"Which doesn't make him any less his father's son—" Helene said, raising her voice.
Hell's fire! They were squaring off like two bitches ready to fight over a meaty bone—and he was not going to become the prize of whoever won this battle.
"—and I won't have it said that any of the High Lord's children are living in squalor," Helene continued.
Lucivar gritted his teeth. Squalor? Squalor? He'd moved to the eyrie two days ago. There hadn't been time to accumulate squalor. "Ladies."
They turned on him, and after studying them the way he'd study any adversary, he wisely swallowed his rising temper. Helene worked for his father, and since he would, no doubt, continue to spend time at the Hall, telling her to leave would be an insult he didn't want to live with. And Merry made the best steak pies he'd ever tasted. If he told her to go, it might be years before he had another slice of steak pie.
Finally Helene turned to Merry and said, "While yours is the more recent claim, it is equally valid. And there's more than enough work for all of us."
Merry nodded, then clapped her hands. "Come along, ladies. We've work to do."
Four of the women who'd come with Merry were married or, at least, had acknowledged lovers. The other seven were younger and unattached… and would have dawdled a lot longer if Merry and Helene hadn't herded them into the eyrie.
When he'd been a slave in Terreillean courts, he'd been stripped down and displayed for the enjoyment of the Queen who controlled the Ring of Obedience. He'd never felt the need to smile politely while he was being ogled. But here he was, smiling…showing his teeth, anyway…as Helene pushed the last witch inside and closed the door.
Rage danced in his belly, twisting it into knots. He closed his eyes and tightened the leash on his temper. He had an explosive one, and it had served him well when he'd lived in Terreille, but this wasn't the same. He hadn't been forced to strip down. He'd been standing outside of his own free will, and if the women who had suddenly appeared appreciated the view he provided, he couldn't blame them for it.
Thank the Darkness none of them had tried to touch him. He wasn't sure what he would have done if any of them had tried.
No. That wasn't true. He knew what he would have done. He just didn't know how he would have explained breaking a woman's arm for a touch they'd all think of as harmless or, at the very worst, an invitation.
*Yas?* Tassle's sending on a psychic thread sounded hesitant, a little fearful.
Turning, Lucivar looked at the young wolf. "Women are a pain in the ass."
Confusion replaced fear. *Pain? They didn't nip you. Why is there pain?* After a pause, Tassle added, *I could lick it to make it better.*
Maybe it wasn't just for Tassle's sake that he'd offered to share his home with a wolf, Lucivar decided as amusement eased the knots in his belly. You could never tell what the kindred would pick up from human behavior and decide to make their own. Obviously, Tassle had decided the wolf version of "kiss it and make it better" was the appropriate response to this situation.
"No, thanks," Lucivar said, moving away from the eyrie to walk in the rock-strewn grass that might have been a lawn or a garden once upon a time. He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and swore. Not only rough enough to bite but now it was also cold.
Noticing the way Tassle sniffed the air, Lucivar made a "go forward" gesture with one hand. "Go on. Go explore. If you stay around here, you'll end up getting washed and polished."
*You come too?*
He hadn't had a chance yet to really walk the land around the eyrie and get a feel for it, but leaving right now felt a bit too much like running away…and it went against his nature as an Eyrien Warlord Prince to run from a battleground. "You go on. I'll keep an eye on things here."
As he watched Tassle trot off to mark the home territory, he felt the weight of the eyrie at his back and wondered if it really would be running away to get out of sight while all of those women cluttered up his home. Besides, if his presence wasn't a distraction from the allure of buckets and mops, his absence wouldn't be noted either. Which should have pleased him. The fact that it didn't was an annoyance he'd think about later.
"I'd wish you a good morning," a deep, amused voice said, "but I'm not sure that's appropriate."
Turning, he watched the slender, brown-skinned man cross the rock-strewn ground with feline grace. The movement lifted the edges of the knee-length black cape, revealing the red lining and providing slashes of color to accent the black tunic jacket and trousers.
His brother Daemon moved with the same feline grace.
He tried not to think about Daemon too much, tried not to wonder too often if his brother had found a way out of the madness the Blood called the Twisted Kingdom. There was nothing he could do for Daemon, wherever he was.
He pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the man settling on a stone that time and the elements had weathered into a natural seat. He looked like a handsome man at the end of his prime, his black hair silvered at the temples and faint lines around his golden eyes…an aristo Hayllian male who would be in his element at a dinner party and wouldn't know what to do on a killing field.
Looks could be deceiving. This was Saetan Daemon SaDiablo, a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who was the Prince of the Darkness, High Lord of Hell, Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, Steward of the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi… and his father.
It was the last title that made Lucivar wary. There weren't any clear rules when it came to sons dealing with fathers. Not that he paid much attention to rules, but it would have been nice to know when he was about to do something that would stomp on Saetan's toes and end with them yelling at each other. Which he did know, actually. Every time Jaenelle said, "Lucivar, I have a wonderful idea" and he went along with it, he could pretty much count on ending up in Saetan's study to receive a blistering lecture. Too bad he enjoyed squaring off with his father as much as he enjoyed getting into trouble with the golden-haired, sapphire-eyed witch who was Saetan's adopted daughter…and, therefore, his sister. The fact that Jaenelle was the Queen of Ebon Askavi and they both served in the First Circle of her court just added spice to their shouting matches.
"It's none of my business, but I am curious," Saetan said. "Why are you standing out here displaying your assets?"
"I'm standing out here because my home has been invaded by two dozen women with brooms and buckets…"
"Two dozen? I wasn't aware Helene brought that many from the Hall."
"She didn't. Some of the women from Riada showed up right after Helene did. And this is how I was dressed…"
"…or not dressed," Saetan murmured.
"…when they showed up." Lucivar took another gulp of coffee and shuddered. "And getting dressed after I'd been assured I wouldn't be a distraction seemed like… bragging."
"I see. Who told you this?"
"Helene. She said she'd seen just as good." Lucivar eyed his father.
Saetan shook his head. "No. I will not indulge in a pissing contest with you to appease your curiosity. Besides, you've seen me naked."
True enough, but he'd only noticed Saetan looked damn fit for a man who'd seen over fifty thousand years. He hadn't paid attention to particulars.
"So Helene said you wouldn't be a distraction," Saetan said, looking more amused. "And you believed her because…?"
"Well, Hell's fire, she's your housekeeper."
"She's also a woman in her prime who is, in fact, only a few centuries older than you."