Rumor in the Lore held that a lie had never left Ryd-strom's tongue. Which must be a lie in itself.

"Are you going to try to seduce him first or just spring the trap?"

"Seduce him first. He might go demonic over his capture." She smoothed her hands down her pale blue

dress

"You look good," Lanthe said. "Sweet. Nothing says

'darnel' like pastel."

"That's just unnecessary, Lanthe." Since Sabine hadn't wanted him to know she was a sorceress, she'd worn an elegant but conservatively boring gown. She'd thought it wouldn't hurt to appear virtuous, which she assumed a good demon king would prefer.

He had better like her shuddersome new look. Except for her ring, not a single ounce of gold adorned her body. No makeup, either. She'd left her hair unplaited, curling almost to her waist-without a headdress. And it felt wrong.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Lanthe asked. "No second thoughts about taking one on the chin for

Team Evil?"

Eyes locked on her prey, Sabine murmured, "Not in the least."

A goal, a plot, a possibility ... all lay before her.

Once he staggered back to survey the damage to his car, crunching over glass and debris, the demon whistled in a breath at the sight, but his attention quickly turned away from the wreck.

"Is someone here?" he called. With each second that he shook off the accident, his shoulders went farther back, his chin lifting, his demeanor unmistakably kingly. "Are you hurt?"

Sabine didn't answer, instead letting his voice roll

over her. It was pleasingly deep-toned, with the British-tinged accent common to noble rage demons.

When he loped in her direction, he snagged a cell phone from his pocket and peered at the screen. She heard him mutter, "Bugger me." No reception out here.