Atlantis, the war room

Conlan, high king of all Atlantis, leaned back in his chair and blew out a long breath. Then he hurled a red rubber ball at the other man in the room. “You are a giant pain in my ass, do you know that?”

Denal caught the ball without ever looking at it and stared back at his king with flat eyes and an expressionless face. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Conlan came up out of his chair. “Damn it, Denal. You were one of my Seven. My most trusted elite guard, and my friends. You’re also like a kid brother to me, and now you’re going to ‘Your Majesty’ me? I’ll kick your ass, my friend.”

In the old days, Denal would have cracked a joke, or at least a smile. In the very old days, back before Conlan had even met Riley, now his queen, Denal would have all but fallen over himself to please his then-prince.

Now, he simply stared back at Conlan out of those empty, cold, dark-blue eyes.

“Do you want Prince Aidan’s ball back, Sire?”

Conlan rolled his eyes but held up his hand to catch the ball. If he didn’t have it ready when his son woke up from his nap, there would be trouble. Funny how being high king of an entire continent—albeit a relatively small one—didn’t save a guy from his wife’s wrath over a missing favorite toy. He grinned at the thought but then turned his attention back to the problem in front of him.

“Are you ever going to find your sense of humor?”

“Doubtful,” Denal said flatly, leaning back against a faded tapestry and folding his arms over his chest.

The door slammed open and an icy wind blew into the room, followed by a man wearing an even icier countenance.

“Babies,” Alaric, former high priest and most powerful mage ever to use magic in Atlantis, said with a slight baring of his teeth. “I do not understand the fascination. Prince he may be, but his chief talent at this age appears to be producing copious amounts of drool.”

Conlan started laughing. Since Alaric was married to Quinn, Queen Riley’s sister, Alaric was forced to spend a lot of time with his nephew. Who was, of course, the most brilliant baby in the history of the world.

He said as much to Alaric, who groaned.

“Certainly, the child is a prodigy among prodigies. Just this afternoon, he moved his bowels in such a manner as to cause rhapsodies to all involved, evidently.” Alaric shuddered.

“There were people involved in his bowel movements?” Conlan shook his head. “No. Forget it. I don’t want to know. We’re here to talk to Denal.”

“Imagine my joy,” Denal drawled, eyes narrowing.

Alaric pulled out a chair. “Sit. This might take a while. I need to explain what’s happening.”

“You assume I care what’s happening.”

"Sit down," Alaric snarled. "I understand your anger –"

"I don't give a damn what you understand," Denal snarled right back, coming up off the wall he’d been leaning against. "Nobody left you in the Fae lands, did they?"

Alaric shook his head. "I said I understand. I didn't say I cared, even the slightest bit. You swore your service to your king, did you not? Many have died in that service. So you lost a little time. Now you need to grow up. We’ve got a job for you, and Conlan is still your king, isn't he? Or are you surrendering your Atlantis citizenship?"

Conlan felt the question like a punch in his gut. If Denal agreed – if he said he didn't even want to be a citizen of Atlantis anymore, not one of Poseidon's Warriors—the loss would be the same as if somebody ripped off one of Conlan's arms.

Denal's face turned white under his tan. "I didn't – I don't mean that. You know I would never mean that. I won't give up on my country or my king, even if they both gave up on me."

"I'm sorry," Conlan said simply. He couldn't believe it, but he didn't think he’d ever said it to the warrior before.

"You're right. We left you in the Fae lands longer than you ever should've been left there. The time – well, you know about the time. The years you were in their world were only a matter of weeks here. But we never should have lost you to them in the first place.”

“I'm sorry," he repeated. "You deserved better."

Denal met his gaze, and Conlan saw something like shock in the man's face for an instant before he smoothed it back to the expressionless mask he'd chosen to wear for so long. Denal started to speak but then stopped. He stood there for a moment, nodded to himself, and then pulled out a chair and sat.

