The Shadow Queen

CHAPTER 22

Theran walked out on the terrace and crouched beside Gray and the honey pear pots.

“Anything poking out of the dirt yet?” he asked, even though he could see perfectly well there were no seedlings.

“Too early,” Gray said, sounding distant and distracted. And sad. “Won’t know for a while yet if anything will want to grow.”

You didn’t sound this discouraged when you found the things. And what does “if anything will want to grow” mean?

“Something wrong?” Theran asked. “Are you worried about going to the Keep for dinner tonight?”

Why wouldn’t Gray be worried? He was worried. They wouldn’t be dealing with either the High Lord or Yaslana or Sadi; they’d be dealing with all three. As far as he was concerned, those were three good reasons for having nightmares.

At least this dinner had been the leverage he’d needed to stop Cassidy from going into town for the outdoor concert. She’d been disappointed—and unhappy with him—but she had accepted his “request” that she remain at the estate and not take risks.

The Darkness only knew what sort of excuse he could find the next time she wanted to expose herself to the Dena Nehele people.

“Cassie doesn’t want to plant the seeds she brought from Dharo,” Gray said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the pot in front of him. “When I asked her this morning why she hadn’t picked out a spot in the garden for them, she said maybe it would be a mistake to plant them, that maybe things that aren’t from Dena Nehele shouldn’t be trying to put down roots here.”

“Makes sense,” Theran said. “We don’t want our own plants pushed out because something else was brought into our land.”

“She wasn’t talking about the plants,” Gray said. “Not really.” He sighed and looked at Theran. “I love you, Theran, and I am grateful for the way you’ve taken care of me these past years.”

“There’s nothing to be grateful for,” Theran grumbled. “We’re family.” And you wouldn’t have needed that care if you hadn’t been protecting me.

“When Cassie goes back to Dharo, I’m going with her.”

The words shocked him. Chilled him. Showed him a potential loss that wasn’t about a physical distance separating them.

“Gray,” he breathed. “Gray, this is your home. Here. In Dena Nehele.”

“She doesn’t think there’s anything here for her. She doesn’t think she can put down roots and make a life.”

“You’re talking about going to Dharo,” Theran argued. “About going to Kaeleer.”

Gray nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning, after she said that about not putting down roots.” He shifted so he was sitting on the flagstones. “If Cassie doesn’t belong here because her bloodlines began in a different place, do we belong here, Theran?”

“What?”

“I guess you belong here because you have the Grayhaven bloodline, but I’m wondering about me.”

“Hell’s fire, Gray. Do I need to show you a map and point out the village where you were born? A village that’s in Dena Nehele?”

“I didn’t begin there,” Gray said. “I can trace my bloodline to Thera and Blaed on my mother’s side.”

“So can I,” Theran snapped. “Our mothers were sisters, remember?”

“Thera and Blaed came over the Tamanara Mountains with Lia and settled in Dena Nehele.”

“To serve Lia.”

“They put down roots, made a life for themselves here, but they didn’t come from Dena Nehele. Neither did Jared. He came from Shalador. And his people, the ones who came over the mountains to escape the destruction of their Territory . . . Did enough Shalador blood get spilled defending Dena Nehele to entitle the survivors to put down roots?”

“Gray . . .” The thought staggered him—and made him wonder how Ranon would respond to that question.

“I’ll be going with her,” Gray said. “If she’ll have me.”

He’d never heard his cousin talk like this. “What would you do in Dharo?”

Gray shrugged. “I’ll find work. Maybe I could work for Cassie’s father.”

A Purple Dusk Warlord Prince working for a Warlord who wore Tiger Eye? What was Gray thinking?

If he was thinking.

If any part of this was actually Gray’s idea.

Was Cassidy using Gray as a pawn in some kind of game? Wouldn’t be the first time a Queen had used one man in order to chain another.

“Well,” Theran said, rising, “there’s plenty of time to think about all this. Right now, we both need to get cleaned up and properly dressed. For Cassidy’s sake, we want to make a good impression.”

Gray’s eyes flashed with temper, turning a familiar face into a stranger’s. Then the temper faded, and the man looking at him was more like the boy Theran had known during these ten years since Talon rescued Gray.

“Yes,” Gray said, “we want to make a good impression.”

Settling on the arm of the sofa, Saetan crossed his arms as he studied his daughter.

