“Mr. Tremont,” Doc said, holding Nora’s hand and looking up at him. “I owe you a debt of thanks. I’ve been trying to get a one-on-one with the Queen for years. And out of nowhere yesterday, she calls me. May I shake your hand?”

“You can shake it,” Cyrus said, holding out his hand. “But don’t kiss it.”

Doc chuckled a crazy-old-man chuckle. Cyrus shook his hand and found his grip firm and sane. He’d give the old boy a chance. Maybe.

“Cyrus, have a seat.” Nora had been lounging on the chaise, but she sat up then and crossed her legs, patted the seat next to her. Cyrus wasn’t too sure about that.

“Maybe I’ll stand,” Cyrus said. “So what’s with the Doc?”

“When I’m not making my art,” Doc said, “I’m a bit of a card shark. You know the old Nelson Algren quote, his three rules for life. ‘Never play cards with a man called Doc. Never eat at a place called Mama’s.’”

“‘Never sleep with a woman whose troubles are worse than your own,’” Nora said, finishing the quote. “You don’t want to play cards with Doc, I hear. He can bluff like a mother.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I would never bluff you, majesty,” Doc said, kissing her hand again. Grossing Cyrus out again. “My heart is on my sleeve. Feel free to take it and put your high heel through it.”

“Doc, you really do need to dial it down, please,” Nora said. She swatted his knee which, from the expression that crossed Doc’s face, gave the old man an orgasm, another heart attack, or both.

“For the Queen, anything.” Doc picked up a cup and saucer and sipped at his tea. Cyrus didn’t miss the glint in the man’s eyes as he looked at Nora over the top of the cup. Cyrus couldn’t remember the dude’s name, but Doc looked a little like the bad guy from The Hunger Games. The president with the beard and the crazy eyes.

“Tea?” Nora asked.

Cyrus took tea and a scone, which was a weird thing to be doing in a dungeon. Or maybe not. This was his first time in one. “What’s with the ‘queen’ stuff?” he asked as he sat next to Nora.

“Young man,” Doc said, pointing at Nora, “this woman pouring your tea is none other than the Queen herself.”

“Queen of…?” Cyrus took a bite of his scone. Nice. Sweet. He wondered if Paulina could make him some of these.

“It was just my nickname in New York,” Nora said as she topped-off her own cup of tea. “King was The King. I was his Queen. As nicknames goes, not very creative.”

“Bah.” Doc waved his hand. “Had nothing to do with Edge at all. You were and are the Queen, because you are the most beautiful, the most wicked, the most vicious…oh, I could go on forever. Mr. Tremont, this woman is a legend.”

“A legend, huh?” Cyrus playfully elbowed Nora.