“You’ll be all right,” he said quietly. “You’ll both be all right.”
Surreal looked at the beautiful, lethal, terrifying man she’d married. If he thought she was a danger to the Realm or the rest of the family, he would kill her without hesitation. She knew that to the marrow of her bones. But she also knew that he loved her and would protect her in every way he could. After she had come away from the Offering to the Darkness wearing the Gray, there were very few men who were powerful enough to be a threat. Daemon was one of them.
“Are you going to stay here at the eyrie?” she asked quietly.
“No,” he replied just as quietly. “I’ll stay at the Keep. Until we see this done, it’s not going to be safe to be around me.”
She nodded. What else could she do?
He stepped close, leaned in as if to kiss her, then hesitated. Before he could withdraw, she leaned toward him and touched her lips to his. Silent permission.
His kiss was warm, gentle, giving—full of affection and empty of desire.
“Will you come back to the Hall after this is done?”
“Of course.”
She didn’t press him for more of an answer. He was pulling back, a Black-Jeweled predator heading out to hunt. Better for both of them if she gave him the distance he needed.
“Tell Lucivar I’ll be in Hell for a while, but I’ll be back in time for his curfew.”
She smiled. “If you’re not, I’ll let him borrow my crossbow.”
Daemon laughed and walked out of the eyrie.
Marian didn’t know what to expect when Lucivar led her to his study, locked the door, and then put shields around the room to assure no one would interrupt them.
“We need to talk,” he said.
He looked troubled. Grim.
She struggled to keep fear out of her voice. “Lucivar? What’s wrong?”
Troubled. Grim. And not meeting her eyes, which wasn’t like him.
“I was the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih when you agreed to marry me,” he said, his voice rough with choked-back emotions. “You knew what you were walking into, what you’d have to deal with.”
“More or less,” she said dryly, remembering some of the adventures she’d had with Jaenelle Angelline.
That made his lips twitch in a hint of a smile. Then even that much humor faded. “More or less. Three Blood villages and a handful of landen villages. Farms. Rustic living compared to the fancier Rihlander towns and cities in other parts of Askavi. And Queens who formed their courts knowing they were going to be living under my hand, and if anyone crossed the lines I had drawn for what I would accept in this valley, they wouldn’t survive.”
“We’ve never had serious trouble here.” At least, not since Falonar’s attempt to kill you and take over Ebon Rih.
“You’re comfortable with the Queens and their courts, with the aristos living in the valley.” Another momentary smile. “Maybe not comfortable, but you’re used to dealing with them.”
Yes, she’d gotten used to the village women stopping by the eyrie when Lucivar wasn’t there in order to express a concern. She’d gotten used to Queens speaking to her in order to get a feel for how Lucivar might react to something that had come to the notice of their courts. They were always polite, even friendly at public events, but they didn’t have much in common with a hearth witch.
Since he seemed to be waiting for an answer, she said, “I’ve gotten used to dealing with them. They’re good women, and good people serve in their courts.”
“We’ve had a good life here. Haven’t we?”
Had a good life? “Lucivar . . .”
“I made a promise, Marian. I’m sorry for what it will do to you and the children, but I made a promise to my Queen, and I can’t break it.” The words almost sounded like a plea.
“I would be disappointed in you if you did.”
That he hadn’t moved since they’d walked into the study when he’d normally pace told her how difficult this was for him—whatever it was.
“Askavi doesn’t have a Territory Queen,” he said. “Every Province has a Queen, and there are District Queens who rule under them.”
He was right, of course. Every other Territory in Kaeleer had a Queen who ruled over the rest of the Queens. With one exception. “Is that important?”
“It wasn’t. It is now.”
“Why now?” She suspected the reason was locked in the communal eyrie, awaiting Lucivar’s judgment, but felt the question needed to be asked.
“Because the District Queens aren’t doing their jobs anymore. They’re ignoring problems, and the Province Queens are letting them get away with it because they don’t have to answer to anyone. Or they haven’t had to answer to anyone for long enough to forget what it was like to face the Demon Prince when they failed to hold the lines of acceptable behavior and live by the Old Ways of the Blood.”
She saw it then, the cliff that was crumbling beneath their lives, their marriage.
“You’re going to claim all of Askavi as your Territory, aren’t you? All the Queens will have to answer to you.” Queens who were from powerful aristo families. Queens who wouldn’t want to dine with a Purple Dusk hearth witch, no matter whom she’d married.
“I was satisfied with our life. I am satisfied with our life, with taking care of this valley and its people. Given a choice, I wouldn’t change anything.” Lucivar shook his head. “But I promised her, Marian. I gave my word that, if it became necessary, I would acknowledge the document I had signed that made me the Warlord Prince of Askavi.”
“What happens if the Queens won’t acknowledge your rule over them?”
He looked at her. She didn’t see her husband. She didn’t even see the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. She wondered if Andulvar Yaslana had looked the same way when he became the Demon Prince.
She closed the distance between them. The Demon Prince would be ruthless, brutal. But the man who walked off the killing fields drenched in his enemies’ blood would still be Lucivar, her best friend, her husband and lover, the father of her children.
“Being the Demon Prince’s wife won’t be easy for you,” he said quietly. “It won’t be easy on the children.”
She wrapped her arms around him, rested her head on his chest—and felt his arms tighten around her.
“Storms and rough winds ahead of us.” She leaned back enough to look at him. “We’ll help each other get through them.”
“I love you,” he said softly.
Smiling, she added an aural shield to the shields he already had around the room. “Show me.”
“Prince Chaosti,” the High Lord said with a sweetly murderous smile, “I need you and your Dea al Mon warriors to assist me in a hunt.”
THIRTY-SIX
Unsettled by the latest interview with one of Dillon’s “conquests,” Surreal passed by the dining houses in the aristo part of the Rihland town. She was hungry and wanted food, but she didn’t want to be on her guard every minute.
Now, why did she think she needed to be on her guard? Was it because of the father and daughter she’d just spoken with who had heaped complaints and accusations on Dillon? Or was it because of the Warlord who had been tracking her since she’d left that aristo house?
She chose a dining house that looked clean, at least from the outside. On the inside . . . ? Definitely didn’t cater to aristos. The men and women who studied her when she entered wore the clothes of shopkeepers or laborers. Maybe some farmers who had come into town for supplies and were treating themselves to a meal before heading home. But she’d wager the food here was simple and good.