“I’m not sure what you’re looking for, witch-child,” he said. He’d listened to Jaenelle’s account of Daemon’s return from the visit to Lady Rhea’s country house, and he heard the concern in her voice. Since he’d already heard Daemon’s report about the incident, he didn’t understand why she was concerned.

“I wasn’t hurt, and Daemon wasn’t hurt,” Jaenelle said. “Don’t you think his . . . punishment . . . is a bit harsh?”

“On the contrary, I think it showed a remarkable amount of self-control.” Maybe too much self-control.

She frowned at him, and he suppressed a sigh of annoyance.

“What do you want me to say?” Saetan asked. “Do I think Daemon is entitled to his fury? I certainly do. Do I think his punishment was just? I’ve already said so. In fact, his solution probably will do nothing more than buy a little time for him to confirm what he already suspects about Rhea’s friend. I doubt she’ll live all that much longer. If Daemon doesn’t kill her, another Warlord Prince will.”

“I understand that he’s uneasy about another woman being so attracted to him that she acts foolishly, but—”

“Take off the blinders, Jaenelle,” Saetan snapped. “You’re being obtuse about this because it’s you and Daemon, and because of how he responded last spring when that witch tried to eliminate you in order to have him. But if Lucivar had found another woman in his bed, trying to play this particular game, and had shrugged the incident off instead of doing something about her, you would have pinned him to a wall, either as his Queen—”

“Former Queen,” Jaenelle said.

“—or as his sister. And before you use ‘former’ in front of ‘Queen’ again, Lady, I suggest you review what the term ‘life-time contract’ means.”

She blinked. Shifted her weight from one hip to the other. Frowned at him. “You’re really feeling pissy about this.”

Insulted because the word “pissy” dismissed his feelings in a way he wouldn’t tolerate, he let his temper slip from its sheath, sharp and lethal. He pushed away from the sofa, allowing himself one slash of power to relieve some of the rage.

Jaenelle pressed her lips together and studied the pile of ash that, moments before, had been a sofa.

“My apologies, High Lord,” she said quietly. “Please tell me what I’m not seeing.”

The formality of the words no longer made this discussion personal. He appreciated that. He didn’t want to fight with his daughter, but he was more than willing to enlighten his Queen.

“First,” he said as he prowled in front of the destroyed sofa, “you’re forgetting that when Daemon was a pleasure slave, the kind of gathering Rhea had arranged at her country house had been his hunting ground. Better than anyone else there, he would have recognized another hunter.”

“Hunter.” She didn’t make it a question, which could be interpreted as doubt, but her tone asked for confirmation.

“Indulge me for a moment in a possible scenario.” Saetan waited for her nod of consent. “Daemon walks into his room at the Province Queen’s country house and finds a woman waiting for him, a woman who has been openly flirting with him and now indicates that she wants the kind of attention a married man reserves for his wife. He demands that she leave, and she does, wearing his shirt. A month later, a package arrives at the Hall, addressed in such a way that you’re the most likely person to open it, even though it’s not blatantly aimed at you. And inside the package is your husband’s shirt, smelling of another woman’s perfume. Smelling of another woman. And there’s a note, carefully phrased, that says something like ‘Hope your wife didn’t notice that a shirt was missing.’ What would you do?”

“Since she was clearly trying to hurt my husband by sending that package, I would find her, and we would have a little chat.”

A razored chill in her voice. A look in her sapphire eyes.

Yes, she and the woman who sent that package would have a little chat—and the webs Jaenelle would weave around the bitch would be a far more terrifying punishment than the physical penalty Daemon had devised.

And that, Saetan realized, was the reason Jaenelle didn’t understand. She knew the depth of Daemon’s loyalty, so she would react as though he was under attack and move to defend her husband—in the same way she had always responded whenever she thought her father was under attack.

Remembering how she responded to attacks on her family, he pulled back. Chained his own temper as he considered the best way to explain.

“Although,” Jaenelle added thoughtfully, “I suppose another woman would either file a complaint with the Province Queen or the District Queen who ruled her hometown.”

“And some of the men would have filed a complaint as soon as they got home, especially if they felt vulnerable because they had young children, and a charge of infidelity could end with paternity being denied at their children’s Birthright Ceremony.” Saetan shook his head. “I think once Daemon begins making discreet inquiries about that Lady’s activities, he’ll find that a number of complaints had been submitted—but were somehow lost before they reached someone with enough power or authority to make the woman’s activities public.”

