Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  “I’m not like you,” Kermilla snapped. “I know what it takes to look like a Queen and dress like a Queen and act like a Queen. Those things take money.”

  “Then talk to your Steward. He’ll tell you how much income you can expect after you settle your obligations to the Province Queen and village treasury, and pay your court.”

  “That’s your answer?”

  “That my answer. You rule Bhak and Woolskin. Your income comes from their tithes.” And may the Darkness have mercy on those people. “I have work to do, and despite what you told Dryden, you are not a welcome guest. You’ve had your say. Now go. I don’t want you in my Territory.”

  Kermilla looked stunned.

  Cassidy strode to the door and reached for the handle.

  “Cassidy . . . wait.”

  She couldn’t wait. Her stomach burned and her bowels were turning to liquid. “Get out of my Territory,” she said harshly. “And take your cocks with you.”

  Cassidy brushed past Theran, who was lingering in the hallway, and snapped at Ranon when he intercepted her on the way to her suite and tried to ask if she was all right.

  She wasn’t all right. Wouldn’t be all right until Kermilla was back in Dharo and she could lock away all the painful memories. Again.

  Kermilla dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  Cassidy had been so angry. She had never seen Cassidy like that! And so unwilling to listen.

  It had been a mistake bringing Jhorma with her. She had thought bringing her Master of the Guard might appear too much like a threat, and her Steward had to stay in Bhak to take care of all the boring details. That left Jhorma to represent the Queen’s Triangle—the males who were dominant in a court because they dealt with the Queen directly.

  When she’d decided to come to Dena Nehele, she’d thought that reminding Cassidy that she was the Queen Jhorma had chosen to serve and pleasure would intimidate Cassidy a little. At least enough that Cassidy wouldn’t keep ignoring the Queen’s gift which should have been left as the seed money for Kermilla’s personal expenses.

  But Cassidy had seen Jhorma and gotten so angry. And that dark-eyed Warlord Prince was so scary! He looked like he wanted to rip out her throat with his teeth!

  It wasn’t fun being a ruling Queen. It should have been, but it wasn’t. Being in Cassidy’s court for her training had been great fun. She had danced and flirted and talked and attended the luncheons with the—well, they weren’t aristos, but they were the most influential people you could find in a place like Bhak. Sure, she had to follow Cassidy around to “learn” how to be a Queen, as if she didn’t know how to be a Queen, and she had made careful notes about what duties she would keep and what duties—the boring duties—she would require the Ladies in her First Circle to shoulder.

  Then she found out she’d have to pay anyone who was officially in her First Circle, so she’d limited that Circle to the necessary twelve males. Which meant she had to take care of the boring duties, and since they were boring, she hadn’t bothered with them half the time. And lately it seemed like her Steward was handing her a list of complaints every day. And her Master of the Guard . . . Well, he’d seemed so charming when he’d first begun to serve her, and he’d been a darling when she’d been training with Cassidy. Now she dreaded talking to him because he looked grim grim grim when he reminded her that she was the village’s moral center and she could not allow rowdy young Blood males to use the landens for sport. There was already trouble because of a little mischief, but he’d wanted to publicly strap those boys because a landen had gotten hurt—and he hadn’t looked at her with any kind of warmth after she forbade him to punish the boys. And that merchant! Whining over a broken window and wanting the Warlord’s family to pay for the damages. Well, she couldn’t order that, could she? The Warlord’s sister was one of her closest friends. And then the merchant wanted to deduct the cost of the damages from the tithes and her Steward let him. Without asking her. Saying it was the only thing to do if she wasn’t going to hold the Warlord responsible.

  She didn’t have a big enough court. That was the problem. There should be people taking care of these things so that she could be a Queen.

  She’d spent some of the village treasury, which she shouldn’t have done and wouldn’t have needed to do if Cassidy hadn’t been selfish. So now she had to have the Queen’s gift in case the Province Queen’s Steward asked her Steward for a financial report. She had to replace what she’d taken, or she would end up having to justify her expenses to Lady Darlena.

