Surah was supposed to go wedding dress shopping, but she was bent over the toilet, retching. Her stomach roiled, an awful, greasy nausea accompanied by light-headedness.

Sililu held her hair back, then helped her stand up, handing her a small glass so Surah could rinse her mouth. She rinsed, then re-brushed her teeth, and stared at her face in the mirror. Was this what her mother had gone through? She needed to go see her mother. Adagia lived reclusively these days, and had withdrawn from her children years ago. Surah didn’t blame her–after decades spent with Ciodaru, any woman would be traumatized. But Surah felt guilty–she’d been so caught up in Malin that she hadn’t had time for her mother.

“Are you pregnant?” Sililu asked.

“I can probably take a test.”

“We’ll get one on the way to the boutique.”

Surah grimaced. She did not feel like shopping now, but Sililu had made an effort to get up at what was, for a gargoyle, an unnatural time of the twenty-four hour cycle. At least it was cloudy outside, and the sun wouldn’t be any more difficult to endure than normal on a rainy day.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” Surah said as they left the bathroom.

“Of course not.”

They stopped at a pharmacy on the way to the dress shop and chose a test. “Get several,” Sililu said. “I have four sisters. They always take more than one.”

Surah had no sisters. She eyed the gargoyle and shrugged. “There’s a Starbucks across the street with a bathroom. I don’t want to wait.”

“First morning pee is best.”

“What?”

Sililu smiled. “Never mind. That’s why you bought more than one.”

They had to stand in line to get the bathroom code from the cashier, and Surah ordered drinks to avoid an argument, when she noticed the cashier staring at her.

“Hey,” the man asked after he’d taken her order. “Aren’t you that gargoyle Princess?”

“Ah…I have that kind of face.” It always amazed her when people recognized her, but that damn gargoyle chaser magazine, The Stone Lover, printed her face and little articles about her often enough that she was sometimes recognized. She supposed it was a matter of time before they found out about her and Malin. Oh, well.

Sililu took a seat at a table while Surah went in a stall and sat down, reading the instructions. She peed on the stick, set it on top of the box and waited, not peeking until she’d counted three minutes.

She picked up the stick, stared at it, then snapped a pic with her wrist unit and sent it to Malin. The small square display lit up a minute later.

In a meeting, coming now. Where are you?

Dress shopping. Don’t leave work, Mal. I’m fine.

He didn’t reply, and she knew better than to think silence meant acceptance. But maybe he was busy, and realized she didn’t need his company while she was picking out dresses. Emerging from the bathroom, she sat next to Sililu and sipped her tea, vaguely realizing that she must trust the female not to poison her.

“Well?” Sililu asked.

“Positive.”

The gargoyle’s eyes widened and she smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze Surah’s hand. “A blessing, Princess, on your line.”

“I guess I really do have to get married quick now. A pregnant princess will make all the tabloids.”

Sililu laughed and rose. “Then let's not be late to your appointment.”

* * *

Evidently the designer was up and coming. Surah had some exposure to fashion because, oddly enough, Geza was a clothes horse. But she’d never indulged in shopping for herself. She’d always had other things to do.

Things she should be doing now.

“You’re thinking about being a mother,” Sililu murmured. They’d taken a seat on a dove-gray bench, sitting while an assistant fetched the designer.

“No, I need to get back to the lab.” She shifted on the seat, half rising before she realized it.

The gargoyle glanced at her, placing a hand on the small of her back. “Sit. Your work will wait. This, too, is work. You have to wed now, when you carry an Ioveanu Heir.”

“I take violent exception to the term ‘have to,’” Surah muttered.

The designer Song, a small, spare man with waist length braids and ageless olive skin, dressed all in powered blue, clapped his hands, entering the room.

“Princess Surah, Lady Sililu. I am honored you’ve chose to grace our humble establishment. I’m positive we’ll create the gown of your dreams.”

Oh, God. “It just has to fit,” Surah said, a little meek. “Maybe we can alter something from the rack.”

The designer stared at her in horror.

“Ignore her,” Sililu said, voice steely. “The Princess has a very demanding job and we’ve recently found out some thrilling news. She is distracted.”

He cleared his throat. “Of course. Well, rise, Princess. Let’s first determine what silhouette is best.”

Song walked around her, looking up and down, eyes narrowed. “A mermaid style would frame your figure beautifully, but perhaps that’s a bit modern. Something more classic for a royal wedding. And we needn’t worry about wing slits, of course.”

She stiffened, but he was staring off into the distance, expression thoughtful. She relaxed, understanding he was being matter-of-fact rather than taking a subtle stab at her.

“Wine red, I think,” he said. “White if you want vintage, or black for drama. But with your skin and hair—”

“I like red.”

“Malin’s mother has rubies she wore at court,” Sililu said. Surah met her eyes. She didn’t even want to think about Malin’s mother. She’d flown south years go after remarrying and hadn’t looked back. At least Adagio had stayed in the state. “Heirlooms.”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”

Song shifted, to get their attention. “Let's try some things on for fit, hmm? And see what you prefer as far as accessories.”

She spent an exhausting two hours parading around in gowns. After a time he had an assistant bring him a tablet and stylus, and began sketching furiously.

“I’ll deliver sketches and fabric samples this week,” Song said at the conclusion of the appointment. “Who is the contact for designs for the wedding party?”

“What?” Surah said. How long was this process going to take? Couldn’t she just order something off the internet?

“I’ll give you my information,” Sililu said. “The Princess’ schedule is difficult these days. Thank you so much, Song, I know your designs will be fabulous.”

“It could have been worse,” Surah said when they left. “If Geza had been there, it would have taken all day. He’s a closet fashionphile.”

