“Prince Theran has some traditional tastes,” Jaenelle said with a sweetness that made Theran’s palms sweat. “Apparently he has the same resistance toward women wearing short hair and trousers that you do.”
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
Saetan gave Jaenelle a pointed look. “I don’t recall making any comment about your hair.”
Jaenelle pursed her lips. “That’s true. You’ve never been that rigid in your preferences.”
Two pairs of gold eyes fixed on Theran, and he was really hoping there was a house rule that guests were not executed at the dinner table.
“But like you,” Jaenelle continued, “Theran will have to develop some flexibility and learn how to compromise.”
“Is that what I did?” Saetan asked.
“Yes, Papa, that’s what you did.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.”
She laughed, and Theran watched in a kind of wonder as the sound completely relaxed two violent and powerful men.
Then those sapphire eyes looked into his. “There is a Queen who may be willing to come to Dena Nehele and show your people how a Territory is ruled when the Old Ways are followed. If she decides to accept the offer, she will be at the Keep seven days from now. The terms Prince Sadi has set for her being in Terreille are acceptable to her. You need to talk to your people to see if the terms are acceptable to them. If they are, you’ll meet us at the Keep, and she will return with you to Dena Nehele.”
Theran’s heart sank. “There’s only one who might be willing? We’re talking about a whole Territory, not some village.”
“I’m sure there are others, and you’re free to seek them if you choose. But you came here and asked for our help. This is our answer.”
Your answer, Theran thought, knowing it was the only answer.
“I’d like to get back to Dena Nehele as soon as possible,” he said. “There will be much to discuss before we make a decision.”
“The Coach can take you back to the Keep this evening,” Saetan said.
Theran nodded and said nothing more as the last course of the meal dragged on. As soon as he could, he left the table, offering the feeble excuse of needing to pack.
One choice. One chance. Would this Queen have enough dazzle to convince bitter men to serve?
One way or another, he’d have his answer in seven days.
“If you’ll excuse me, I want to check the rest of the messages Beale has waiting for me,” Jaenelle said. “I never got past Sylvia’s note when I returned from Dharo.”
“Probably because you were laughing so hard,” Daemon said.
“True,” she said, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “No, don’t get up. You two enjoy your wine.”
As soon as she walked out of the room, Daemon dismissed the footman who had served them at dinner.
For a few minutes, the two men simply drank wine—he finishing up the bottle of red, while Saetan drank yarbarah, the blood wine.
“You didn’t tell me Sylvia cut her hair,” Saetan said quietly.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to know about her personal life,” Daemon replied.
“I don’t. Can’t. But . . . Is it that unattractive?”
“Not at all. It’s sassy. It suits her.”
“Then Grayhaven’s an ass.”
Daemon shrugged. “What he wants for his people shouldn’t be dismissed. And it took balls to come here.”
“Yes, it did.” Saetan swirled the yarbarah in the ravenglass goblet. “He doesn’t fit. His Jewels are dark enough and his personality is strong enough, but he doesn’t fit in with us.”
“He looks into Jaenelle’s eyes and doesn’t see who she is,” Daemon said.
Saetan nodded. “Yes. That was always the test when it came to accepting someone into the Dark Court, even for an apprenticeship. If the person couldn’t look into her eyes and know, he would rub the entire First Circle the wrong way and their tempers would start sharpening for an attack.”
“Fortunately, Theran won’t have to deal often with anyone who served in the Dark Court.”
“Except his new Queen,” Saetan said.
Daemon blew out a breath. “Except the new Queen.”
“You and Jaenelle. Will you be all right this evening?”
“We’ll be all right.”
“Will you be all right?”
He smiled. “Yes, Father, I’ll be all right.”
“In that case, I’ll return to the Keep and see Theran back to Terreille.”
They found Jaenelle—and Vae—waiting for them in the great hall. Theran joined them a minute later.
“Thank you for your help and your hospitality,” Theran said.
The words were properly spoken, but Daemon had the impression that Theran would have said anything if it got him out of the Hall.
“Witch-child,” Saetan said, kissing Jaenelle’s cheek.
Daemon felt more than saw a flash of understanding between them before Saetan shifted to him and put a hand against his face.
A different kind of understanding, an acknowledgment that the darkest feelings that lived inside him were not unique. He’d done something with those feelings no other male had done, but he knew now that he could temper those feelings when he chose to, could soften them to be an enticement rather than a weapon.
*Massage, not sex tonight,* Saetan said.
Right.
A pat on the shoulder and his father walked out the door with Grayhaven.
*Bye, Theran!* Vae said, bouncing in some kind of tail-wagging happy dance. *Bye!*
As soon as Beale closed the door, Vae looked at both of them. *He is male and foolish. He needs me. When he comes for the Queen, I will go live with him.*
She trotted out of the great hall, leaving him and Jaenelle staring at the door.
“We could make it part of the bargain,” Daemon said.
“How so?” Jaenelle asked.
“If he wants the Queen, he has to take the Sceltie.”
“Oh, Hell’s fire.”
It didn’t occur to him until much later, when he was cuddled up with Jaenelle in her bed, that Beale hadn’t thought there was anything odd about the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan and the former Queen of Ebon Askavi sitting on the floor of the great hall laughing like fools.
CHAPTER 8
Theran stared at the ninety-nine Warlord Princes and wished one of them would sneeze, cough, fart—anything to break the stone-hard silence.
“That’s it,” he said. “That’s the bargain.”
“One choice,” Ranon, the Shalador Warlord Prince, said. “And if she turns out to be a bad choice, she’ll destroy what’s left of us.”
I know. “I don’t believe Daemon Sadi would recommend a Queen who would be a danger to us.”
“Sadi hated Terreille,” Ranon said. “He might see this as an opportunity to crush a Territory completely.”
“Sadi hated everything to do with Dorothea SaDiablo and what she was doing to the Realm,” Theran said, raising his voice to be heard above the mutters.
“That may be true,” Archerr said. “But you said it was his wife who went and talked to this Queen.”
*And you’ve said damn little about the wife,* Talon said on a psychic thread aimed directly at him.
*Nothing much to say,* Theran replied.
Talon shifted in his chair. The mutters faded as the other Warlord Princes focused their attention on him.
“Here’s the thing,” Talon said. “Jared trusted Daemon Sadi. So did Blaed. They knew him. He gave them some training when they were slaves, and helped them survive. Yeah, that was a few centuries ago, and maybe he’s changed—maybe he jumps now when his wife snaps her fingers. But the terms he set tell me he gave some thought to this request. They won’t be all that easy for us to meet, and these ‘inspections’ don’t sit well with me, I can tell you that. Even so, I think we have to take this chance.”