by Anne Bishop
He’d been imprudent the last time he’d seen Jillian, caught off guard by her four-legged chaperons. He’d also been caught off guard by what Jillian had said. Public outings with chaperons? Visits to her home—or Yaslana’s home—as long as an adult was present? No sneaking around? No need for lies?
This was . . . courtship. This was a chance to show the most powerful men in the Realm that he knew how to be an escort, even if his training hadn’t been completed.
He shouldn’t have been dismissive of Jillian’s thoughts about books and other things. It had become a habit—or a need—to undermine an aristo bitch’s trust in her own opinions in order to keep her believing that he was superior. He’d stop doing that. And he’d start listening, really listening, as he would listen to a respected friend.
He’d forgotten what it felt like to have a friend like that.
Jillian might not even notice the difference. Not at first. But he would. And the first thing he needed to do was stop doing things that added smudges to his honor.
* * *
* * *
Pain was a faithful, predictable lover. Unlike the woman he had married, the woman who had given him a precious daughter. The woman he had trusted to be honest with him.
Daemon walked down the main street of Riada, pretending not to see how people scurried out of his way, their faces filled with a fear he’d like to carve into their skin so it would never be forgotten.
No. He didn’t want to do that. These people had done him no harm, had offered no challenge. Were not the reason for his pain.
He flicked a glance toward the other side of the street, where Lord Rothvar kept pace with him. Was the Eyrien so foolish—or arrogant—as to think he could survive the Sadist?
He spotted Lord Zaranar up ahead and expected Rothvar to cross the street and come up behind him. But, no, Rothvar remained on the other side, keeping Riada’s citizens away from him, giving him a clear path—the same as Zaranar was doing on this side of the street.
Lucivar’s orders, no doubt. Yaslana would know better than anyone the need to avoid any kind of challenge.
Crack.
He’d get out of this village, get away from this valley if he could. But he wasn’t steady enough to ride the Winds any distance. Getting down to the village had proved that much.
Surreal had seen the truth of who he was and called him a monster who tortured her. The rest of the Blood might see him as a monster, too, but he hadn’t tortured his wife. He’d respected her wishes, had understood he’d made a mistake the night she came to his bedroom, had done everything he could since then to keep the heat leashed so that it wouldn’t distress her. Had endured this unrelenting pain in his effort to keep the heat leashed. For her. But she was the one demanding sex every night they slept together.
Could he stand sleeping in the same bed with her anymore? Maybe . . .
Crack.
. . . she could live in the family town house in Amdarh. Or purchase a town house for herself if she preferred. Jaenelle Saetien could go to school . . .
The taste of sickness and blood filled the back of his throat—and cold rage pushed against the icy calm that provided the last illusion of control.
She wasn’t taking his girl. Surreal could leave, if that was what she needed to do, but she wasn’t taking his daughter. Monster or not, no one was going to take his girl away from him.
CRACK!
He felt Rothvar walking toward him. He turned his head and looked at the Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord—and smiled at the terror he saw in Rothvar’s eyes.
Yes.
Then something brushed against his senses. A ripple from one of his own spells. He focused on the female psychic scent and reached out until he located her.
Emotions in turmoil. That wasn’t right.
Cherish and protect.
Turning away from Rothvar, Daemon followed the psychic scent to a village garden between some shops.
Cherish and protect. Even the Sadist, in his own way, valued those words.
* * *
* * *
٭This isn’t the way to the library,٭ Khary protested as he trotted beside Jillian. ٭You told Marian we were going to the library. This is not the library.٭
“We are going to the library,” Jillian said. “But first we’re going to the shop over there to buy some cakes for Nurian.”
٭Cake? Scelties like cake.٭
No matter what Khary said, Jillian suspected that Sceltie tummies didn’t react well to cake, and she didn’t want to clean up the result. “This cake is for Nurian and Rothvar. It’s a present.”
٭Presents are good. We will go find cake for Nurian. Then we will go to the library, which is where we are supposed to be.٭ That settled, Khary fell a half step behind, and Jillian could feel him eyeing her calf, ready to give her an encouraging nip to pick up the pace.
As they approached the Sweet Tooth, Jillian looked in the window and saw an older, elegantly dressed woman kiss her male companion’s cheek before turning to leave. Jillian stopped so fast Khary ran into her leg. Without conscious choice, she put a sight shield around both of them.
٭Jillian . . . ٭
٭Hush.٭ She stepped closer to the big windows and felt something squeeze her heart. Dillon, there in the shop eating cakes with another woman. An older woman.
Too old, surely, to be a . . . lover? Maybe a woman from the family where he was staying? That made sense. He would want to do something to repay their hospitality.
She could drop the sight shield and go into the shop. After all, it wasn’t like she was spying on Dillon. She had a reason to be there. Maybe, after she bought the cakes for Nurian, Dillon would walk with her to the library. Khary was with her; he’d be enough of a chaperon. More than enough. Too much. Still, she and Dillon would be able to talk and spend a little time together. Now that they could meet openly, as long as there was a chaperon present, he seemed less eager to be with her, and that didn’t make sense.