“You don’t think this was about Daemon?”

“It wasn’t about Daemon—and it wasn’t about you. Not this time. Oh, I think she would have enjoyed the opportunity to bed him—which only proves she’s an arrogant fool—but I think she was more interested in having the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan owing her for her silence.”

“I see. Blackmail.”

Saetan nodded. “She’s not the first to play this game. She won’t be the last.”

“You didn’t know about her?”

“Things can always be hidden, witch-child. The ruler of a Territory depends on the integrity of the Province Queens and District Queens to keep the land and the people in balance. If I’d known about this bitch, she wouldn’t still be among the living.”

A memory. A flash of thought that made him wonder if he had known about her.

He locked that thought away until he could consider it in private.

“What happens now?” Jaenelle asked.

“That will be for Daemon to decide,” Saetan replied. “The real question now isn’t about the witch who likes to play this game. The real question is whether Lady Rhea was aware of the game. Did she know what her friend was doing at these house parties? If she did, her silence was tacit approval. Even if she didn’t know, even if she disposed of the complaints because she didn’t believe they could be true . . . Well, everything has a price.”

As he came abreast of her, he stopped his prowling.

“Daemon is going to ask Rhea to dissolve her court and step down,” Jaenelle said.

“Yes.”

“Won’t the rest of the Queens and their courts wonder why she’s stepping down?”

“He rules Dhemlan, witch-child, and he wears a Black Jewel,” Saetan replied dryly. “I doubt anyone is going to ask.”

Obviously there were a few things Daemon left out when he’d told Jaenelle about this incident. Like the fact that Rhea had pissed herself when Daemon exploded into the drawing room. His rage and his opinion of her friend left no doubt in anyone’s mind that Prince Sadi now viewed Lady Rhea and her friend as enemies.

“I imagine Daemon was quite upset when he arrived home,” Saetan said.

“You could say that,” Jaenelle replied, sounding vague.

“Is everything all right between you?” He hadn’t seen any signs of distress or sensed any distance between Daemon and Jaenelle when they arrived at the Keep. But Daemon had side-stepped questions about what had happened after he told Jaenelle about this incident. Not that it was any of his business, but . . . Hell’s fire. They were his children, so he was damn well going to make it his business. “Did you work things out?”

Jaenelle’s face blazed with color, and she looked everywhere but at him.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. We worked things out pretty well.”

“I see,” he said faintly. Maybe he wouldn’t make it his business after all.

He cleared his throat to find his voice. “In that case, why don’t we join the rest of the family? Our guests should be arriving anytime now.”

“Won’t that be fun?”

Not sure how to judge the words, he simply guided her to the door, and said, “I don’t know about fun, but it should be interesting.”

Lucivar was waiting for them when they stepped through the Gate that brought them from the Keep in Terreille to the Keep in Kaeleer.

Theran wasn’t sure if that was because Lucivar knew all of them or because he was probably considered the least dangerous of the three men who were waiting to pass judgment on him and Gray and, possibly, all of Dena Nehele.

“Lady Cassidy,” Lucivar said, tipping his head in the slight bow that indicated respect from someone of his rank.

“Prince Yaslana,” Cassidy replied. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

For you, maybe, Theran thought. He expected to dance around questions that were no one’s business, and since he wasn’t there by choice, he didn’t expect any part of this evening to be a pleasure.

Lucivar gave Theran and Gray a nod of greeting, then said, “Why don’t we join the others and take care of all the introductions?”

Cassidy smiled as she placed her left hand on top of Lucivar’s right, accepting his offer of escort. “I’m looking forward to seeing Jaenelle again. There are a couple of things I’d like to talk to her about.”

Jaenelle, Theran thought as he and Gray followed Lucivar and Cassidy. Not Lady Angelline. Jaenelle.

An unintentional reminder that Cassidy knew the Queen who had ruled Ebon Askavi well enough to address her casually. Should he warn Gray about who—and what—Jaenelle Angelline had been?

