The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

the auras of some, that Jaylor would be a pawn in the hands of his father-in-law. Righteous glee tainted others. If they had to obey Krej, the natural order should be that Jaylor would, too.
    Brevelan darted a look toward her father. He maintained a circle of courtiers around him, including his legitimate son-in-law and designated heir, Marnak the Younger. Lady Rhodia, Krej’s scowling little wife, stood in a corner, barely suppressing a yawn. Her only companion, her oldest daughter, Rejiia.
    Brevelan’s half-sister had inherited her mother’s cloud of dark hair and deep-set eyes that she artificially enhanced with kohl. There the resemblance to her plain mother ended. Instead of the sallow complexion and thin—or was it grim—mouth, her lips were lush and painted a deep red. Rose-red against a white background of flawless skin. Rejiia was a beauty. She could have won the hand of any man in the kingdom, even without her title and huge marriage portion.
    But Lady Rejiia had one unforgivable flaw. She was as tall and big-boned as her father in a culture that thought women should be dainty and birdlike. Though only fourteen summers, she stood head and shoulders above her mother. She towered over her husband’s slender figure. No wonder that slight young man chose not to stand beside her. Rejiia looked as if she could break Marnak’s neck if he looked at her cross-eyed. No love spoke from either’s eyes when they happened to glance toward each other.
    Rumor suggested that Lady Rejiia trained with her father’s guards rather than playing with delicate needlework in her mother’s solar. Palace gossips tittered about Marnak’s reluctance to bed his fierce bride.
    An especially tall and thin magician leaned closer to Jaylor, speaking angry words. Jaylor glared back at the man, riveting him with his eyes. His concentration must have wavered, for the blue cloak with gold stars on the collar shimmered and shortened to his knees.
    Brevelan suppressed another giggle as her husband’s almost-clean country trews and boots showed beneath the actual length of the garment. Fortunately, Old Baamin had been very stout for his height and the borrowed cloak fit Jaylor’s broad shoulders adequately. A brief thought sent an image of Jaylor’s appearance to him. He colored and the robe appeared to lengthen again.
    Just in time. Darville entered the room from the covered doorway behind the throne. His court finery gleamed in the candlelight with jewels and gold embroidery on tunic and trews. A short cape of gold velvet hung from one shoulder, highlighting the amber stone in the hilt of his ceremonial sword.
    Brevelan caught her breath. As emotionally close as she was to this man, she had never seen him dressed for court, never acknowledged the power that emanated from him. Long of leg and straight of back, the prince sized up the room with warrior keenness. Wary. Poised to pounce into action. The aura of a wolf lay comfortably on his shoulders. No wonder the Council kept him on a short leash. They feared his power more than any residue of magic that might cling to him.
    A dozen aides and nobles rushed to surround him. The prince’s eyes were restlessly scanning the room. His gaze lingered on Brevelan. Casually, he pushed aside the clinging courtiers and paced to her side. His soft, indoor boots made no more sound on the thick carpet than furred paws would on a woodland trail.
    He knelt in front of her chair and delicately lifted the protective blanket from baby Glendon’s face.
    “He’s beautiful, Brevelan,” Darville whispered. Then he scanned her face with care. “Are you well enough to be here?”
    “Of course. I couldn’t miss your wedding.” She reached to ruffle his hair behind his ears, as she would have when he was her wolf familiar. At the last second she hesitated and withdrew her hand. This was not the time or place to remind anyone of their past together.
    “I hear whispers that his eyes are golden, that he is my son.”
    Worry creased his brow, even as pride radiated from his straight back and firm shoulders.
    Brevelan almost didn’t hear the words. But she felt his thoughts and their intensity. Thankfully, Darville could not read auras, hers or Glendon’s.
    “Glendon belongs to himself.” She cloaked her thoughts from his penetrating gaze.
    He darted a puzzled look and a frown at her.
    A rustle at the back of the room drew everyone’s attention. Darville rose with a gasp of awe as he greeted his