Queen Celene of Alera, Optimus Unit Headquarters, Solitary Confinement

      Had I known where they were going to transport me when I was taken off Scarface’s ship, I might have put up more of a fight.

      Then again, probably not, for I was getting what I wanted now. My daughters were safe, as far as I knew—he’d probably look a lot happier if something had happened to any of them—and searching for me.

      At last, I knew the name of at least one person who had betrayed me and my beloved mate all those years ago.

      Lord Wyse, or Inspector Optimi, of the Optimus unit stood before me, his cheeks flushed, his eyes shining with a fever I recognized as fanaticism. He hated me, apparently.

      We had grown up together, he just a few years older. I’d considered him a big brother of sorts, even though he was not a brother by blood, but a cousin.

      When he had decided to try to kill me, or why, I had no idea. How far back did his hatred go? I would find out.

      Scarface stood with his back to the door. He hadn’t beaten me, yet. Not since I’d been sent here, under lock and key in the private interrogation rooms saved for the most defiant and dangerous prisoners.

      Defiant? Yes.

      Dangerous? More than he could possibly imagine, but not for the usual reasons. There was no way I could defend myself or fight back—I thought proudly of Destiny who would be able to whoop his ass—but there were other ways to be ruthless.

      “I see your lack of success has forced you to show your face, cousin,” I said. How very brave of you.” I made sure to sound amused, as if his presence were no more of a threat than that of a worm under my shoe. Of course, I had bare feet, I was starving, freezing cold, and fairly certain I was becoming ill. But he didn’t need to know any of that. I’d taunted, goaded and acted unaffected ever since I’d been transported from Earth. I had to fake it ‘til I make it as the girls would say.

      I was a queen, after all. Even being on Earth for all these years, didn’t change who or what I was. I could handle anything. And if I couldn’t… Lord Wyse would have to deal with my daughters, and they were so much stronger—mentally and physically—than me.

      “It’s not bravery, dear,” he countered. Dark eyes blazed, but he kept his calm reserve. “But the assurance that you’ll soon be too dead to talk.”

      I’d already figured that one out myself, but now that he was here, I knew something else as well—he wasn’t in charge. He was