  Even worse, because she was only twenty-one and this was her first court, Lady Sabrina, the Queen of Dharo, had given her Bhak to rule for one year. A proving ground, Sabrina had called it. If the villages, Bhak and landen Woolskin, prospered under her rule, she could keep them. If not, Sabrina would declare her court broken and arbitrarily reassign her males to other courts, and she would have to form a new court and find another village to rule since Bhak and Woolskin would be given to another Queen.

  It was all very distressing.

  “Are you all right?”

  She gasped at the sound of a strange male voice, then turned to face him, dabbing at her eyes so she looked as woeful as she felt.

  Mine.

  The shock of it rocked her, that pull, that demand that she be the one to hold the emotional leash that would keep him balanced. She’d never felt anything like this. Was she supposed to feel anything like this?

  “Yes, thank you, I’m fine,” she said. “A little distressed is all. I seem to have come at a bad time and upset Cassidy.”

  He was so handsome with that dark hair and those dreamy green eyes and that golden brown skin. There was a hardness to him that said warrior. More than being a Warlord Prince who was ready to fight, this man had fought, had been on killing fields that mattered.

  She was already a little in love with him, and she didn’t even know his name.

  “Who . . . ?”

  “Theran Grayhaven.”

  “I am Kermilla.” She offered her hand.

  He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Not lips held a breath away from skin, but a real kiss.

  “Why are you distressed?” he asked.

  “Well, Cassidy and I had a little disagreement, and she ordered me to leave.”

  He stiffened. “Leave?”

  Maybe she had an ally in this place after all. She gave him a wobbly smile. “As in, ‘Get out of my house.’ ”

  A weird, chilling heat filled his eyes. “It’s not her house. She has no right to toss you out as if you were a landen.”

  “But . . . doesn’t she live here?”

  “This is my family home. I offered its use for the Queen’s residence, but this is still my house, not hers. And if Lady Cassidy has forgotten her manners, I have not. I would be honored if you would be my guest for as long as you want to stay.”

  “Oh, that is most kind of you, Prince Grayhaven. Or may I be so bold as to call you Theran?”

  His smile made her feel wonderful.

  “I would be honored to be addressed as a friend.”

  She vanished the handkerchief, then slipped her arm through his. “In that case, perhaps you would indulge me by showing me around and telling me about the history of this place and your family.” Men usually liked talking about such things.

  He searched her face, but she had no idea what he searched for—or if he found it.

  “Do you really want to know?” he finally asked.

  No, but she could see it mattered to him. “Yes, I really want to know.”

  “It would be a pleasure, Lady.”

  He sounded like he meant it, and wasn’t that the loveliest thing of all?

  Gray yanked out weeds with controlled savagery. A few days gone at this time of year and the weeds crept in. Had to be vigilant. Always vigilant. Or the weeds crept in.

  Snarling, he twisted around and threw the weeding claw as hard as he could.

  Ranon shouted and swore as th
e claw hit the shield he threw around himself.

  “Hell’s fire, Gray! What’s the matter with you?” Ranon roared. “No one shields on the home ground. You threw that damn thing hard enough to hook into someone’s gut.”

  Gray rose to his feet and waited for Ranon to get within reach. “Maybe everyone better start shielding, home ground or not.”

  Ranon stopped. Stared. Looked at the mansion—and swore. “You feel it too.”

  “Wouldn’t turn my back on her,” Gray said.

  “Yeah.” Ranon stared at the flower bed. “Got no proof she’s a bitch, except the snotty way she spoke to Cassidy. Got no proof she’s done any harm to her people. But I wouldn’t trust her with anyone I cared about. She’s . . . off. Not twisted, not evil like the Queens who had ruled here before the witch storm swept them away. But something isn’t right.”

  “Vae says Kermilla smells bad. Not her body, her psychic scent.”

  “Shit.”

  Gray looked toward the mansion—and went rigid. “What in the name of Hell is Theran doing? I thought she was supposed to leave.”

