Vic pulled up her trousers and got a towel that was hanging over the dressing table chair. She handed it to her lover for her neck, and said, “You said that—I didn’t reply. I take blood whenever and wherever I want, Mademoiselle Witch. You should count yourself lucky you’re not lying there with them.”

She pointed to the two human bodies by the bed, and closed in on Lillian, holding the towel. “I didn’t kill you.” She smiled. “That means I like you.”

More truthfully, Lillian knew, Victorija needed her. When she didn’t… “I have your word that my witches will be safe when your father is removed?”

“You need me to say it?” Victorija said.

Lillian pulled the towel away from her neck and looked at her wound in the dressing table mirror. “Yes, I need you to say it.”

Victorija lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “I promise, Mademoiselle Witch. Your coven will be safe under my rule.”

And her control.

* * *

After their flight, Byron’s Daimler set off with them for her Monte Carlo estate, or so Amelia thought. When the car stopped at a harbour, Amelia turned to Byron in confusion.

“I thought we were going to your house?”

Byron smiled and took her sunglasses from her top pocket. “We are.” She popped her sunglasses on, making her look even more suave and dapper. “Are you ready for another new experience?”

Amelia smiled. Everything about this holiday was a new experience, and she was loving every glamorous moment. On their journey from the plane, her gaze had been glued to the scenery and the people as they passed. It was like dropping into a world of a fragrance commercial. The sky was blue, the sun was shining brightly, the streets were filled with exclusive shops and boutiques, but the thing she noticed most were the people.

They were just how she’d imagined the rich and famous of Monaco to be. Sophisticated and richly dressed, and she admired the exquisite tailoring on show on the male population. Clearly bespoke tailoring was a big business here.

“What are we going to do?”

Byron winked. “I’ll show you. Wait here for a second.”

The car doors were opened by Byron’s staff and she got out. Soon Byron was standing by Amelia’s car door offering her hand, ever the dashing, dapper lover.

Amelia took her hand and stepped out of the car. She quickly had to hold down the hem of her dress as the gusty harbour wind tried to blow her dress up around her waist.

“Careful,” Byron said with a smile, “I don’t want to share you with any of my people.”

Byron offered her arm, and she slipped her hand around it. She was led down to the edge of the harbour and a waiting line of varnished wooden powerboats, the kind she had always seen actors and actresses travel in at the Monaco film festival.

Amelia took her sunglasses from her handbag and put them on before they walked down the steps to the water’s edge. Byron stepped into the boat, and beckoned Amelia to follow, but she hesitated.