She’d almost dropped the sight shield when she saw him pick up the plate with the four remaining cakes and bring it to the counter. He said something to the girl behind the counter—the beautiful girl who made Jillian feel like a grubby child. They both laughed when the girl licked her thumb and pressed it against the side of one cake, marring the frosting. Then the girl boxed up the four small cakes, hiding the damage on the one cake by placing that side in the center. She put the box in the glass case where new cakes were sold.
Disturbed by what she’d seen, Jillian hurried away, remembering to drop the sight shield after Khary got his teeth in her trousers to stop her from running into a Warlord who couldn’t see her.
٭You are upset! Why are you upset?٭ Khary asked.
“I need to think. I need to sit down and think.”
٭There is sitting for humans over there.٭
Khary led her to a simple bench located on a little island of green between a couple of shops. Flowers bloomed in a square stone planter. On the other side of the planter, there were a small metal table and chairs that would accommodate wings better than the bench.
Jillian collapsed into one of the chairs. There was an explanation. There had to be. Dillon wouldn’t do something so unkind.
“Lady Jillian?”
She looked up. “Prince Sadi.” She hadn’t heard him approach the table, and Khary had given no warning. Had Sadi noticed her, or had the Sceltie alerted the Prince that something was wrong that required another human?
She felt Khary against her leg, trembling. ٭Khary?٭
٭The Prince smells sick. Be careful.٭
Gold eyes that looked sleepy—a danger sign in a Warlord Prince—but those eyes also held a feverish glitter.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
The look in Prince Sadi’s eyes, for one thing. The odd note in his voice for another. Brittle. Pa
ined. Chilling.
He’s riding the killing edge . . . and something more. Which meant anything could snap Sadi’s control and start a slaughter.
But there were ways to help a Warlord Prince step back from the killing edge. She remembered Lady Angelline stopping by Yaslana’s eyrie one afternoon when Lucivar was with the other Eyrien men and Marian had been at the market. Daemonar had been down for his nap, so Jillian had been out in the garden, weeding the herb beds. And there was Lady Angelline, her gold hair heavily silvered, kneeling next to her, chatting about nothing and everything.
Not nothing. It was never nothing, but Jillian hadn’t appreciated that at the time, although she remembered those chats, those quiet lessons. Knowledge passed on from one witch to another. About Warlord Princes.
“Sometimes a Warlord Prince needs assistance to step away from the killing edge,” the Lady had said. “Ask for his help. Give him something to do, some safe way to channel all that power and temper.”
“Won’t he realize you’re trying to distract him?”
“Of course, but it’s part of the give-and-take between the distaff gender and the spear. Don’t make up something ludicrous. That will insult him and do you no good. The task can be small as long as the need is genuine.”
What she saw in Sadi’s eyes as he waited for a response terrified her. Did she have the courage to do this? “I . . . I need to talk, but . . .”
Sadi settled into the other chair with a grace that suddenly seemed predatory. “You need to talk through something, but it’s not something you want to explain to Yaslana because he’ll react and you just want someone to listen.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll listen.”
Was listening enough of a task? “You won’t tell him?”
He hesitated. “If you’re at risk, I can’t promise that. If that’s not the case, I can tell him as much or as little as you want him to know.”
She wanted to ask for a promise that he wouldn’t hurt anyone, but she suspected that request might snap his control and start something no one could stop.
Slowly, measuring each word as if she were walking down a steep, treacherous mountain path and the next step could start a rockslide, Jillian told Sadi what she had seen through the shopwindow.
“I don’t know why Dillon laughed,” she said when she finished. “It wasn’t funny to do something mean. And it was wrong for the girl to put the damaged cake into a box and sell it as fresh cake—especially since it had been on someone’s table already.”
“That upsets you.” A quiet statement spoken in a voice closer to his normal tone.
“I know how I would feel if I had bought that box of cakes and brought it home, thinking it would be a wonderful treat for Nurian. And then to open the box and see that one of the cakes had someone’s thumbprint in it, as if someone was saying that the people who buy the boxes with the four small cakes don’t deserve to have the best the shop can offer because they aren’t important enough to deserve the best . . .”
“It would have hurt your heart to give someone who matters to you the best you could offer and then realize you failed,” he said.
She nodded—and then wondered who had thought that the best he could offer wasn’t good enough.
“We can’t know why Dillon laughed. He could have been embarrassed by what the girl had done but didn’t feel it was his place to say anything. However, we can confirm if cakes are being sold as new that shouldn’t be.”
“How are we going to do that?”
He smiled. “I’m going to treat a young friend to a plate of cakes.”
As they walked the short distance to the Sweet Tooth, she mentioned stopping at the library and he asked her about the books she intended to pick up.
Now that Prince Sadi had started backing away from the killing edge, Jillian couldn’t help comparing Dillon and Sadi. That wasn’t fair. Prince Sadi was older and a Warlord Prince, but hadn’t she been comparing them all along? She’d thought they were similar, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. Dillon would have made fun of her book selections, and then said . . . Well, it didn’t matter what he would have said. But Sadi asked questions, expressed interest in why she chose a book, even if she was sure it wasn’t anything he would want to read.