When Lucivar opened the sitting room door, Theran still hadn’t decided how much to tell Gray about the people they were going to see. Then it was too late to decide because as the people in the room turned to greet the newcomers, Gray rushed toward the golden-haired woman standing next to Daemon Sadi and stopped when he got close enough to touch her. His face was filled with awed delight, and he looked at her as if he’d spent his life in a desert and she was the pool of water he’d searched for.

“Ladies, this is Prince Jared Blaed Grayhaven and Prince Theran Grayhaven,” Lucivar said. “Gentlemen, this is—”

“The Queen,” Gray said, sounding a little breathless as he stared at Jaenelle.

Jaenelle smiled. “I was the Queen. Now—”

“She’s still the Queen.”

Three male voices, each sounding equally annoyed.

“—I’m Daemon’s wife.”

“The Lady honors me,” Daemon purred.

Oh, the look on Gray’s face. The look in his eyes as he gave Daemon, Lucivar, and the High Lord an assessing glance before focusing on Jaenelle.

“Of course you are,” Gray said. The words sounded sincere. The tone said he was siding with the other males.

Jaenelle studied Gray through narrowed eyes. Then she shook her head and sighed. “Why do I bother arguing with any male from your caste?”

“Because it’s entertaining?” Lucivar replied.

“Before we throw our guests into the family game of ‘snap and snarl,’ why doesn’t someone finish the introductions?” Saetan said.

The Eyrien woman standing near the High Lord clapped a hand over her mouth to try to muffle her laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s a perfect description of some of these discussions.”

“The woman who finds me amusing is my wife, Marian,” Lucivar said.

This Purple Dusk-Jeweled witch was married to Yaslana? How did she survive?

As soon as the introductions were made, Jaenelle said, “If you gentlemen will excuse us, Marian and I would like some time for a private chat with Cassidy before dinner.”

Leaving him and Gray alone with Lucivar, Daemon, and the High Lord. Could the evening get any worse?

Of course it could. If Cassidy complained about him, Marian and Jaenelle would tell their husbands, and the odds of his surviving long enough to get home . . .

Who was he kidding? If either Yaslana or Sadi turned on him, he had no chance of surviving.

A bottle of wine was opened and glasses were filled. As everyone else settled comfortably, Theran braced himself for the interrogation about Dena Nehele and Cassidy’s court.

If they intended to question him, they never got the chance because Gray blurted out, “Cassie doesn’t want to put down roots.”

Something quiet, terrible, and predatory filled the room. Something he’d never felt anyplace else or in anyone else—not even Talon, who was the darkest-Jeweled male back home.

“Explain,” Saetan said softly.

“She brought seeds from her mother’s garden,” Gray said, “but she doesn’t want to plant them, doesn’t want them to grow in Dena Nehele soil.”

A moment’s silence as that terrible feeling faded from the room. Then Daemon said, “That’s a prudent decision, Gray. Windblown seeds could spread for miles.”

Gray looked stricken, and Theran wanted to erase Daemon’s words, even though he’d basically said the same thing earlier that day.

“What about bulbs?” Lucivar said. “Something that could be contained in pots? Marian does that in her garden when she wants a particular plant but wants to control where it grows.”

“So does Jaenelle,” Daemon said.

“That’s certainly a possibility,” Saetan agreed. “But perhaps finding common ground would be a better idea for this first year.”

“Common ground?” Gray asked.

“For example, some form of daisy grows in most of the Territories in Kaeleer,” Saetan said. “If you put them all together, you’ll notice differences, but if someone saw one growing in its own soil, it would be recognized as ‘daisy.’ Maybe you should see what plants are native to Dena Nehele that would look similar to the seeds Cassie brought with her.”

“A flower bed like that would remind her of Dharo but still belong to the place she now calls home,” Daemon said.

“I don’t know what the plants look like,” Gray said.

“Write to Lord Burle,” Daemon replied. “Ask him for descriptions of the plants that come from the seeds Cassie brought with her.”

“But he doesn’t know about gardens,” Gray protested. “He told me that when he was in Dena Nehele.”

“He has a wife who knows about gardens,” Saetan replied. “A wife who will remember exactly what seeds she gave her daughter. But you send your request to Lord Burle whether he knows about gardens or not.”

Gray nodded. “Because a male doesn’t interact directly with a Lady unless he’s been formally introduced, especially when he knows a male who is connected to the Lady.”

“You’ve studied your Protocol,” Saetan said, his voice warm with approval.

