The Shadow Queen

like he didn’t have marks to spare?
    “It’s customary,” Sylvia added, showing more understanding than he liked.
    The men opened up a space for him but not in a way that would allow him to get within reach of Lady Sylvia.
    Accepting the dismissal and wanting to get away from the village, he started to turn back toward the Hall, then swore loudly when he got nipped.
    *This way, Theran. This way!*
    Not daring to do anything else, he let himself be herded down the main street with the Sceltie trotting a step behind him, ready to nip at his heels.
    Mother Night, it was humiliating—and him a Warlord Prince!
    *Sheep brains,* Vae said, finally trotting alongside him.
    “What?”
    *You made those males angry. You act like you have sheep brains. Foolish.*
    “I didn’t do anything!” He kept his voice low, but he’d be damned if he’d swallow being scolded by a dog.
    *You did. You made them angry. They do not fight for no reason.*
    They didn’t have a reason. Not really. Sure, he’d expressed an opinion of sorts, and he wouldn’t have if he’d caught Sylvia’s psychic scent first. But, Hell’s fire, she didn’t look like a Queen with that hair and the shirt and trousers and . . .
    He was making excuses for himself. He hadn’t been careful, and if Vae hadn’t amused them all, he wouldn’t be strolling through the village. He’d be wounded—or dead.
    He hadn’t survived in Dena Nehele by being careless. He couldn’t afford to set aside all the things Talon had taught him just because he didn’t have a clear sense of the battlefield. And he couldn’t afford to forget that the power that had devastated Terreille had come from Kaeleer.
    So he walked and he watched. Children tensed at the sight of a stranger, then relaxed again when they saw Vae. Clearly the dog was a signal he didn’t understand. He didn’t approach, didn’t talk to them, but he saw a pattern when he passed a group of children—the boys stepped forward, creating a shield between him and the girls.
    “The men who were angry,” Theran said. “Were they all members of the Queen’s court?”
    *They live in the village,* Vae replied. *They serve.*
    “But were they court?”
    No, I do not think any of them were court.*
    “Then why did they do that?”
    Vae stopped walking and looked at him. *It is their right to defend.* She turned her head and sniffed the air. *There is food.*
    I guess one of us wants to eat.
    Whatever the usual rule about animals being inside a dining house, the young witch who greeted them took one look at Vae, tipped her head as if in private conversation, then settled them at a table next to the windows.
    He had a bowl of soup. Vae had a small plate of raw stew meat.
    He ate slowly, watching, thinking.
    The males considered it their right to defend, not their duty. So different from what he came from, what he knew.
    Could his people do it? Could the males who would have to form the First Circle be able to make the transition from duty to desire?
    He had no answers, so he watched and he thought—and he wondered.

    Daemon buttoned the last button of his white silk shirt as Saetan walked into the bedroom.
    “How do you feel?” Saetan asked.
    “Better. Embarrassed.” Daemon tucked the shirt into his trousers and gave more thought to the question. “Hungry.” He’d slept for a few hours and didn’t feel as shaky as he’d felt early that morning. But he still had to face that room, and that was better done on an empty stomach.
    “Then I’ll join you before I retire for the afternoon.” Saetan opened the door.
    Slipping into his black jacket, Daemon stepped into the corridor and stared at the door to the Consort’s bedroom.
    Saetan crossed the corridor, opened the door, and stepped into the room. Daemon hesitated, almost hoping for a command to stay out. When it didn’t come, he followed his father into the room and looked toward the left wall that held the doors leading to the bathroom and closet.
    It smelled clean, like it did when Helene gave the room its seasonal scrubbing. Almost too clean, he thought as he noticed the lack of psychic scent. A hint of his presence was still there under the scents of soap and polish, but less than usual. Less than a cleaning would account for.
    “Well?” Saetan asked quietly.
    Better this way. That lack of presence was better.
    The room was safe again. Chaste again. And he wouldn’t . . .
    He looked at the bed.
    Mine!
    “Daemon, back away from whatever you’re thinking. Daemon. ”
    The whiplash command and the power