Shalador's Lady

by Bishop, Anne

  *I trust you have no objections to the gift?* he asked Lucivar and Saetan.

  *None,* they replied.

  Gray took the box that held Cassie’s wedding ring. “Thank you.”

  “Come on, boyo,” Daemon said. “Let’s sit down, have something to eat, and you can tell us every detail about your marriage proposal.” He and Lucivar and Saetan all laughed at Gray’s expression. “All right. Not every detail.”

  CHAPTER 45

  TERREILLE

  There was nothing Theran could do. The more he tried to hold on to the land his family had guarded and cherished for so long, the more of it fell away.

  Two weeks after the Heartsblood River Province deserted Dena Nehele and gave itself to Cassidy, one of the northern Provinces that bordered the Tamanara Mountains became part of Shalador Nehele. A week after that, the other Province that bordered the mountains turned away from its heritage.

  Only four Provinces left. A land that had held for centuries had been reduced to a third of its size within the space of a couple of months. Kermilla was almost hysterical in her demands that he do something, and he tried. But nothing worked.

  Nothing.

  When the news about the second mountain Province reached him, he didn’t summon the Warlord Princes living in the four remaining Provinces.

  This time, they summoned him.

  They met in an old barn next to an abandoned farmhouse. A familiar kind of gathering place, Theran thought as he slipped inside. During the years when these men had fought against the twisted Queens, they couldn’t gather at an inn without coming to the attention of the Queens’ guards and they wouldn’t gather at anyone’s home and put that man’s family at risk.

  He knew their names, but it was understood that no names were spoken at this kind of meeting. Foolish, really, when there were so few of them left they all knew one another, but that caution had been too well trained into them.

  “Prince.” A Purple Dusk Warlord Prince stepped forward. “I’ve been asked to be the voice of my Brothers.”

  Theran tipped his head to acknowledge the man—and to acknowledge that these men had gathered for a discussion at least once without him. “I’m listening.”

  “The day after I reached my majority and my training was declared complete, I walked onto my first killing field. I’ve been fighting for Dena Nehele in one way or another ever since. I guess that’s true for all of us here.”

  The other twenty-six Warlord Princes nodded.

  Only twenty-eight of us to guard four Provinces, Theran thought. How in the name of Hell are we going to do that?

  “I’ve fought for Dena Nehele,” the Warlord Prince said. “My father and my grandfather and his father before him all fought and bled and died for Dena Nehele. And as much as we respect Ranon and Jared Blaed, we want to live in Dena Nehele. The Queens in our Provinces feel the same. We don’t want Dena Nehele to become nothing more than a memory.”

  Thank the Darkness. “Then come back to Grayhaven with me. Meet with Lady Kermilla. Help me form a court so that—”

  “No.” The Warlord Prince took a step back. “We’ll protect Dena Nehele. We’ll defend the Blood against the landens, and we’ll fight to keep our Provinces safe from outside attack. But none of us will serve Kermilla.”

  Theran’s temper flared hot. “You’ve never given her a chance. She’s young, and she doesn’t have as much experience as she thinks she has, but she’s not an evil woman or a bad Queen. Befriending Correne was a mistake, and I know the girl’s influence on Kermilla’s behavior left a bad taste in a few men’s mouths, but—”

  “Theran.”

  The breach of etiquette shocked him cold.

  “We’ve heard words like this before, Theran. Heard them from good men who couldn’t see the blood on their Queens’ hands or tried to justify brutality because they couldn’t live with the truth.”

  Theran said nothing.

  “We won’t serve her, and we won’t stand by and let her become Queen of what is left of our land. We serve Dena Nehele, and we’re willing to let the Grayhaven line stand as the ruler. But not her. Never her. If we have to meet you on a killing field and end the Grayhaven line to make sure she doesn’t become Queen, then that is what we will do.”

  He didn’t want to believe the words, but he couldn’t doubt what he saw in their eyes. If he helped Kermilla set up a court, they would kill him—and then they would kill her.

  “She gave up everything to stay here and be our Queen,” he said, desperate to make them understand.

  “I doubt she gave up anything, but you believe what you choose. It’s clear enough she’s your Queen; that doesn’t make her ours.” The Warlord Prince sighed. “Two weeks, Prince. She’s safe from us for two more weeks. After that, we’ll come hunting.”

  They flowed around him, predators heading back to the territories they claimed as their own.

  Theran stood there, alone, long after the last man had caught the Winds.

  Where was the promise of a new life, a better life? Where was the hope? There had been hope a year ago, hadn’t there? Gone now. All gone. He didn’t know how to fix it, any of it.

  And he didn’t know what he was going to say to Kermilla.

  CHAPTER 46

  TERREILLE

  Days ticked by. Theran spent the time riding through the town. Dena Nehele’s capital had too many empty houses, too many empty shops. The people who remained watched him ride by, their eyes accepting and dull.

  He rode into the landen part of town and stared at the craftsmen’s courtyard where Cassidy had defended a landen family against a Warlord and his two sons.

  People’s eyes hadn’t been accepting and dull then.