"All right. Tell me about this problem, and what you need from me."

It wasn’t acceptance, Conlan knew, but it was close enough for now. "The world wasn't ready for Atlantis to suddenly appear. No matter what they say, no matter all the political fawning and folderol that have gone on, I think there are many, many nations whose leaders would've preferred we stay sunken beneath the sea.”

“They liked us better as a mythical lost continent than as an actual found continent," Alaric interjected.

"Even more so since they found out about Poseidon's Warriors and our sworn duty to protect humanity," Conlan added.

"Especially once they found out some of the ways we've gone about it," Denal put in, his eyes narrowing. "Evidently we're supposed to follow their rules when we fight murderous vampires or demons on their lands."

"Give me three warriors and a week, and I'll teach them all what we think about their rules," Alaric said darkly, and the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

"Calm down before you turn my ass into an ice cube," Conlan said. "Let's try it my way for a while. And if you give me any crap about turning into a politician, I'm gonna order you executed."

"Can you do that?" Denal's eyes widened.

"He can try," Alaric said, calling to his magic, which sparked in his hand. Then he started ostentatiously juggling tiny balls of sheer silvery power from finger to finger.

Conlan rolled his eyes. "Okay, children, back to the matter at hand. I've agreed to take part in an international task force looking into some of the rings of paranormal crime going on all over the world. Riley has agreed to be on the international board of Save All The Children Now, since her social work background will be very helpful there." He leaned back in his chair and started tossing Aidan's ball from hand to hand. "We're starting with the United States, since Riley and Quinn know it best and Quinn, having been a rebel leader for all North America for several years, can help coordinate. She’ll be meeting with some head guy at the Paranormal Operations division of its FBI—they call it P-Ops—and we’re also talking to Interpol and Scotland Yard in Europe. Since my original Seven, other than Ven and you, Denal, are scattered all over the world, we’ve got eyes on the ground when we need them. But for now, we need more immediate help. We need soldiers –warriors."

Alaric pointed at Denal. "We need you. Most of our people are already organized by location. You're going to lead a new team and work cooperatively with some of these human crime-fighting organizations."

Denal's mouth fell open in the most honest reaction Conlan had seen from him yet today. "I'm going to lead – what do you mean, a new team? You’re naming a new Seven?"

Conlan traded a glance with Alaric and then shook his head. "I wish I could. You have no idea how much I wish I could,” he said fervently. “But I’m stuck playing king for a while, now that they know about us. It’s your team. You name them.”

“This time, I don't think seven will be enough,” Alaric said, frowning. “We're going to need different missions going on in different places, coordinating with different law enforcement organizations. Why don’t we start with twelve and go from there?"

“Twelve?” Conlan thought about it. Liked it. “Sure. Denal's Dozen. What could go wrong?"

Denal shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. "I guess we’re about to find out."

He turned and strode out of the room, never once looking back.

Conlan blew out a breath and threw the ball into the wall, hard, caught it on the rebound, and threw it again. “I’m not cut out for politics. My sword hand is itching to get out there with Denal and form this new team.”

"He troubles me," Alaric finally replied, still staring at the empty doorway. "I don't know if he's stable enough for this responsibility."

"You said that about me once, remember? After I'd escaped from the vampire goddess and years of torture at her delicate hand, may she burn in the nine hells forever." Conlan drummed his fingers on the table. "The problem is, you were right, then, and you might be right, now. I wasn't stable. Far, far from it. But I put on a good front until my duty—and Riley—pulled me out of the darkness. All we can do now is watch him. Let him take the reins and see what he does. He'll either manage it or he won't, and we’ll figure it out then."

Alaric nodded sharply, then rose and headed toward the door. Just at the doorway, he stopped and turned to look at Conlan. "If he fails, there could be enormous international repercussions. You understand this, correct?"

"If he fails, I won’t particularly give a damn about the international repercussions," Conlan said quietly. “We’ll be in far worse trouble than that.”