The Queen's Price

SEVEN

Since he had no intention of teaching Craft to a pack of adolescents or following Daemon’s precise schedule for the day’s lessons, Lucivar summoned all the youngsters to the large room usually used for sparring and weapons training. He hadn’t seen all of them together since the day they’d arrived at the Hall, and today he wanted to get a feel for who they were. What they were. And how they were with one another.

This review would have come sooner or later. Daemon’s absence today meant neither man had to come up with an excuse for the youngsters having to deal with him instead of the Warlord Prince they were accustomed to seeing.

The girls walked into the room, speculating about why they’d all been summoned here for their Craft lesson—as if a simple psychic probe couldn’t have told them they were facing Ebon-gray instead of Black, and that should have told them the Craft lesson wasn’t going to be what they expected.

It also raised the question of why they hadn’t done something as basic as a psychic probe before entering the room.

Titian hurried into the room and gave Lucivar a bright smile, quickly followed by a look of wariness.

Yes, witchling, he thought, amused by his daughter’s reaction to his presence. I know about the wall.

Equally wary, Zoey offered him a proper bow—young Queen to a Warlord Prince of his rank.

Jhett, a Black Widow, and Arlene, a Healer—both good friends of Zoey’s—also bowed.

The other four Queens who were now residing at the Hall looked confused by Zoey’s formality, then hesitated a few moments too long before they, too, bowed to acknowledge who, and what, he was.

The lack of understanding about who determined when a meeting could shift from formal to informal was something Daemon would have to correct—and fast. Of course, at this age, they could have a brilliant understanding of Protocol one moment and be completely brainless the next.

Altogether, there were five Queens, three natural Black Widows, three natural Healers, and eleven witches. They had come from different Provinces in Dhemlan. They had been selected by the Province Queens after being recommended by the District Queens, chosen to be trained at the Hall because they were deemed young witches of considerable potential who could be the next generation of leaders in one way or another—and targets for someone who saw them as rivals the way Delora and her coven of malice had done.

Yes, he saw that potential in the way they carried themselves and in their psychic scents.

What he also saw, in the way the girls clustered on one side of the room, were the seeds of five courts instead of one. Trouble? Possibly.

And in more ways than one, he thought grimly as Daemonar led the other thirteen boys into the room, followed by Lord Weston, who was Zoey’s sword and shield, and Prince Raine, an instructor from Dharo.

He watched the way one of the girls stared at the boys—specifically the five Warlord Princes. Daemonar was the only one old enough to be in the first phase of his sexual heat. The other four wouldn’t have to deal with it for a few more years, but they would have to deal with it—and so would any witch who served in a court that held a Warlord Prince.

He watched the girl. Watched the way she swished her skirt to draw the eye to her hips. Watched the way her attention fixed on his son but also flicked to the other four Warlord Princes as if she were sizing up the best piece of meat in the market.

A man didn’t need much experience to guess what he wouldn’t find under that skirt. And he had plenty of experience.

Well, no one had ever accused him of being subtle. Or tactful.

His sharp whistle had all of them looking his way. He focused on the young witch and said, “Leave the room and finish dressing.”

She looked at the other girls, looked at one of the Queens in particular, her feigned bafflement fraying the leash on his temper. Then she lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Lucivar nodded. “All right. Put some underpants on.” The words thundered through the room. “If you start showing off what you’ve got between your legs, I will take a strap to your bare ass. Do you understand me?”

“I—I—”

“Do. You. Understand?”

She burst into tears and ran out of the room.

Lucivar scanned the faces of the other children. Some looked stunned. Some looked shocked.

And five boys, including his son, looked relieved.

Something else he needed to mention to Daemon.

Before he could say anything else, Mikal opened the door and stuck his head into the room.

“Oh. Hey,” Mikal said. “I guess this explains it. Alvita crossed a line?”

“She did,” Lucivar replied. “Someone should escort her back to her room and make sure she doesn’t do something stupid for the sake of drama.”

“The Scelties are taking care of that.”

Lucivar almost felt sorry for her, since one of the Scelties now living at the Hall was a Green-Jeweled Warlord Prince who didn’t see any reason why he had to put up with nonsense from puppies, regardless of their species. “Tell them she should stay in her room until the midday meal.”

Mikal gave him an assessing look. From someone else, it might be seen as a challenge. But Mikal was not only family; he understood the give-and-take required to work in a court—or to work for the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan.

“I’ll tell them.” Mikal shut the door.

Lucivar scanned the children’s faces again. “Listen up. Sexual heat is a wicked bitch to deal with, and it’s just as hard on Warlord Princes as it is on the rest of you. But it’s part of what makes a Warlord Prince who and what he is, and if you are going to rule a court one day or serve in a court or even reside in a village where one of us lives, you’d damn well better learn how to accept that part of our nature and let it flow past you, because sexual heat isn’t an indication of interest in you. If a Warlord Prince is interested in you specifically, you will know and so will everyone else. Believe me. You will know because all that heat and fire and strength will be focused on you. But until that day comes, you will show him the courtesy of not forcing him to defend his body and his honor, because if he has to do that, he will hurt you.”

