Dreams Made Flesh

giving herself to a half-breed bastard. So instead of saying anything or even smiling at me, she… spit on me."
    The memory swamped him. The disgust in her eyes. The cruel laughter of the men. The reminder that they had to accept his status as a warrior but would never accept him.
    "Bitch."
    The sudden chill in the air jolted him back to the present. Karla's glacier blue eyes flashed with fury. Her Gray power rolled through the room.
    Before he could think of how to respond, there was a sharp rap on the door and Saetan walked into the room.
    Great. That was just great. He really needed confirmation that his father was staying so close in case something went wrong.
    After looking at him, then at Karla, Saetan asked quietly, "Is something wrong?"
    "That bitch spit on him after he got her through her Virgin Night!" Karla shouted.
    The room had been chilly before. Now it was frigid as Saetan's eyes glazed with cold rage.
    "Who?" Saetan asked too softly.
    Oh, no. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."
    Karla grabbed a pillow and began shredding it as she stormed around the room. "The bitch deserves having her heart ripped out…if she has a heart."
    "Who?" Saetan asked again.
    Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Maybe he should have known better, but he hadn't expected this.
    "Can we discuss this outside?" He gestured toward the door.
    "You're not going to let that bitch get away with this, are you, Uncle Saetan?" Karla demanded.
    That's just what he needed…a Gray-Jeweled Queen goading a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince to rise to the killing edge.
    Saetan walked out of the room. Lucivar followed, closing the door firmly behind him.
    "Who?" Saetan asked for the third time.
    "I don't remember her name," he lied. He remembered everything about her, everything about that night and the morning after.
    "Liar," Saetan crooned.
    If Daemon had said that to him in that tone of voice, he'd have braced himself for a terrifying kind of fight.
    "You never saw another witch through her Virgin Night because of that bitch," Saetan continued. "Isn't that true?"
    He didn't say anything. Wouldn't say anything. Not because he gave a damn what happened to that bitch, but because his father's instant response to a son's pain was as frightening as it was gratifying.
    "Let it go," Lucivar said. He deliberately looked at the bedroom door. "This is more important than avenging an old memory."
    The fury in Saetan s eyes didn't diminish, but he stepped back, walked down the hallway, and entered a room a few doors down from the one Lucivar stood in front of.
    Knowing he'd managed to walk away from one battlefield, Lucivar took a deep breath, opened the door, and prepared to step onto the next one.
    Karla was still storming around the room, bits of pillow stuffing stuck in her spiky white-blond hair. When she saw him, she planted her feet in the fighting stance he'd taught her, her eyes fired up for battle.
    "What can I do to help you?" she demanded.
    He almost laughed, but as he looked at her, he could hear Daemon's voice whispering to him. She took the bait. Now use it. As long as she's focused on helping you perform, she won't be thinking about why you have to perform. Use what she's offering to get her through what has to be done.
    He sighed, then said hesitantly, "Maybe if we just sat together for a while."
    Alarm leaped into her eyes. Had he sounded too uncertain, too hesitant?
    There weren't many choices in the room. The armchairs by the hearth weren't made to accommodate a man with wings, but there was one straight-backed chair that had been placed near the window. He led her to it and settled her on his lap.
    They stared at each other.
    Maybe it would have been easier at night, in the dark, instead of late afternoon with the heat and light of late summer pouring through the open window. Saetan had cleared this wing, so there were no gardeners working outside, no servants in the hallways. But there was still that awareness of people working and moving throughout the rest of the Hall. If Marian had been sitting on his lap, he wouldn't have thought about those people…couldn't honestly say he'd be thinking about anything at all except her.
    He pushed that thought aside. It wasn't smart to think of Marian right now. They weren't lovers. He wasn't breaking faith with her by being here. And even if they were lovers, seeing a witch through her Virgin Night was a duty to the court, not an act of infidelity. Thinking