Micah’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You won’t be able to stand against him, either.”

Raisa’s head came up with a jerk. “What are you saying?”

Micah didn’t elaborate, just gazed at her steadily.

Kindling hope coalesced into dread. There might be a future for the Fells, but she wouldn’t be a part of it. She might be the last of the Gray Wolf queens.

The crown sat between them, drawing Raisa’s eyes like a scrying glass. This is the future, it seemed to say.

“Now I am in a quandary,” Raisa said, struggling to control her voice. “Who shall I surrender to? Your father or Gerard Montaigne? I just don’t know how to choose between.”

Noticing Raisa’s dreadful fascination with the Crimson Crown, Micah slid it back into his bag and set it aside.

“I know what drives my father,” Micah said. “The Bayar pride was wounded a thousand years ago, and he intends to reclaim the family honor. He wants to restore the line of gifted kings.” Micah paused, shaking back his mane of black hair. “And I want you.”

Their eyes met, and an ocean of silence flooded between them.

“What are you proposing?” Raisa said finally, her mouth gone dust dry. “That I hand your father the throne, and you and I retire to a love nest in the countryside? How long before he sends assassins after me? Or do you propose a series of trysts in the dungeons at Aerie House?”

Micah shook his head. “My father has some…baggage, as you know. His enemies have made much of the scandal surrounding my copperhead half brother.”

“So now you admit that it’s true,” Raisa said, seeking a point of offense.

“I cannot say what is true and what isn’t, and what extenuating circumstances might have come into play.” Micah’s jaw tightened. “My father is certainly capable of…of worse than that. I am just surprised the coldhearted bastard would take that kind of risk.” He smiled slightly, turning the signet ring on his finger. “Maybe my father and I are more alike than I realized. Driven by lust into bad decisions. Fiona, too, has allowed herself to…has gotten herself entangled where she shouldn’t have.”

He’s talking about Fiona and Han, Raisa thought bitterly.

“Sum up, Micah,” she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “I have long since run out of patience for riddles.”

Micah inclined his head. “I’ll speak plainly, then. My father intended to dispose of you and claim the throne himself. I talked him out of it.”

“That must have been a pretty piece of persuasion,” Raisa said, “even for you.”

“My father wants to establish a dynasty—one that will last for centuries. Control of the armory gives him tremendous power—but he understands its limitations. Alger Waterlow controlled the armory, and it didn’t save him.