Hugh looked straight at me and smiled. It was the smile of a fisherman who’d just pulled a prized catch out of the water and into his boat.

No, it was him. All this time I’d been breaking my brain trying to figure out what Curran or the Pack had done to be targeted for this trap. It wasn’t Curran or the Pack. It was me.

“Please rise for the lord of the castle,” the same man called out.

People around me stood up. I locked my teeth and forced myself to move. Curran was squeezing my hand so hard it hurt.

Damn it all to hell. Could I not catch a break just once in my life?

Hugh waved. His voice carried through the hall, a kind of voice that could be quiet and intimate or cut through the clamor of a battle. “Sit, please. No need for formality, we’re all friends here.”

He was real. He was here. Adrenaline rushed through me, sending electric needles through my fingertips. If he thought I would roll over and give up without a fight, he would be deeply disappointed.

Everyone at our side of the table went very still. They were all watching Curran and me, and they realized something was really wrong. Andrea’s face turned chalk-white. She recognized d’Ambray. Before she left the Order of Merciful Aid, she had climbed high enough in its ranks to receive briefings about Roland, who was considered the greatest danger the Order would eventually face. She watched Hugh the way one watched a rabid dog. Raphael leaned closer to her, his eyes fixed on Hugh as well. He knew, too. She must’ve told him.

Hugh crossed the hall, coming toward us. Tall, at least two inches over six feet, he was muscled like a Roman gladiator, and his suit failed to hide it. He moved with perfect balance, gliding as if his joints were liquid. Before my mother and Voron had run off, Hugh had been Voron’s protégé. My adoptive father trained him, honing him into the perfect general to lead Roland’s armies. Fighting Hugh would be like fighting my father. It would be the second-hardest fight of my life. The first would be my real father.

I scanned the doorways. No troops. Hugh hadn’t called in the reinforcements. Did he think he could take me and Curran by himself?

Hugh was getting closer. Dark, almost black hair fell over his shoulders, longer than the last time I saw him. A small scar marked his left cheek—also a recent souvenir. His eyes were an intense dark blue and they laughed at me as he approached.

I stared back at him. Yep, the gig was up. Now what?

Hugh circled the table. He would have to sit next to Curran. Dear God.