  To avoid Kermilla and the questions he couldn’t answer, he walked around the Grayhaven estate, slogging on slushy paths and riding trails until his trousers were soaked and his legs ached. Or he’d stare at the flower beds Gray had restored, at the spring flowers that had already bloomed or would bloom in a couple more weeks, according to Julien. And more often, he would end up in front of the bed full of witchblood, remembering the day they all discovered what it was—and what it meant.

  The days ticked by, and soon there would be no days left. He had to make a choice before the other Warlord Princes made it for him.

  A gorgeous spring day. Sweet air and sun that gave warmth as well as light.

  Theran stood on the terrace, enjoying this teasing hint of the days to come. It was still too early in the season for the land to shrug off winter altogether, but this was a day to savor.

  And there, tucked in the shelter of the terrace’s raised beds, was the little honey pear tree, which had survived the winter.

  He heard the terrace door open and knew without turning who was there. Her psychic scent was irresistible even on a day like today when her physical presence had less than no appeal.

  “Theran?”

  Dredging up a smile, he turned toward the door. Kermilla was wrapped in a shawl and a sulky mood.

  The shawl wasn’t one he’d seen before, and he wondered if that was because it was something she tended to wear in the spring or if he was going to receive an apology and a bill from one of the merchants.

  “Why are you wasting time?” Kermilla asked. “Why aren’t you bringing the Warlord Princes here so that I can choose my court?”

  “It’s complicated, Kermilla.” He’d been trying to work out a way for everyone to get something, even if he couldn’t give her what she really wanted.

  “It’s not complicated, Theran. Just tell them.” She walked over to the table where he’d set a few papers down. Giving him a defiant look, she moved until she could read as much of the top page as was visible around the fist-sized rock serving as a paperweight.

  “I can’t tell them anything.”

  Since it wasn’t interesting, she gave up on trying to read the top page. “You’re the darkest-Jeweled Warlord Prince in this miserable excuse of a Territory. Of course you can tell them
.”

  He bristled, insulted on behalf of his people and his land.

  Then he tightened the leash and forced himself to keep his temper out of this conversation.

  “You think it’s simple,” he said with strained patience. “It’s not.”

  “Keeps you in control, doesn’t it?”

  He stared at her. Where was that bitterness coming from?

  “You control the money, so I can’t buy anything without coming to you first,” she said.

  “Would you like me to show you the accounts and how much is still owed the merchants from the last time you went shopping without being ‘controlled’?” he asked.

  “You control access to the other Warlord Princes and the aristo families, so I can’t make friends on my own or establish any bonds with other men that don’t go through you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You treat me like a child, but I’m not a child.”

  “Kermilla—”

  “I’m a Queen, damn you! I’m a Queen, and I’m the one who should be controlling the purse and the men and the land! Me! Not you!” She grabbed the rock. “Not you!”

  She threw the rock.

  He didn’t know—would never know—if her aim had been bad or if she hit exactly what she had intended to hit.

  The rock missed him completely and struck the old wish pot that held the honey pear tree.

  For a long moment they stared at each other.

  She looked magnificent in her fury, and he wanted, more than anything, to yield to her temper and her will.

  Then he looked down at the pot that was now in pieces and the honey pear tree lying in the spilled dirt, its roots exposed to the too-cold air.

  “Julien!” he shouted. “Julien!”

  When the butler appeared in the doorway, Theran said, “The pot broke. See what you can find to replace it and do what you can for the honey pear tree.”

  Julien disappeared.

  Theran picked up part of the broken pot, a piece about the size of his fully stretched hand.

  “Oh, Theran.” Kermilla stood there, looking pretty and contrite. “I’m sorry I threw that rock, but you made me so angry.”

  He could feel something breaking inside him, and he needed to get away from her, from everyone.

  She studied him. “I know you were fond of it but, Theran, it was just an old pot.”

  Something inside him breaking, breaking.

  “It wasn’t an old pot, Kermilla. It was a family heirloom, and because of who it belonged to, it was priceless.”

  Her mouth fell open in shock.

  And a truth ripped through him and left him bleeding.

  He walked away from her and passed by Julien as the butler rushed back to the tree. He didn’t allow himself to think or to feel until he was safely behind the locked door of his study.

  Then he set the remnant of the wish pot on his desk, sat down . . . and cried.

  CHAPTER 47

  TERREILLE

  For a day and a half, Theran tried to reconcile a dream and a hard truth, but no matter how he looked at it, it came down to choosing between two loves.

  It is better to break your own heart than to break your honor.

  He finally understood Talon’s words.

  Kermilla mattered more to him than anyone he had ever known. But in the end, Dena Nehele mattered more. So he made his choice and wrote the letters that would bring the Warlord Princes to Grayhaven.

  He still wanted Kermilla. Mother Night, how he wanted her! But every time he wavered, he looked at the two objects he’d placed on his desk—objects that reminded him of the difference between two Queens.

  One was the piece from the broken wish pot.

  The other was a leather-bound copy of Jared’s story.

  Two days later, twenty-seven Warlord Princes walked into a meeting room at Grayhaven.

