Heir to the Shadows

tongue for the rest of the day."
    "Compared to Karla, Morghann's tongue doesn't have a sharp side."
    "All the more reason then."
    With another nervous glance at Saetan, Jaenelle bolted for the drawing room. She had just reached it when someone knocked on the door. It almost sounded polite. '
    They must have appeared - on the landing web within sec-
    onds of each other and approached the door en masse because he knew this group didn't come from the same Territories. And since they spared him no more than an uneasy glance before focusing on Jaenelle, he was forced to deduce who they were by the names on the invitations.
    The satyrs from Pandar were Zylona and Jonah. The small, pixie-faced darling with the dusky hair and iridescent wings who was perched on Jonah's shoulder was Katrine from Philan, one of the Paw Islands. The black-haired, gray-eyed youth who strongly reminded Saetan of the young wolves now living in the north woods was Aaron from Dharo. Sabrina, a hazel-eyed brunette, was also from Dharo. The two tawny-skinned, dark-striped youngsters were Grezande and Elan from Tigrelan.
    The last of the group—a petite witch with a lusciously rounded figure, soft brown eyes, and dark brown hair— hugged Jaenelle, shyly approached him, and introduced herself as Kalush from Nharkhava.
    There was a sweetness about her that made Saetan want to cuddle her. Instead, he slid his hands beneath her offered ones in formal greeting, and said, "I'm honored to meet you, Lady Kalush."
    "High Lord." She had a husky voice that would do wonderfully bad things to young men's libidos. He pitied her father.
    Beale, looking slightly dazed, started to close the door when it was yanked out of his grasp.
    Saetan pushed Kalush toward Andulvar and tensed.
    The centaurs walked in.
    The young witch, Astar, headed for the girls. The Warlord Prince continued down the great hall until he was standing in front of Saetan.
    "High Lord." The greeting sounded more like a challenge.
    "Prince Sceron."
    Sceron was a few years older than the others, old enough to have begun filling out the massive shoulders and the powerfully built upper body. The rest of him would have done any stallion proud.
    There was an unasked question in Sceron's eyes, and an anger in him that seemed ready to blaze into rage.
    Jaenelle stepped into that frozen silence, balled her hand into a fist, and drove it into Sceron's upper arm.
    Sceron grabbed her and lifted her until they were eye to eye.
    "That's for not saying hello," Jaenelle said.
    Sceron studied her face and finally smiled. "You are well?"
    "I was better before you rumpled me."
    Laughing, Sceron put her down.
    Someone gasped.
    Saetan felt a shiver run up his spine and looked toward the door.
    Because he hadn't expected them to come, he hadn't thought about how the others would react to their presence. But they had come. The Children of the Wood. The Dea al Mon.
    They both had the slender, sinewy build that was as inherent to their race as the delicately pointed ears. Both wore their silver hair long and unbound. Both had the large, forest-blue eyes, although the girl's had a touch more gray.
    The girl, Gabrielle, stopped just inside the door. The boy—oh, no, it would be extremely foolish to think of Chaosti as a boy—came forward slowly, silently.
    Saetan fought the instincts that always came to the fore at the appearance of an unknown Warlord Prince. Because they hadn't approached him, Elan and Aaron hadn't pricked those instincts. Sceron had just managed to scratch the surface. But this one, calmly staring at him with those large eyes, made all the aggressiveness and territoriality that was part of a Warlord Prine boil to the surface.
    Saetan felt himself rising to the killing edge, and knew Chaosti was also rising, but instinct was driving him too hard to hold it back.
    "Chaosti," Jaenelle said in her midnight voice.
    Chaosti slowly turned to face her.
    "He's my father, Chaosti," Jaenelle said. "By my choice."
    After a long moment, Chaosti placed a hand over his heart. "By your choice, cousin," he replied in a deceptively quiet tenor voice.
    Jaenelle led the girls into the informal drawing room and closed the door.
    The males let out a collective sigh of relief.
    Chaosti turned to face Saetan. "She's been away so long and has been deeply missed. Titian said you weren't to blame, but—"
    "But I'm the High Lord," Saetan said with a trace of bitterness.
    "No," Chaosti replied, smiling coolly, "you are not Dea al