Geza watched Uthman and Surah’s constant sniping, eyes glittering, a small, malicious smile on his face. She got it. He wasn’t happy about the marriage, but he wouldn’t stop it. Instead, he’d just do these petty little things to cause trouble–like bring people to dinner he knew she couldn’t stand.

Uthman wasn’t the most handsome of gargoyles, but he wasn’t ugly. Despite the unusual thinness, his skin was bronzed from more time than normal under the sun, so at least he wasn’t pasty. Hair kept ruthlessly short because to him long hair was ‘for females.’ She didn’t like him at all. If someone received attention for doing well at a task, or game, or some endeavor given them by the Prince–Uthman would immediately scheme to one up the person. And he didn’t care if he cheated.

Surah hated cheats. Cheating was stupid, because most things in life were mathematics. And there was no way to cheat numbers, or formulas. If one tried, one generally wound up blowing things up. And knowing Uthman, he’d be the one to walk away unscathed, while others around him were harmed.

Malin glanced at her a few times, a set to his shoulders that told Surah if she didn’t shut Uthman down soon, he would. Malin had developed a reputation for being mild mannered because he was slow to react–but once he did…well. She wasn’t sure why others seemed to forget how ruthless he was when provoked. She never forgot.

“Geza, Malin and I have something to tell you,” Surah said after several moments of pleasant conversation. Sililu’s intervention, finally, steered thing back on path.

“You still want to discuss this now?” Malin asked. Of course, they hadn’t planned on having hostile company when they made their announcement.

Surah shrugged. “Witnesses are good. Prince, we are pleased to announce the expected birth of our first child, nine months hence.”

Geza didn’t react, staring at them over his wineglass. After a moment he set it down. “I’m pleased. Another Ioveanu to ensure our line carries on for another two hundred years. A child I will make my Heir, if it’s mother is so inclined to vacate the position.”

“I am so inclined,” Surah said, voice quiet.

“Good. But I think, to discourage any ideas, the line of succession will remain through you, sister. If Malin were to pass–gods forbid–then whomever you marry will have guardianship over the child, and be regent in his place should my death come to pass before he reaches majority.”

There were several issues in that statement that stunned her, but the first thing she grabbed onto was, “What if it's a girl?”

“A ruling Princess?” A smile curved Geza's hard mouth. “If she is strong enough to hold a throne, let her have it. We’re modern beasts, aren’t we, Uthman?”

“Congratulations, Malin,” Uthman said. “Score.”

Surah scowled. “No wonder you’re still single. Five seconds after opening your mouth—”

“Surah,” Malin said. “Uthman is our guest.”

Oh, he would pay for that tonight. But she shut her mouth. Gargoyles Malin’s age were stuffy about tradition, and she wasn’t going to change that, especially not if she argued with him in public. She’d just make his life miserable in private–that would be so much more satisfying.

“When will you announce this?” Malin asked, staring at Geza impassively. Something was bothering him Surah could tell. She needed these people to get out of their house so she and Malin could talk.

Geza rose. “I'll call the assembly this week, and when my nephew–or niece–is born, he’ll be named Heir.”

* * *

She waited until they were alone before turning to Malin. “I don’t want it known that whoever has guardianship over the baby will be regent. That—” she didn’t even want to think about the implications of it. “Is Geza stupid? Or trying to get you killed?”

“I’m not sure.” Malin stared at her. “We’ll increase your security. Remember, no mistakes. And it’s time I began cultivating my allies.”

“What is Geza doing?”

“I don’t know. For now, don’t talk to him. Watch. Wait. Let the game unfold.”

* * *

She spoke to her mother the next evening in the older woman’s suite. Adagia listened without interrupting. “Never forget you’re a pawn to them–even Malin. They would eliminate us from the inheritance laws if they could.”

By us, Surah knew her mother meant females. Gargoyle warriors had a long, unpleasant history of suppressing the female gender. She’d always assumed it was rooted in the warlike nature of the culture, softened over the last several centuries, but still present. Any culture that celebrated physical strength and cunning would eventually cannibalize its own people–beginning with those it considered weak. Especially if the ‘weak’ ones possessed intangible strengths, such as intelligence or wealth.

“Malin loves me,” she said.

Adagia shrugged. The night was slightly chilly, and the digital fireplace was on, reflecting heat as well as the image of a cozy, winter flames. The light played across her mother’s skin, highlighting the structure of her bones, adding a deep sapphire hue to her hair.

“I’m certain he does in his way. He coddled you enough when you were a girl. But be careful. A brother is a different man than a husband. And a Prince is far more different than them both. Never forget–he is Ciodaru’s eldest son. He hasn’t forgotten.”