Sililu dropped her off at Malin’s office building and excused herself to go take care of other business. Surah took the elevator up to his penthouse suite, a little surprised he hadn’t hunted her down after the news she’d given him. When she stepped out of the elevator, a young woman with short, curly hair and a pretty face greeted her.

“Princess, Mr. Ioveanu and your mother are awaiting you inside.”

Surah stopped. “My–who? My mother?”

“Yes, Adagia Adar. I’ll order lunch sent up now that you’re here.”

The receptionist escorted Surah down the hall. She took a deep breath as the door slid open, and smoothed her expression.

There was a small seating area in front of one of the floor to ceiling windows, the glass dimmed during daylight for the comfort of gargoyle guests. Surah and Malin usually lounged there when they weren’t on the rooftop, and the sun bothered neither of them. A woman sat there now, back straight, hair an elegant fall of deep black silk down her back. She gazed out the window, her profile one of classic beauty, the lines of her face and bare shoulders so perfect she’d been called one of the most beautiful gargoyles in this century.

Surah approached. “Mother.”

Adagia turned, expression grave. “Surah.”

She stopped a foot away, aware of Malin entering the room from a side door and approaching.

“Geza told me you and Malin are to wed,” Adagia said.

The words were neutral. Her mother was always neutral. Surah wasn’t entirely certain if the circumstances of her conception were…consensual. Growing up she’d sensed a pain in her mother, but Adagia refused to discuss anything related to Surah’s father. Refused to discuss much of anything at all.

“Yes.”

“Is that wise?”

“Is there someone better to protect her, Adagia?” Malin asked, placing a hand on Surah’s shoulder. “I would have thought you’d be pleased to see your only daughter marry a warrior of rank.”

“She is a Princess. She may have whomever she chooses.”

They all knew that wasn’t true.

Adagia gazed at her. “What says the Prince?”

Malin and Surah exchanged a glance. “Geza wants whatever will make me most comfortable to complete my research,” she said. It wasn’t quite a lie.

“I see. Prince Malin, inform your staff I’ll be staying until the wedding. My daughter ignores courtly things–she will need help with the planning.”

Surah’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that. “Are you sure, Mother? I know you prefer the quiet.”

“I will manage.” Adagia rose, smoothing her hands down her hips.

“I’ll have a transport come for you,” Malin said, then bowed. “Lady.”

Adagia inclined her head and exited the office. Malin turned to Surah right away, arms sliding around her waist. He drew her in close, burying his face in her hair.

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

“So soon.” He pressed a kiss on her cheek, stepped back, eyes hard. “There will be no mistakes with your safety.”

Surah sighed. Ruthless Malin was always a bitch to maneuver around.

* * *

Wedding or no, her research couldn’t wait on her life to normalize. Malin was responding to the new serum formula, but it was still a stopgap measure. They inched closer to isolating the affected gene, determining how the various proteins in Malin’s body did and did not respond, when night descended. He endured the constant visits, blood draws, and experiments with grim acceptance. Spending hours in the basement lab where she pushed all thoughts of him being her husband from her mind and focused on him with the same neutrality she would a lab rat. It helped calm her, to separate emotions from urgency of the situation.

“Hey, boss lady,” Cole said, knocking on her office door. “You said to remind you about dinner.”

She glanced at her wrist unit and sighed. They hadn’t installed Lana yet, so she was relying on Cole to more or less keep up with her schedule.

“I’m late,” Surah said, rising. “I’ll try not to be more than two hours.” If Geza wasn’t chatty. Once the Prince sat, protocol dictated that no one could leave the table until he first stood to leave. Even though they were family, and in Malin’s house. Gargoyles abided by tradition even if it bit them in the butt.

She took a quick shower in the stall that had been set up in her office, stepped into a tube to dry and moisturize her skin—opting for a bit of evening glow and light cosmetics—and pulled on the floor length sheath dress she’d had hanging nearby. She ignored the high heels—they were just ridiculous when she was in her own house—and dashed upstairs to the dining room.

Geza showed up with an escort of three in tow only moments after Surah entered. Sililu quietly instructed the newly increased staff to add settings at the table. They were in the formal dining room, a long, rectangular room with oversized French doors leading to the grounds in the back. A sleek chandelier overhead emitted a cozy glow.

Malin greeted the gargoyle, Surah and Sililu behind him, both for their own reasons. Surah didn’t particularly like the companions Geza had chosen–one in particular, Uthman, she’d always felt a particular loathing for.

“How fares your cousin?” she asked when he greeted her, eyes raking her body.

Surah could never figure out if Uthman’s leanness was because the Mogren’s didn’t feed him or because he was just too lazy to eat properly and work out. He’d never been the best warrior–though he was fine at scheming behind one’s back.

The open insolence caused Malin to stiffen, placing a hand on her shoulder, but Surah didn’t need Malin to shut Uthman down. His own ego would do that for her. Sure enough, as soon as Surah mentioned the cousin–Lavinia Mogren–Uthman’s expression tightened.

“I don’t associate with traitors or humans,” Uthman said. “So I don’t know how she fares.”

Surah smiled, satisfied. He’d called her a human to her face–using the word as an insult–which meant she’d rattled him. She arched a brow. “But she’s the head of your family line, right? Come on, you haven’t talked to her even a bit? Made sure her cell is comfortable? Slipped her notes from the lawyer?”

“Stop starting shit, Surah,” Geza said, and moved past them both. “It puts me off my dinner, and I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

Surah turned, watching as Geza and Sililu pointedly ignored each other. He didn’t glance at the female, and she didn’t bow to him as was custom.

“If you’re in the mood for a fight, my love,” Malin said in her ear when the others were further into the room, “I'll oblige you this evening. Try not to start any feuds tonight, hmm?”

“Geza didn’t tell you he was bringing a Mogren to dinner?”

“Our brother has a unique sense of humor.”

That was a word for it.