As they walked into the shop chatting like old friends, Jillian noticed the look on the beautiful girl’s face when she realized who Jillian’s companion was. Despite the flutter in her own belly that was caused by being close to him, Jillian suddenly felt protective because she was sure girls looked at him that way all the time—or tried to do more than look—because he was beautiful and sexual, like some kind of dream lover. But when a Warlord Prince married, he was never unfaithful to his wife, and he would kill anyone who tried to compromise his honor. Only foolish women would respond to the lure of that sexual beauty, because it wasn’t meant to be a lure. And with him still so close to the killing edge, she didn’t want anyone upsetting him.
“What should we order?” Sadi asked when the girl pranced up to their table, her blouse pulled lower than it had been when they’d walked in.
Did women do that when Prince Yaslana went into shops? Maybe a Warlord Prince’s sexual heat wasn’t as noticeable in an Eyrien, because Eyrien males were warriors, bred and trained, and quick to fight. So the sexual heat could be masked by temper.
“Jillian?”
She blinked, then realized Sadi had asked a question and had been waiting for an answer. “My apologies, Prince. I was distracted by another thought.”
“Must have been a good thought to distract you from cake,” he teased.
She felt the heat in her face and said nothing.
“We’ll take the large plate of assorted cakes and two cups of coffee,” Sadi said.
“That’s all you want?” The girl licked her lips—and the room instantly turned cold.
“Yes, that’s all I want,” he replied too softly.
The girl hurried back to the counter to fill their order.
The room returned to its previous temperature.
“What are you reading now?” Jillian asked, hoping to draw his thoughts toward something other than the girl’s inappropriate invitation. “For fun, I mean?”
For a moment, Sadi stared at her with gold eyes that looked sleepy and glazed. Then he released a breath and returned from whatever dark place he’d been in for that moment. As they ate some of the cakes and drank coffee, he told her about the books he was reading. Some sounded terribly dull—not that she would say that—but she called in her small notebook and pencil and wrote down the titles of some mysteries that sounded like fun. Then . . .
“You read romances? Why?”
He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Why not?”
“But you know about lovemaking and all that stuff.” Jillian blushed.
Sadi leaned closer. “I saw a copy of the book on Beale’s desk in the butler’s pantry.” His voice felt like a warm breath against her cheek. “And while I shudder to imagine the Hall’s butler and cook doing . . . that . . . I confess to a macabre curiosity as to why Beale is reading it.”
“Maybe it’s too . . . informative . . . for some of the younger servants at the Hall, and Beale saw one of them reading the book and confiscated it?”
“Oh, Mother Night, I hope so.”
He sounded so relieved she had to laugh.
“Have you had enough to eat?” he asked.
Jillian looked at the last four frosted, fancily decorated cakes. “Yes. Plenty.”
“In that case . . .”
She saw the small gold coin he held between thumb and forefinger. Then it was gone.
He paid the bill and escorted her out of the shop.
“Now what do we do?” Jillian asked.
Spotting two Rihlander Warlords walking down the street, Sadi met their eyes. Jilli
an saw no gesture, heard no command, but the men changed direction and joined them at a point on the sidewalk where they wouldn’t be seen by anyone looking out the shop’s windows.
“We need your assistance,” Sadi said. He took his wallet out of an inner pocket in his black jacket and handed each man several silver marks. “Please purchase two of the boxes of cakes—the four-cake size.” He turned to her. “Do you remember the color of the decorations on the cakes we didn’t finish?”
“Two had blue flowers and two of the cakes had yellow trim,” she replied.
“If you see a box with that combination, buy that one in particular,” Sadi said.
“What if someone asks why?” the scruffier-looking Warlord asked.
“Because your auntie is visiting and the blue flowers look like the ones in her garden,” the other one said. “I’ll look for that box.” He hesitated. “Then what do we do?”
“Wait for us.” Sadi gave them a smile that had them hunching their shoulders.
Jillian and Sadi waited a couple of minutes before strolling back to the shop.
“You can wait out here with Khary,” Sadi said.
٭I am waiting outside? Again?٭
The Sceltie sounded more relieved than disappointed. Since Khary lived at the Hall and knew the man better than she did, Jillian took it as a sign that Prince Sadi wasn’t as calm as he seemed.
“Yes.” Sadi looked at Jillian.
“I was the one who started this,” Jillian replied. “If there is an explanation, I would like to hear it.”
“Very well.” Sadi opened the shop door and escorted her inside. He stepped up to the counter. Jillian lagged behind, not eager to draw attention to herself. She could have been wrong about what she’d seen. If she was, she was causing trouble for people. Dillon would say she was acting like a child.
“I’d like to speak to the owner of this shop.” Sadi’s cold civility was as much of a warning as a blade being pulled from a sheath.
“She’s not available, but . . .”
