“To Vienna,” Julian said, glancing over at me. “The council agreed to the Zorya’s terms because they had no other option, but only she will be permitted in their presence.”

Magda looked at me. “What do you think? We can leave if you’re not comfortable with the idea of bearding the lions by yourself.”

“The Zorya already agreed-” Julian started to protest.

I raised a hand to stop him. “I’ll be OK by myself.”

“You sure you don’t want someone with you when you tell them you want . . . you know.” She cast a glance toward Julian.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t think you can help me there, but thank you,” I answered.

“All right, but I’m willing to make a fuss if you need me.” Magda’s face, normally filled with sunny good humor, was clouded with worry.

I gave her a little smile. “I’m still technically a Zorya. I think Christian knows the sort of power I can wield if anyone gets out of line.”

Julian took an involuntary step backward.

“You have a point,” Magda agreed, watching him. “All right, but if you need us, just yell.”

It didn’t take me long to get cleaned up and presentable. I spent a few minutes shaking out my clothes, trying to decide between a pair of linen harem pants that were flattering to my figure, or a gauzy peach sundress with a matching shrug, eventually going with the latter. Although I knew the vamps would not have forgotten the fateful evening in Iceland-or, more to the point, my role in it-I figured it couldn’t hurt to emphasize the fact that I was a woman.

“If men insist on being chauvinists,” I muttered to myself as I slipped on the thin shrug and tied it beneath my breasts, adjusting so it exposed a smidgen more cleavage, “then they can’t complain when it’s used against them.”