  But there was Kermilla, walking arm in arm with Theran, who had the balls to point to the place where the dead honey pear tree had stood for so long—until Cassie had started unlocking the spells that revealed the treasure hidden within Grayhaven.

  A treasure that included thirteen honey pears that had survived centuries and were now the seedlings that would be the start of new orchards.

  “Gray, don’t,” Ranon said softly. “Cassidy isn’t feeling well. Too much upset.”

  “Only a fool would expect her to sit down at the same table with that.” And he had a sick feeling that Theran was going to expect exactly that—and be pissy about Cassie not coming to the table.

  “She’ll have dinner in her suite tonight with Shira,” Ranon said.

  Gray nodded.

  “Let it go, Gray. Both of us need to let it go. Whatever business Kermilla had with Cassidy is done. Tomorrow she’ll go back to where she came from, and we’ll get on with our lives.”

  Gray nodded again.

  “Are you going to sleep inside tonight?” Ranon asked.

  He hesitated. Drought. Plague. Weeds creeping in and choking the good plants. That’s what he felt when he looked at Kermilla. He didn’t want to get anywhere near her, didn’t want to be locked behind walls where she could reach him. The old fears gnawed at him, but something else, something new pushed at him harder.

  “Do you think Cassie would mind if I slept on the sofa in her suite?” he asked.

  “I think she would understand if you felt uncomfortable being in the family wing.”

  With no one but Theran nearby, and the “guest” too close for comfort.

  “I am afraid to sleep alone tonight, but that’s only part of it,” Gray said.

  “What’s the other part?”

  He looked at Ranon. “If I’m sleeping on the sofa, the only way someone can get to Cassie is by going through me.”

  Talon leaned against a tree, another dark shape in the night, and waited. Which one of the First Circle would come out to find him?

  Hell’s fire. He’d gone to sleep in a Coach full of men feeling hopeful and pleased, and woke to find the Grayhaven mansion inhabited by two armed camps that were barely obeying the command to keep the peace. Ranon and Theran looked ready to tear out each other’s throats, and Gray . . . He wasn’t sure what was going on inside Gray’s head, and that was a worry—especially since Cassidy had retired to her suite before dinner, claiming to feel ill.

  And all of this was because of the visitors from Dharo.

  When he saw the man coming toward him, he was a little surprised that it was Powell instead of one of the Warlord Princes, but when he gave it a moment’s thought, he realized it wouldn’t have been anyone else. The Steward would be the one to approach the Master of the Guard to discuss how to direct the rest of the First Circle to best serve the Queen.

  “Talon,” Powell said.

  A middle-aged man whose left hand had been badly broken by the last Queen he’d served, Powell’s steadier temper was proving to be a good balance for the more volatile members of the court.

  “Out to get some air?” Talon asked.

  “Storm’s coming.”

  “Might blow over.” They weren’t talking about the weather. Talon huffed out a breath. “What in the name of Hell happened? All I’ve heard from both sides is a lot of crap.”

  Powell tensed.

  Dangerous ground, Talon thought. Two Queens in the same house and all the men wary or edgy or just plain ready to kill. “Put caste aside for a moment and tell me what you’d say if this was about social standing.”

  Powell relaxed. “Ah. Well. Plain girl. Comes from a simple family and expects to work for her keep. Earns the friendships she makes by being a friend. At a social gathering, she’s never asked by a handsome man for any of the romantic dances unless he’s an escort in training and is required to dance with the girls who wouldn’t have a partner otherwise. Her heart’s probably bruised because of that, but she’s learned to accept it.

  “Then there’s the pretty girl. Spoiled and pampered. Her father’s darling.”

  “Wait,” Talon interrupted. “Father’s darling would apply to both girls.” Having met Lord Burle, it was clear he was more than proud of Cassidy, and not because she was now the Queen of a whole Territory. That pride was for his girl, who just happened to be a Queen.

  “You’re right,” Powell agreed. “However, the pretty girl is used to getting her own way, is used to being preferred over the other girls, always has her dance card filled before she arrives at the dance, and if she snubs one partner in favor of someone more polished or aristo, she expects to be forgiven—and her actions defended—because she is an aristo darling.

