Fiona finally came up for air, looking down at him with glittering eyes as if to assess the effect. “I’m actually glad to see you, Alister,” she said. “I planned to catch you after the council meeting. How did you find me so quickly? I hope no one saw you come up here.” She kissed him again, molding her body against his. “I promised I’d have a new proposition for you,” she murmured into his ear. “I hope you’ll hear me out.”

New proposition? Oh. Right. Now it came back to him. She’d mentioned that when they’d danced together at one of the pre-coronation parties.

Fiona pressed her lips to his neck, then behind his ear, and began fumbling with the closure on his coat.

Finally regaining his senses, Han rolled out from under her and off the bed, scooping up her amulet as he did so. He stood, his feet slightly apart, her amulet dangling from one fist, glad his coat extended to the top of his thighs.

She slid off the bed and walked toward him, her robe gaping open in front. Han struggled to keep his eyes on her face. She was probably trying to make him late to the meeting.

“You said you had a proposition for me,” Han said. “Spit it out quick, or I’m gone. As you know, I have to be somewhere.”

Fiona halted a few feet away. “I’ve underestimated you,” she said. “Oh, I knew you were attractive and clever. I guessed that a dalliance with you could be…interesting, in a dangerous sort of way. To put it bluntly, I thought you could be useful, and entertaining, and easily discarded when I no longer needed your services.”

Flatterer, he thought. “And now?” he said.

“I’ve been impressed with what you’ve accomplished on your own. And I think you can help me get what I want. Partner with me, and when I am queen, I will make you consort.”

She stood just in front of him now. Gripping his stoles, she pulled his head down and kissed him again. Han, distracted by a torrent of thoughts, didn’t resist.

“We have to act fast, though,” she whispered. “My family—my father—intends to marry me off to cement some political alliances.”

“Who’s the lucky groom?” Han asked.

Fiona shuddered. “Adam Gryphon. Can you imagine? Me married to a joyless, bookish, shriveled-up cripple like Adam?” She pressed herself against him. “We can’t let that happen.”

Han felt a rush of sympathy for his former teacher.