Surah worked, and ignored the ripples through the local gargoyle community over her changed status. And the sudden, sharp interest that told her she was correct to be concerned. She threw herself into wedding plans, realizing that as long as she remained unmarried, she was vulnerable. Because from the terms of Geza’s decree, her husband was the child’s regent. Not the child’s biological father. For whatever reason, Geza had completely eliminated his brother.

And the increased pressure from Kausar to find a cure was driving her mad as well. She stormed into Malin’s study after a long night in the lab. “Tell your weapons master that if he asks me one more time if I’m any closer to a cure, I will meet him on the challenge field.”

Malin looked up, studied her face, and sat back in his chair. Sometime in the last week he’d switched a human backed chair for one that would accommodate…wings. “I’ll speak to him again. Come here.”

She obeyed, sliding onto his lap with a scowl, and was rewarded with hard fingers on the back of her neck, massaging. There was a healthy gray cast to his skin, a crushed onyx sheen to his hair, and his shoulders were broader than normal. It was night, and his gargoyle nature was subtly asserting itself–perhaps without him being aware. The latest serum formula was doing wonders for suppressing his human side. They were close. A year, two at the maximum all things considered. She closed her eyes, leaning against Malin as weariness overtook her. So close. And she was so tired. Tired of the perpetual soreness in her jaw. Tired of now not being able to reach for a glass of wine. Tired of worrying about Malin, when she just wanted to enjoy her future husband and live their lives.

“You have a fitting tomorrow,” he said after several minutes of silence.

His hands slid from her neck down her back, ran around her waist to crawl up her rib cage under her shirt, and cup her breasts. She shifted, straddling him, the familiar length of him hardening in the vee of her thighs.

“Take this off,” he said, voice deepening.

She drew her shirt over her head and tossed it away. “Ditto.” A moment later she'd unbuttoned his, noticing the style of the shirt as she bunched it up. The back was three pleats, designed to lay flat during the day but allow a gargoyle to shift at night without having to undress. Wings would push aside the pleats and the shirt would fall naturally around the new appendages. He hadn’t worn one like that in years.

“Malin—” she began, distracted, when his fingers slipped inside the cups of her bra to pinch her nipples.

“Yes?” His voice was edged. He bent his head, taking a stiff peak into his mouth.

She couldn’t remember what she was about to say, hips grinding against him without conscious thought. He unclasped the bra, then buried a hand in her hair and held her around the waist as he arched her backwards, burying his face between her breasts. She shimmied her hips, managing to break his hold after a moment, so she could slide off his lap and push down her leggings.

He watched, eyes burning, as she stood naked in front of him. “Turn around,” he said.

Surah obeyed, slowly, and when her back faced him she bent over, arching the small of her back and spreading her thighs, looking at him teasingly over her shoulder. Her eyes widened. He was a deep, dark gray, fangs peeking out from his lips, shoulders and hands thickening with roped muscle as she watched.

“Malin—”

If he was able to shift so easily, without pain, then the latest formula must be working better than she'd thought. She needed to get to the lab and—

He reached out and spread her thighs even further apart, hands like rock on the inside of her thighs. She bit her lip, hands on the floor for balance as his fingers slipped inside her. Hard, thick, aiming for the place inside her he knew drove her wild.

This was the first time he'd been in full gargoyle form while they made love. Their first time she'd felt the strength of non-human fingers inside her wet pussy, stroking her with a hardness similar to a human cock.

Surah moaned, balancing her weight on one hand and reaching between her thighs to fondle her bud.

“I’m coming, Malin.”

His fingers fucked her faster, a growl deep in his chest as her body clenched around him and she cried out, juices slithering down her thighs.

But that was just an appetizer. He pulled her back onto his lap without a pause, and she reached underneath to unzip his trousers, already straining from the breadth of gargoyle strong thighs, and unleashed his cock.

It was huge; her hand couldn’t wrap around it. But he'd prepared her. Her pussy was wet, pliable, her mind hazy with desire. She lifted up, positioning him beneath her, and impaled herself.

A scream ripped from her throat. Maybe she should have been more careful. Hands cupped her breasts, controlling her as she slid down his cock to the hilt. He stretched her wider than she'd ever been before, to the point where she feared her abused pussy would tear.

“Slow,” he murmured in her ear, deep and guttural. Nearly unrecognizable. In this form he was even stronger, even more capable of command. But as his hands roamed over her torso, rough in passion, they were also gentle. Careful not to bruise skin, or turn pleasure into true pain.