  “These two girls have competed in the same social arena.”

  “And when the plain girl did get a dance partner the pretty girl wanted, the pretty girl stole him just because she could,” Talon said. “Yeah, it’s clear enough there is some history between Kermilla and Cassidy.”

  “Theran made no effort to hide his preference. Cassidy told Kermilla to leave; Theran said she could stay. That had to hurt Cassidy’s pride.”

  “And the pretty girl wins again.” Talon sighed. Sweet Darkness, please let it be that simple. “Ranon and Gray have an intense dislike for her.”

  “Which has made the others edgy and politely hostile toward our guests.” Powell paused, then added, “I have to say, Warlord Princes are the only caste of males who can act politely and still leave ‘I want to kill you’ hanging unspoken in a room. Ranon and Gray are the most attuned to Cassidy. Kermilla makes her unhappy, so they’re going to dislike her, no matter what.”

  “And Theran? Is it a young man’s cock lusting for a pretty girl, or is it a Warlord Prince feeling the pull of a Queen?”

  “I don’t know,” Powell said.

  “Shit.” Until he’d met Cassidy and had felt that pull himself, he hadn’t realized how powerful a chain that connection between Queen and Warlord Prince could be. If that was the reason Theran was reacting to Kermilla . . .

  Talon scratched the back of his neck. “She came here for a reason. No matter what she says, Kermilla didn’t come here to visit a friend, so she was expecting to get something.”

  “I agree, and I don’t think she got what she came for. But she did win something by Theran inviting her to stay. The First Escort countermanding the Queen’s order for his own pleasure? Can we allow that, Talon?”

  “It’s his house. He’s right about that. And Kermilla being a Queen might not mean anything.”

  “It means something to Cassidy.”

  “Yeah, it does.” But was the rivalry between Queens or women? If he took Kermilla back to the Keep tonight, which is what he should do to soothe his Queen, Theran would blame Cassidy for Kermilla’s departure, and the tension between them could grow to an animosity that would cripple the court. If thi
s was nothing more than a physical attraction between Theran and Kermilla, it could burn itself out in a few days anyway, and he would have widened the rift already present in the court for nothing.

  “What should we do?” Powell asked.

  “We wait—and we watch,” Talon replied. And hope I’m not hurting Cassidy too much by letting Theran take the lead on this and have the time to get to know the girl.

  CHAPTER 9

  TERREILLE

  Cassidy slowly made her way up to her suite. Her head ached and her stomach burned. Not an unusual combination these days. All it took was hearing “Oh, la” for the pain to start.

  Shira had a tonic that could soothe the stomach and medicine that could ease the headache. But she couldn’t go to the Healer. Not again. The first time, Shira had performed her duties without comment. The second evening it happened, those dark eyes held a sharp reminder that Shira was a Black Widow as well as a Healer, and poisoning a “guest” would be a simple thing to do.

  She had to write her report to Prince Sadi, and she didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what she dared to say.

  It was happening again. She had failed. Again.

  Kermilla shone. She dazzled. Just like the last time. She flattered and flirted, wore a different gown every evening that had the men’s eyes popping out, and hinted that she was on the primary guest lists of the most influential aristos in Dharo.

  Which may or may not be true, but there was no way to call Kermilla on it without sounding churlish.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised, but it had been a shock to have Theran come up to her suite that first day and inform her that Kermilla was now his guest, just as she was his guest, and he expected her to act her age instead of behaving like a pouting adolescent.

  That statement coming from a man whose pants tented every time he was in the same room as Kermilla might have been funny in a dark, painful way if the rest of the court hadn’t started acting just like her old court had done. They looked at Kermilla and then at her as if they were judging her and finding fault. Seeing her and Kermilla in the same room . . . The difference between a draft horse and a thoroughbred, Jhorma had once said when he had escorted her and Kermilla to a small party. He’d said it in a tone of voice that was supposed to mean he was joking, but everyone in the room had known he meant it. And everyone must have known that he resented riding the draft horse when he lusted for the thoroughbred.