“Perhaps a review of the Protocol specific to living around and working with Warlord Princes would be appropriate,” Raine suggested. “Unless Prince Sadi wants to handle that personally, I could make that the lesson this afternoon.”

Lucivar nodded. “You do that.” He looked at the young Warlord Princes. “You five. You stay with me. The rest of you . . .” He looked at the girls. “You have until Sadi returns to decide if you have the self-control to stay here and deal with the Warlord Princes who are in residence. If you can’t—or won’t—you don’t belong here, and I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

“Prince?” Jhett raised a hand just enough to catch his attention. “Are you allowed to decide that?”

It was a valid question, since this wasn’t his Territory. “You’re all here because you have been potential victims of Delora and her coven of malice, and the Province Queens were concerned that there might be someone else out there with similar ambitions that we haven’t found yet.” He gave that a moment to sink in. “Am I one of the people who decides who stays or who goes? Yeah, I am, because who you are and what you do here will decide if I’m willing to step onto a killing field to protect you. Children, I watched another group of youngsters live here and train here and learn what it meant to rule the Realm of Kaeleer, and they were magnificent. Prove that you are worthy of being protected by the Demon Prince and the High Lord of Hell. Sadi and I know you’ll make mistakes. At your age, it’s expected. But we will not tolerate some lines being crossed.”

Lucivar took another look at each of them. “That’s enough for today. At least from me. Prince Raine?”

“Some time to reflect would be valuable,” Raine said. “Then I’ll meet with the Ladies for the Protocol lesson after the midday meal, and the gentlemen later in the afternoon.”

“Very well. You’re all dismissed—except you five.”

Lucivar walked to the end of the room and looked out the windows. Then he waited for the young Warlord Princes to join him. Still looking outside, he said, “Have any of you had a problem with her? Any questionable or inappropriate behavior that Prince Sadi should have known about?”

No response.

He turned and looked at Daemonar.

The boy sighed. “Alvita came into my bedroom recently and displayed her breasts.”

Four boys sucked in a breath. Lucivar couldn’t tell if they were envious or appalled. But his boy . . .

“And when you mentioned that to Prince Sadi?” Lucivar asked mildly.

“Well, I haven’t had a chance to talk to him, have I?” Daemonar protested.

Lucivar stared at him.

“I handled it,” Daemonar said, an edge in his voice. “I told her to leave. When she didn’t, I put a Green shield around her and shoved her out the door. And locked the door.”

“But didn’t mention it to the man who has made the commitment to protect all of you who live here?” It was a struggle not to snarl at the boy. If they’d been alone, this discussion would have been a lot louder.

“It wasn’t an immediate concern, so I asked Holt to give me a slot in the Prince’s audience times. Hell’s fire, Father. If Uncle Daemon didn’t draw a line about when we could talk to him about . . . whatever . . . the man would spend all day every day listening to people complain about something or about each other or whine about something else until Breen got annoyed and started nipping people to get them out of his study. I didn’t think it was important enough to interfere with his other duties. He’s got plenty of those.”

Protective of the man. He couldn’t argue with that.

The other four boys looked ready to bolt—or lose their breakfast out of fear of being so close when Green squared off against Ebon-gray. Good. Let them learn when to yield and when to stand.

“Do you still think it isn’t important?” Lucivar asked.

“Considering what Uncle Daemon is dealing with right now, it can wait,” Daemonar replied.

“What’s he dealing with?” one of the boys asked.

“Some old trouble.”

A dismissive response, and an interesting way to put it. The question in his son’s eyes was also interesting.

“Tell them,” Lucivar said. “Better to have all the Warlord Princes on guard for possible trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucivar walked out of the room and headed for the part of the Hall where he would most likely find Holt and Beale.

“Ah, Prince Yaslana,” Beale said when Lucivar located the butler. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting in Prince Sadi’s study, Holt and I will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Sure.”

He prowled Daemon’s study, turning when the door opened. But it wasn’t Holt or Beale who’d opened it; it was the Dharo Boy, who was now Mrs. Beale’s primary assistant cook. Lucivar still didn’t know what the young Warlord’s actual name was, since nobody called him anything but Dharo Boy.

“Compliments of Mrs. Beale,” the Dharo Boy said, setting a mug of coffee and a plate of food on the table in front of the long sofa. “She thought you could use some sustenance.”

“I guess she heard about my way of giving instructions.”

The Dharo Boy grinned. “Prince, we’ve all heard about it.”

Well, wasn’t that just fine?