  This time, Theran didn’t stand on a platform to address them. This time, he didn’t try to stand as their leader. This time, they told him what he had to do.

  Kermilla huffed and tsked and made unhappy sounds as she pushed dress after dress aside. She had to have some new clothes. When she became Queen, she couldn’t be seen in these old things!

  And she was finally going to be Queen. The Warlord Princes had come. Theran hadn’t said anything about this meeting, but she’d seen the men arriving. Theran would give them a stern talking-to first, and then he’d request her presence so that she could select her court. She really didn’t want a First Circle made up completely of Warlord Princes—they were so prickly!—but she’d settle for it to get the court established and then select more congenial men for her Second Circle. And once she was Queen, she could select a man with better training for her bed.

  Not that she wasn’t still fond of Theran, but he was better suited to being a First Escort or her Master of the Guard. He just didn’t have the proper skills to be a Consort—or even a lover.

  So important to make the right impression this time. So important to look like what these men wanted.

  But how was she supposed to do that with these clothes?

  Alone again, Theran closed his eyes and swayed as the pain raked through him.

  It was done. The Warlord Princes would help him save what was left of Dena Nehele.

  Now all he had to do was fulfill his part of the bargain before time ran out.

  A handful of outfits were strewn on her bed and the chairs, souring Kermilla’s mood as the inadequacy of her wardrobe became more and more clear. But she had to find something before . . .

  She glanced out one of her bedroom windows, then stopped and stared at the Warlord Princes walking down the long drive toward the landing web just beyond the estate’s double gates.

  They were leaving? Why were they leaving?

  She pulled on a simple housedress, stuffed her feet into soft house shoes, grabbed a shawl, and rushed downstairs to find Theran.

  Theran went into his study and gave Julien a psychic tap on the shoulder. Within a minute the butler knocked on the door.

  “Lady Kermilla and I have something to discuss,” Theran said. “While she is here with me, you and Hanna need to move fast.”

  After receiving his instructions, Julien hurried out of the room. Moments later, Kermilla rushed in.

  “They left!” she said. “Why did they leave without seeing me?”

  “Sit down, Kermilla.” Theran waved her toward a chair. “I have to explain some things.”

  “What things?” She sat on the edge of the stuffed chair.

  He nudged the footstool back and sat down. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t want her to realize he had a skintight Green shield protecting his skin, his face . . . his eyes. He felt foolish—and deceitful—doing that with her, but he couldn’t ignore the warnings the other men had given him about how previous Queens had reacted to disappointment.

  He sighed. “I love you, Kermilla. Everything I am wants to surrender to you. If my life was the only one at stake, I would give it to you. But I’m the last of the Grayhaven line, and I have a duty to the land and the people of Dena Nehele, and what Dena Nehele needs is more important than what I want for myself as a man or a Warlord Prince.”

  “What does that have to do with the other Warlord Princes leaving before I could choose my court?”

  “There isn’t going to be a court.”

  Kermilla rolled her eyes. “I can’t rule Dena Nehele without a formal court.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.”

  It took her a moment, but when she realized what he was saying she drew back a little.

  “There isn’t going to be a court,” Theran said quietly, just to make sure she understood. “You aren’t going to rule Dena Nehele.”

  “Why?” she wailed. “Is it because you’re mad at me for breaking that old pot?”

  “In a way, it is about the wish pot. Not because you broke it, but because all you see is an old pot that has no value to you. And what that tells
me is that in all the months you’ve been here, you haven’t listened to anything I said about Dena Nehele. You’ve haven’t listened to anything I said about the people or our history or what we need from a Queen.”

  “Well, I don’t need the Warlord Princes,” Kermilla said. “I’ll just fill a First Circle with Warlords and—”

  “If you try to form a court here, the Warlord Princes will kill you,” Theran said harshly.

  The color drained from her face. “They threatened me?”

  “When one Warlord Prince makes that kind of statement, it’s a threat. When twenty-seven of them say that, it’s a declaration of war.”

  She swayed, and he wondered if she was going to be sick.

  “Who’s going to rule Dena Nehele?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is it can’t be you. And that’s why you have to leave.” Before they come back to kill you. He could feel his heart tearing into pieces.

  “Leave?” She looked so young and so lost . . . and so lovely. “Why can’t I stay with you? You love me. You said so!”

  “You said it yourself the other day,” he replied gently. “You’re a Queen. If you stayed, you would want to rule. As much as I would want that for you, I would have to oppose you for the good of the people. We would destroy each other, Kermilla. And we would destroy what was left of Dena Nehele in the process.”

  She stared at him, and he wasn’t sure she understood anything.

  For a moment, sly calculation filled her eyes and then was gone. But he saw it, and in that moment, he saw what the other Warlord Princes had seen in her—and understood why they never would have served her.

  Then the moment was gone, and she was the young woman who had dazzled him when he’d first met her. She was lovely Kermilla, the Queen whose will could no longer be his life.

  She leaned forward, her lips curved in a sexy smile. “Why don’t we go upstairs for a proper good-bye?” She laughed a little. “That could take a day or two.”