussing with each other to be the first to provide her with her favorite pastries and beverages. Cillian found he didn’t mind. Alise was incredibly lovely this morning—and he took full credit for the bloom in her cheeks. Even the advent of Piers Elal didn’t dim her radiance much.

Elal scowled at them all, levelling an extra hard glare at Cillian. “Still here?” he grunted.

“Leaving directly after breakfast, Lord Elal,” Cillian answered cheerfully.

“Good.” He sat, a servant placing a generous platter of eggs, beef, beans, and bread before him. Then he took note of the glass bottle of red oil beside his place. “What’s this?”

“Regards from Lady Harahel,” Cillian answered, placing a hand over his heart in a polite gesture, bowing slightly from the waist.

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