The Warlord left.

Lucivar had time to enjoy the food and the rich coffee before Holt and Beale returned to hear whatever he wanted to say officially.

Daemon stepped off the landing web in front of the Hall and let his Black power gently wash through the place to get a feel for what he’d be walking into.

No hot fury, so nobody had pissed off Lucivar too much. But . . .

Breen, along with several more Scelties, rushed out to greet him and give him the news.

One human female went hissy-cat boo-hoo and had to be penned in her room. Yas said so. The other females had special lessons instead of going where they were supposed to. Teachers were confused but no one wanted to ask Yas about that. Except the Scelties. They asked so they would know where to herd the females. Lord Weston and Prince Raine and Daemonar were herding the young males.

Daemon walked into the great hall and saw Beale waiting for him.

“High drama?” he asked.

“High drama,” Beale agreed. “Your brother is staying over for a day or two.”

“He’s in his usual suite?”

Beale hesitated. “Not the suite he occupies when Lady Marian is with him. He’s in the suite he used to occupy when he lived here with your father.”

Which meant Lucivar was in the High Lord’s square of rooms, which was now his square of rooms.

Daemon felt a moment’s light-headedness before his temper iced and he strode to the staircase in the informal receiving room.

*Daemon?* Breen called, running after him. *Daemon!*

He was halfway up the stairs before her unhappy whine penetrated his fury. He hurried down the stairs, scooped up the puppy, then went back up the stairs and headed for his suite. The cold that crackled around him had everyone scrambling to get out of his way.

When he reached his sitting room, he set Breen in her basket, gave her a quick pat, and said, “Stay here while I talk to Yas.” Then he went out the glass doors that opened to the large balcony and spotted Lucivar in the garden below.

Almost blinded by rage, Daemon rushed down the stairs to the courtyard. “What in the name of Hell are you doing here?”

Lucivar rose slowly and dropped a weed in the basket next to him. “Weeding. This garden needs work. I guess you don’t let Tarl in here very often.”

“Don’t play with me, Prick,” Daemon snarled. “What are you doing here?”

No one came to this square of rooms. This was where he stayed when his control was slipping, when he needed isolation. At least, that was how he’d used this square in the past. When Surreal was at the Hall and wanted his company, he stayed in the bedroom adjoining hers. Otherwise, he was here now, close to Titian and Zoey and the other girls who needed to feel protected—even if that protection came from the Sadist.

But having Lucivar here . . .

“I asked Beale and Helene for my old suite.” Lucivar tipped his head to indicate the open glass doors on the second floor. “Those rooms were mine when I lived here.”

“Lucivar . . .”

Lucivar looked him in the eyes. “You and I both know that you could have me on my knees begging if that’s what you wanted to do. But the Ebon-gray I wear is as dark as that Jewel can be without being Black, and frankly, Bastard, when it’s leashed your sexual heat rolls off me like it always did. I’m in the same position you are, have been for years, but I saw it happen to you and did what I could to minimize the problems the last phase of the sexual heat causes for men who wear Jewels as dark as ours.”

Daemon took a step back. Felt the cold of his temper break against concern. “You and Marian?”

“Like I said, we learned from your hard lessons. And a particular kind of cleansing spell was sent from the Keep—the same spell you were given to use here. That helps Marian. And it helps me, because I don’t have to live apart from her as much.” Lucivar gave him a tired smile. “You’ve already got shields on shields around this square, so I don’t have to be as careful—or as vigilant against unwanted attention.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have made the decision to use the suite without talking to you first.”

Daemon stepped forward and rested his hands on Lucivar’s shoulders. “It’s all right. I didn’t think about . . . Hell’s fire, Prick. You never said anything.”

Lucivar gave him that lazy, arrogant smile that always meant trouble. “And you didn’t notice. That’s been a comfort.” He hesitated. “I also had another reason for wanting to stay in this square.”

“What’s that?”

“Discretion. I need the Sadist’s help.”

Daemon eased back and studied his brother. “Why?”

“Because the Sadist knows how to inflict pain—and how to find pain.”

“Your back is bothering you?”

“Yeah. Not as bad as other times, but since I’m here . . .”

“After dinner?”

Lucivar nodded. “Once all the pups are in bed.”

“Speaking of pups . . .” Daemon looked up at his balcony. Breen looked down at him and wagged her tail.

“You going to let your darling come down and help me dig out weeds?”

He winced, remembering another darling who used to kneel beside him as he and she weeded one of the gardens and planted the annuals she wanted in her little patch of earth. “I’ll change out of these clothes, and we’ll both give you a hand.”

“Doesn’t Holt have a list of things to review with you?”

“Probably. But if he scolds me for not reporting to my study, I’ll just blame you.”

Lucivar laughed. “Fair enough. You can help me weed, and I’ll tell you about the trouble I caused.”