“Yes, sir. Cassie is helping me.”

I don’t know him, Theran thought, feeling a pang of loss as he watched Gray. I don’t know this man who is sitting there chatting with the High Lord of Hell as if he did it every week.

“Add your note to the next batch of reports that are sent to me,” Daemon said. “I’ll see that it gets to Lord Burle in Dharo.”

Gray smiled. “Thank you. I’ll write it tomorrow.”

Theran cast about for something to say, but he wasn’t comfortable around those men, didn’t want to share anything with them that he didn’t have to share.

“I have scars,” Gray said quietly, his eyes fixed on the carpet between his feet.

Another of those strange silences, as if Saetan, Daemon, and Lucivar were hearing more than words.

“Has Cassie seen them?” Saetan asked gently.

“Some of them,” Gray mumbled.

“Do any of them interfere with your ability to have sex?”

Gray blushed and shook his head.

“Well, then . . .”

“I have scars.”

The pain in those words ripped at Theran’s heart.

Another beat of silence.

“If you kiss a girl the right way, she won’t notice the scars,” Daemon said.

“The right way?” Gray slowly lifted his head. “There’s a right way?”

Daemon smiled.

Gray stared at Lucivar, and there was a hint of challenge in his voice. “You didn’t tell me there was a right way.”

“You’re in the first stage of courtship,” Lucivar said. “Beginner kisses. As long as you don’t drool on the girl or chew her face, you’re doing fine.”

Saetan and Daemon made pained sounds.

“What?” Lucivar said. “Let him figure it out for himself. He’s not kissing her below the neck—or he shouldn’t be.”

“I’m not,” Gray said hotly. “But—”

“We’ll discuss technique later,” Daemon said quietly.

Gray swallowed whatever he’d been about to say and sat back.

“Oh, the joy of dealing with young men,” Saetan said dryly as he looked toward the sitting room door. “Thank the Darkness, I think the Ladies are returning.”

Theran rose to his feet with the rest of the men, feeling awkward, exposed. Gray had been the one dumping intimate worries in front of men he barely knew, but Theran felt as if he had been stripped naked as well.

Then Cassidy walked into the room between Jaenelle and Marian—and Gray gasped and rushed over to her, knocking Theran out of the way.

Gray clamped his hands on either side of Cassidy’s face, his expression horrified.

“What happened to her face?” His voice began rising to that desperate keening. “Where is her face?”

“Gray,” Cassidy said, “what’s wrong?”

“WHERE IS HER FACE?”

Saetan and Daemon grabbed Gray’s wrists, trying to pull his hands away from Cassidy’s face.

Theran leaped toward them, wanting to stop them before Gray got hurt, but Lucivar grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

“Easy, Gray,” Daemon said.

“WHERE IS HER FACE?”

Saetan snapped out a sentence that sounded like a command. Theran didn’t recognize the language Saetan spoke, but the tone was sharp, commanding, and angry—and Jaenelle jerked back as if she’d been slapped.

A moment later, Gray’s keening changed to gasping sobs as he smiled and said, “There it is. There’s her face.”

“Gray,” Saetan said. “Come with me now. We need to talk.”

Seeing naked fear on Gray’s face, Theran tried to shake off Lucivar’s hold on his arm—and almost got yanked off his feet.

“Jared.”

Green eyes stared into gold. Gray’s hands relaxed and were gently drawn away from Cassidy’s face.

“Come with me,” Saetan said, still holding one of Gray’s wrists while wrapping his other arm around Gray’s shoulders. “We won’t leave the room. We’ll just go over there so we can talk for a minute.”

At first there was that audible hitch in Gray’s breathing, the prelude to one of his bouts of mindless terror. Then the breathing evened out. Looking beaten, he let Saetan lead him to another part of the room.

This time when Theran tried to shake Lucivar off, the Eyrien let him go. Sadi was between him and where the High Lord was talking to Gray, and he wasn’t foolish enough to think Daemon would let him interfere with the discussion.

“It was just an illusion spell,” Cassidy said, sounding shaken. “To hide the freckles.”

He hadn’t noticed, hadn’t seen anything different about her. The room wasn’t brightly lit. How in the name of Hell had Gray seen the difference halfway across the room?

“I’m sorry,” Jaenelle said, looking at Daemon. “It never occurred to me that it would upset him.”

