“Prince, please,” Endar begged.
He heard fear in the father’s voice. He saw shock in the mother’s eyes—and in the daughter’s.
“You will report to the Queen of Riada every afternoon from now on,” Lucivar said. “You will be given lessons in Protocol since your behavior this morning tells me that you have not received that necessary part of your education—or have been told, for some reason, that those rules don’t apply to Queens.” He ignored Dorian’s outraged gasp at the insult, which confirmed the truth of his words. “You will also receive the training necessary to understand your responsibilities and duties as a Queen. You will accompany Riada’s Queen whenever she desires your presence in order to observe how a court works—even if that means canceling your own plans. The only days you will be excused from the training are the first three days of your moontime. If you lie even once because you’re feeling pissy or defiant, and claim your moon’s blood started when it hasn’t, I will haul you down to Riada to face whatever discipline the Lady’s court demands—and I will be here every time after that to make sure you’re being honest.”
“That’s insulting,” Dorian snapped. “You would humiliate a Queen?”
“I’m informing her—and you—of the consequences of a lie. If she’s humiliated, it’s because she made a bad choice and has to pay the price.”
“You’re calling my wife’s and my daughter’s honor into question,” Endar said, sounding as if he’d received a gut wound.
“Yes. I am.” Lucivar regretted hurting the man, but he’d come here to keep what was said private in order to spare Endar and his family from being isolated from the other Eyriens—because no one wanted to be on the wrong side of a line drawn by the Demon Prince.
“What about your son?” Dorian said. “What about what he said to a Queen?”
“He said nothing to a Queen. He insulted Orian in the same way she had insulted Titian, matching hurt for hurt. But he, too, is going to receive additional training because of this incident.” He focused on Orian. “You’re dismissed.”
“But . . . ,” the girl protested.
“You’re dismissed.”
“Orian, do as you’re told,” Endar said.
Lucivar waited until Orian left the front room. Then he put an aural shield around the room because he suspected the girl would try to listen to them. When that was done, he turned to Dorian. “I haven’t had a quarrel with you until now. I would prefer not to have one because you don’t want to enter into a fight with me. You really don’t. Whatever ambition you’re planting on the back of your daughter being a Queen, tear it out by the roots, Dorian. Tear it out now, for her sake. Or have you forgotten what it was like to live in Terreille?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” Dorian snapped. Then her eyes filled with tears. “What’s wrong with wanting better for your children? What’s wrong with wanting Orian to be someone people will respect and deem important?”
“She’s a Queen,” Lucivar replied. “She’s already important. Whether she’ll be respected will depend on whether or not she’s a good Queen. I won’t let a bitch hold so much as one man or an acre of land. Not in Askavi.” He looked at Endar. “Orian is expected in Riada after the midday meal. You should make sure she gets there.”
“If that is all, Prince?” Dorian spat out the words.
He released the aural shield and waited until the woman left the room before turning toward the door.
Endar looked miserable. “Could I have done something?”
Lucivar started to shrug off the question, then paused to consider. “Orian is centuries away from forming a court. Why this sudden need for the girl to be important? What’s scraping your wife’s heart, Endar?”
“I don’t know.” Endar sighed. “I think she’s disappointed in me, in my being a teacher. Eyriens always considered it demeaning work unless a man was so physically damaged in battle that he could no longer fight.”
“That was in Terreille. This is Ebon Rih in Kaeleer.” He studied the man who’d had to work hard to improve his own education in order to teach the Eyrien children. “Has anyone said that to you? Implied that your work wasn’t valued in the Eyrien community?” Anyone besides your wife?
“No, but it’s hard to shake off generations of beliefs. What was a relief to Dorian when our children were younger now seems a source of embarrassment to her. Maybe that’s why she’s become obsessed with what Orian will be able to do once she’s old enough to establish her court—and is always talking about how the girl should be setting up an unofficial court now.”
“Unless Orian is befriending the Eyrien youngsters who live around Doun, her unofficial court would be made up of Rihlanders, and that court will change every few years as those girls grow up and look toward serving in official courts or following other adult pursuits.”
Endar hesitated. “I think Dorian expects Daemonar to join Orian’s court when she forms one and feels he should be eager to escort his Queen around the village now.”
Oh, his boy would be thrilled if he could escort his Queen around the village. But Witch wasn’t going to stroll around Riada, and whether he spent some time serving in another court or not, Daemonar would never consider any other Queen to be his Queen and have his absolute loyalty. Knowing that, Lucivar considered his words carefully. “They’re growing up and taking separate roads. Orian shouldn’t think of Daemonar as anything more than a childhood friend she used to play with. If she, or Dorian, thinks he’ll be more, she’s setting herself up for disappointment.” Or worse.
Endar made a sad sound. “I figured Orian put an arrow through the heart of that friendship the moment I heard what she’d said to Titian. Daemonar wouldn’t remain friends with someone who did that. Not even a girl who was a Queen.”
“Keep trying to find out what’s wrong with Dorian. If she keeps pushing, she and Orian are both heading into rough winds and jagged canyons. And if you need help, ask me.”
As he flew to the communal eyrie to do a bit of sparring and review the day’s tasks with Rothvar, Lucivar wondered about the reason for this change in Dorian’s behavior.
Since he maintained a psychic web that kept him quietly aware of everyone within the boundaries of the SaDiablo estate, Daemon felt Jaenelle Saetien’s continued agitation long before she reached his study, and resigned himself to an unpleasant afternoon.
His own fault for allowing his daughter’s emotions to adjust the day’s plans—not only his plans but also those of the Province Queen whom he’d intended to see that afternoon. Now he would have to see the woman before she headed out for her own evening commitments.
Lucivar wouldn’t have let a child’s emotions get in the way of scheduled lessons. Lucivar would have let the child sulk or grumble or wheedle or cry or shout and be angry. What he wouldn’t have done was let the child reschedule the lessons because she had to do something terribly important but wouldn’t tell him what it was. He would have sat there, waiting for the storm to pass, and then turned the hourglass that indicated the length of the lesson. And if another lesson followed that? So be it, and whatever plans the child had made with friends were either postponed or forfeit. End of discussion.
It was lowering to admit it, but Jaenelle Saetien seemed to thrive better in the Yaslana household than she did with him at the Hall. Then again, she was only there for a week when she went to visit. The Darkness only knew how much she would clash with Lucivar if she stayed longer. Since he and Lucivar set up rules for the children that applied to both households, maybe it was the way they upheld the rules that made a difference?