The Guardians Chronicles

Victoria’s immaculate French-manicured nails tap-tapped an irritated rhythm against the table. Fine china rattled almost imperceptibly with every staccato beat.

“What do you mean, ‘get Rafael to babysit her’?” she asked, voice cool as cut glass. “Marco, do you truly not grasp the severity of our situation?”

She had called him that morning—no, summoned was more accurate—to her Hyde Park apartment. And when the Leader of the Council called, you cancelled your day.

Marco leaned back in his chair, dark brows drawing together. “Of course I understand. That’s the point. You need more of us on the streets, Victoria. We should be out there hunting that bastard, showing teeth, not chained to some girl, even if she might be our saviour.” He slammed his fist down. The gold-edged cups shivered, spoons chiming softly in their saucers.

“Stop abusing my table,” Victoria said mildly. For Marco, it was an order. “I understand your need for revenge, but it’s clouding your judgment.”

She folded her hands neatly in front of her and fixed him with a level stare.

“Any move against Daemon must be calculated with care,” she continued. “He has surrounded himself with powerful allies and however misguided they are, they will die for him. He spreads his poison artfully. Every day, more join his Watchers. It is actually fascinating how vultures gather the moment they sense a banquet.”

Marco’s jaw clenched. “The Draaken is growing too,” he said. “We still have allies. We’re not standing alone in this.”

“Yes.” She frowned, the fine lines around her eyes deepening. “I only hope it will be enough.”

She lifted her teacup, took a measured sip and set it down with surgical precision.

“In the meantime, Keira cannot, under any circumstances, suspect she is being protected. She has a particular stubborn streak,” Victoria said, a hint of fondness threading into her voice, “and she is not a fool. Rafael is many things. Subtle is not one of them.”

Marco dragged a hand through his short, dark hair, frustration tightening his shoulders. “If her magick is as strong as you say, she doesn’t need me shadowing her. She should be capable of taking care of herself. Victoria, we have too many—”

“Are you being dense on purpose?” she cut in sharply.

His mouth snapped shut.

“If I sensed her magick this morning, what makes you think he didn’t?” Victoria asked. “That is precisely why she needs our—your—protection. Her power is potent but undisciplined. She needs time to learn to control it, to aim it. Until then, she is both an asset and a liability.”

Marco looked away, his fists flexing on his thighs.

“And,” Victoria added, softer but no less firm, “you only need to stay with her until I convince her to accompany me to the Council meeting.”

“Do you have any idea when that will be?” he asked.

“As soon as I have confirmation that all members will attend. It should be any day now. I’ll inform you the moment the date is fixed.”

Marco glared at her over the rim of his cup, but there was more worry in it than defiance. “Fine,” he said at last, grinding the word out. “I’ll stay with her. A few days. No more. After the meeting, I go back where I belong.” He jabbed a finger toward the window and the city beyond. “Out there.”

“I know you’re frustrated,” Victoria said. “But you are the only one I trust with this. She is more precious than you can yet begin to imagine. We must keep her safe.”

Now that he had yielded, Victoria allowed herself to soften, just a fraction. Decades at the helm of the Council had honed her instinct for pressure and release. Most of the members had no idea how old she truly was. They would be astonished if they knew how many lifetimes of politics she carried on her shoulders.

“Marco,” she said quietly, “promise me, no matter what happens, you will defend her with your life. The Guardians have been without a High Priestess for far too long. If only I—”

“Don’t,” he gently interrupted. His expression shifted, the hard angles eased by something like protectiveness. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’ve led us, held us together, kept us on the right path. We didn’t need a High Priestess. And you couldn’t have changed what happened.”

Victoria smiled faintly. Her mind accepted that logic. Her heart did not. It still bled for Roberto—the man who had been her beloved, her anchor, and the other half of the High Priestess mantle. She had buried him, and with him, the full measure of her magick.

Roberto.
I wish you were here. I am so tired. How am I supposed to do this without you?

She allowed herself that one moment of silent grief, then folded it away as she had done a thousand times before.

“Not now,” she murmured. “Times have shifted faster than any of us predicted. Even Chloe was blindsided by the speed of Daemon’s change in tactics.”

“She blames herself,” Marco said. “She’s pushing too hard. She barely sleeps, always trying to See what he’s planning.”

“Tell her to rest,” Victoria said. “There are moments even a Seer of her strength cannot pierce. We need her sharp when Daemon makes his final move, not half-broken before we begin.”

Marco inclined his head. “I’ll tell her. But about Keira,” he hesitated. “I am still not convinced she can take the reins. She is completely untrained, Victoria. It will take years to raise her to your level. Years we don’t have. You know how dangerous it is to throw an untested initiate into the field.” He paused, then asked, carefully, “Couldn’t you—”

“No.” The word came out softer than she liked, threaded with resignation. “My powers are weak, Marco. The duties of a High Priestess are beyond me now. You know that.”

Silence settled between them. She felt his gaze on her, full of concern she didn’t want.

Victoria was exhausted—bone-deep, soul-deep. Some mornings, it took more effort than she liked to admit just to rise from bed and put on the mask they needed from her. But she could not let Marco see that. Could not afford his pity, or worse, his distraction.

If the Draaken learned how frail she felt, they would close ranks around her, pour their energy into propping her up. Their focus would slip from where it was most needed: Keira.

Marco thought the Guardians didn’t need a High Priestess. He could not have been more wrong. She had watched, over the decades, as their dependence on technology grew, as they outsourced more and more of their vigilance to screens and systems and encrypted files. At this rate, magick would become nothing more than an add-on, useful, but optional.

The Guardians needed someone who embodied both worlds: raw magick and innate understanding of the technological age.

That someone was Keira.

Victoria mustered a reassuring smile. “I have enough time to prepare her,” she lied as smoothly as she breathed. “With your help, the two of you will be formidable. Together, you can secure the Guardians’ future. Thanks to your leadership, the Draaken has never been stronger. We will end this war with Daemon, finally and definitively.”

“If it were up to me, the war would start tomorrow,” Marco said. “The sooner I get my hands on him, the better.”

“I know.” Her lips twitched. “Which is precisely why it isn’t up to you.”

His mouth curved in reluctant acknowledgement.

“Thank you for accompanying me to the function tomorrow,” she added. “It will give me the opportunity to introduce you to Keira properly. We’ll meet at the Wilde Estate.”

The half-lift of her hand dismissed him gently but unmistakably.

Marco rose, offered her a small, formal bow. “I’ll see you there.”

She listened to the soft click of the front door behind him, then moved to the window.

From her vantage point, she watched him cross the street below—broad shoulders, purposeful stride, the coiled readiness of a man who belonged in battle, not in drawing rooms.

Her fingers tightened on the curtain.

You’ll need that strength, she thought. You’ll need every ounce of it.

As he disappeared around the corner, Victoria closed her eyes briefly and sent a silent promise into the quiet room.

I trust you, Marco. I have to. For her sake and for all of ours.