“Not your fault,” Daemon replied. “But I think Gray does better with changes when he has plenty of warning.”

The movements looked casual, as if they were drifting from one position in the room to another without any real reason, but when they stopped, Daemon and Lucivar were flanking the women. Theran had the impression that no matter what they personally thought about what had just happened, they would support and defend their wives—and Cassidy.

Gray looked anxious and uncertain when he and Saetan rejoined their tense little group, and he stared at Cassidy’s face for so long all three women squirmed.

“Now,” Saetan said, his voice a velvet-coated whip.

Theran felt his shoulders tighten in response to that sound. This was a voice that allowed no challenge, no discussion, no defiance.

“Every relationship requires compromises,” Saetan said. “So those compromises are going to be established here and now.”

A moment of silence, as if the High Lord was giving all of them an opportunity to be dumb enough to argue.

“Since Lady Cassidy’s freckles are important to Gray, they will not be altered in any way,” Saetan said.

“But . . . ,” Cassidy began.

“In. Any. Way.”

Cassidy hunched her shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

“In return, Gray, you must accept that women like to paint their faces, adding color to eyes, lips, and cheeks.”

“Why do they want to do that?” Gray asked, his eyes still fixed on Cassidy’s face as if something might disappear the moment he looked away.

“Boyo,” Saetan said, “I’ve been observing females for over fifty thousand years, and I can’t tell you why they do what they do. Don’t expect to understand how they think; just understand that some things are important to them that are incomprehensible to us, and learn to work with their way of thinking when you have to.”

“Like putting color on her face?” Gray asked.

“Exactly,” Saetan replied. “Although . . . a woman using face paints to enhance her beauty can be intriguing.”

Theran watched Gray’s face change, watched anxiety shift to curiosity.

“Darkening the lashes, for instance, to draw more attention to her eyes,” Saetan said.

“Cassie has pretty eyes,” Gray said.

“Putting a little gold dust on the cheeks—and other places—so the skin glitters in candlelight,” Daemon purred. “But that’s usually reserved for romantic dinners.”

“Daemon.”

Watching Jaenelle blush gave Theran a good idea of how those romantic dinners ended—and the room suddenly got much too warm.

“Now, the hair,” Saetan said.

Gray whimpered.

“Changing the color would be an insult to every man who admires beauty, so it will not be changed.”

Now Cassidy whimpered.

“However, you, Gray, have to accept that, like their faces, women like to play with their hair, putting it up in different styles or even cutting it.”

“Cut?” Gray sounded alarmed.

“Compromise, Prince,” Saetan said in that voice that allowed no challenge.

After a moment, Gray nodded. “Okay. I won’t get upset if she cuts her hair.”

“Then we’re agreed.”

Theran hadn’t heard anyone but Gray agree to anything, but judging by the look on everyone’s face, that wasn’t going to be mentioned.

Daemon looked at Gray. “There’s still a few minutes before dinner. Why don’t we get some fresh air and discuss that other matter?” And he winked.

Gray’s eyes widened. He started to move, then stopped and looked at the High Lord. “Sir?”

“We’re done here, so you two go on.”

When Daemon and Gray left, Saetan fixed his attention on Cassidy, and Theran felt sorry for her. After all, she’d just wanted to get rid of those awful spots and look a little better. It wasn’t her fault Gray had gotten fixated on the damn things.

“I didn’t know,” Cassidy said in a small voice.

“Now you do,” Saetan said in that implacable voice.

Cassidy brushed her fingers against one cheek. “Maybe . . .”

“Witchling, if you really think that boy isn’t going to notice if a single freckle is missing, then you have not been paying attention.”

The whiplash without the velvet coating.

Theran winced.

Jaenelle squared her shoulders. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, my Sisters and I need a few minutes to settle before dinner.”

Saetan tipped his head in a bow and walked out of the room.

Lucivar kissed his wife’s head and left the room, giving Theran no choice but to follow him to another sitting room.

“I need some air,” Lucivar said. “How about you?”

Theran shook his head.

As Lucivar opened a glass door that led to some kind of courtyard, Theran said, “I guess the High Lord wouldn’t have lashed at them like that if Lady Angelline had still been the Queen of Ebon Askavi.”

Lucivar gave him an odd look. “Then you would have guessed wrong.”