The Queen's Price

SEVENTY-THREE

Kieran walked into the morning room, sure he’d find his mother there reviewing the household accounts or the family’s social obligations or taking care of some of her daily correspondence. He held up a letter. “Apparently Saetien asked to extend her stay in Maghre—again—and Prince Sadi is concerned she might be outstaying her welcome.”

“Nonsense,” Eileen replied, capping her pen and turning to face him. “It’s delightful to have her here.”

“He’s also a bit concerned that she’s always writing about the garden but she never mentions any structured lessons.”

“Not having structured lessons doesn’t mean she isn’t learning a great deal. And I doubt Butler is as loose with the lessons as Saetien seems to think. Just because something doesn’t look like a lesson doesn’t mean it isn’t one. And look how much Caitie has improved since she and Saetien became friends. You can’t tell me that isn’t worth something.”

“I’m not telling you anything, Mother. I have eyes. I see them going into the butcher’s shop and the greengrocer’s with their list of instructions—and the bakery and the sweetshop, which I gather require no instructions except, perhaps, they can’t buy more than they can carry.”

“A rule your father and I tried to impose on you and your brother, with little success until you were old enough to see the wisdom in not eating yourself sick with sweets.”

“We didn’t get sick that often,” Kieran muttered.

“Often enough.”

Kieran sighed.

Eileen rose from her desk, then kissed his cheek and smoothed his hair the way she had when he was young. “You can tell Prince Sadi that his daughter is thriving.”

“Mother.” Kieran took her hand in his. “You see it as well as I do. Saetien isn’t just thriving; she’s putting down roots.”

“Yes.” Eileen sobered. “Talk to Butler. The course he’s laid out for the girl wasn’t idly laid out.”

She hesitated, even seemed a little flustered.

“Mother? Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, no. It’s just that Brenda’s last letter mentioned that she had helped with the preparations for Lady Jillian’s Virgin Night.”

Kieran felt the blood drain out of his head. “Oh, Hell’s fire.”

“Aye. Well, Brenda did have some strong and . . . individual . . . thoughts about that rite of passage.”

“And Prince Sadi?”

“It’s a subject that is noticeably absent from the Prince’s correspondence with me.”

Butler opened the door. This late-night visit from the Warlord of Maghre wasn’t scheduled, but it wasn’t unexpected.

“Lord Kieran.” Butler stepped aside to give the man room to enter.

“Prince Butler.”

Butler led Kieran to the sitting room. “Would you like a whiskey? Or some brandy?”

“Whiskey is fine, thanks.”

He poured a generous amount of whiskey into a glass before warming a glass of yarbarah for himself. “You’re worried about Saetien.”

Kieran stared into the whiskey. “Not worried exactly, but concerned, yes.” He looked up. “She’s putting down roots. I can see it. You must see it.”

“Putting down roots and thriving—and learning who she is when she has a chance to step out of the shadow of the SaDiablo family.”

“This was meant to be a visit to find out about Wilhelmina Benedict.”

“Are you sure? I’ve begun to wonder if Wilhelmina was simply the signpost that indicated a choice to take a different path. I think living with your family was meant to be temporary. Living in Maghre?” He shrugged.

“She’s too young to live on her own.”

“She’s already lived centuries, Kieran. Yes, emotionally she’s an adolescent in a great many ways, but the young woman who is emerging is sharply intelligent and ready to use that intelligence to work—and to grow up in the process.”

“Sadi won’t agree to this.”

“You can remind him that Lady Jillian was around the same age when she went to Little Weeble for her first apprenticeship in a court.”

Kieran downed the whiskey and shook his head. “Sadi won’t agree to this.”

“What makes you think he’ll be the one to decide?” Butler asked softly.

Kieran stared at him.

“The Queen’s will is his life, Kieran—as it is mine.”

Kieran stood. “Thanks for the whiskey. I’ll let Prince Sadi know that we’ll host Saetien for as long as she wants to stay in Maghre.”

“If it helps you, I’ll send a report to the Prince providing more details about specific things his daughter is learning.”

“Thank you.”

Butler waited until Kieran had mounted the Warlord who gave both humans a disapproving look for requiring him to leave his comfy stall so late at night. Then Butler closed the door and leaned against it.

He’d have to get the stables repaired and purchase a new pony cart. And find a horse or two before he left Scelt.

It’s time, Butler.

Was it time, when, quite unexpectedly, he was no longer certain he wanted to go?