She rose again, riding him in a merciless rhythm. His teeth grazed her neck, a hiss against her skin as his hands on her body became increasingly impatient, a fine tremble in his fingers. Finally he grabbed her waist and took over the thrusts, forcing her to ride his cock even faster. She angled her hips, clawing at his thighs as her pleasure peaked, spilled over. For a moment her vision went black and the thunder in her ears–she couldn’t tell if it was Malin or her blood rushing to her brain. When she could see again he was cradling her, her body draped limply over his chest.

“Surah?”

“I’m dead,” she muttered. “Leave me alone.”

She felt the rumble of laughter in his chest, and figured she'd have to put up with his increased ego for at least two days. He was still inside her, cock softening and she bit her lip as he helped her dismount. Her thighs trembled, her pussy felt raw. But her clit still throbbed, and her breasts tingled from his use.

“I think I'll be out of commission for the rest of the evening.”

“You're half-gargoyle,” he said, voice casual. “You'll heal in a few minutes.”

Her heart stopped. She looked at him, saw he was completely serious, and wondered what the hell she'd put in his serum.

* * *

Adagia usurped Sililu at the last moment so Surah traveled to her fitting alone. She promised to live stream the fitting room so the two women could participate in the appointment, while they took care of other arrangements. There were things like flowers, color arrangements, seating lists…Surah had stared at Sililu when the woman mentioned it all.

“Just make me a list,” Surah had said, covering her eyes with a hand. “And check boxes next to anything I have to make a decision on.”

And then she fled to her lab for a few calming hours before grudgingly exiting to go to the dress appointment. She did call Malin on the way there to complain. She could tell he was in a meeting from the warm, though slightly distant expression on his face.

“Princess,” he greeted. “How may I serve?”

She sighed. “You’re working. I just called to let you know my mother and Sililu are planning the wedding. So if you want to elope, now would be the time.”

His brow rose and he smiled. “I think Geza would take exception. And I want the entire court to celebrate with us, my love.”

Code for, since his eyes hardened, him wanting the gargoyle court to know she was taken. Fine. “All right. Talk to you later.”

“Be safe, don’t ditch your security.”

The security she knew was trailing her at a discreet distance, both in air and on foot. Song greeted her when she arrived, effusive and restrained.

“We took the sketch you approved—”

“I approved a sketch?” Surah asked.

Song paused. “That is to say, your beautiful handmaid, the Lady—”

“Enough said.”

“I’m sure you will love it,” he continued. “The Lady has excellent taste. We are also designing her gown and the Lady Adagia’s dress for the ceremony and reception ball.”

“We’re throwing a ball?”

Song ushered her into the round, plush fitting room. “Don’t worry, Princess. You do important work. We will take care of these gentle matters. You must not be disturbed.”

It sounded like Sililu had coached him. She tried on three different styles of gowns, the last a simple sheath of satin with a medium length train.  The skirt floated around her legs in different hues of rich, dark red fabric, a slit up the center that appeared when she moved abruptly or turned. It left her arms and shoulders bare and nipped in at the waist. She stood in front of the mirror.

“I think this is the silhouette,” Song said, decisively. “Lady Sililu—”

She hit her forehead with her hand. “I forgot to bring them on the screen to watch.”

“Ah.” He moved to the wall that held the flat screen and punched a few buttons. “Connecting now.”

There was no commotion. Uthman simply stepped into the room, and Surah immediately knew something was wrong.

* * *

She whirled around. There was a tall, delicate floor lamp next to the dove gray bench. She grabbed it, swinging it around like she held a bladed stick in her hands. She counted another six gargoyles advancing into the room.

“What is this?!” Song exclaimed. “This is a private—”

“Song, get in the corner and say nothing,” she said.

He must have heard it in her voice. He obeyed, and the gargoyles ignored him. He wasn’t a threat and as savage as they could be among their own kind, they didn’t go around harming non-combatant humans.

The fight was short. She was a scientist and though she’d brushed up on her training, these males lived and breathed it. They took her down in a matter of minutes, Uthman watching the entire time with his arms crossed, a smile on his face. They looked like yuppie businessmen–anyone who didn’t know the signs wouldn’t know they were anything other than human.

“Malin will destroy you,” she said. Two gargoyles on either side had each of her arms.

Uthman approached. “He won’t get to us in time. Are you going to cooperate or do we get to do this the fun way?”

She grit her teeth against a reply. She needed to stay conscious, as much as she wanted to respond.

“Disappointing,” he said. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for our wedding.”