The Shadow Queen

month?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “You sent her with a man who doesn’t know anything about Scelties or kindred?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    Daemon swallowed the sudden tickle in his throat. “That was mean.”
    Saetan smiled. “I know.”
    As he thought about Theran trying to cope with any Sceltie, let alone Vae, Daemon staggered back a couple of steps, hit the wall—and filled the room with laughter.

    By the time dinner was half-over, Theran missed being around Vae. At least with the nippy little bitch, he had a clear idea of where he stood. Sitting across from Jaenelle Angelline, with her husband and her father the only other people sitting at the table, he felt like he was walking on a knife’s edge. Say too much or sound too flattering and he would be stepping on Sadi’s territorial toes. Say too little and he would be condemned by the father for his lack of courtesy.
    Either way, it wasn’t making dinner sit easy. And Lady Angelline’s refusal to say anything about her meeting wasn’t helping his digestion. Neither was the way she looked at him, as if she knew something about him that amused her.
    When the fruit and cheese arrived at the end of the meal, along with squares of thick chocolate and coffee, Saetan said, “All right, witch-child. Share the joke. What is it about Prince Theran that you find so funny?”
    “Prince Theran has some traditional tastes,” Jaenelle said with a sweetness that made Theran’s palms sweat. “Apparently he has the same resistance toward women wearing short hair and trousers that you do.”
    Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
    Saetan gave Jaenelle a pointed look. “I don’t recall making any comment about your hair.”
    Jaenelle pursed her lips. “That’s true. You’ve never been that rigid in your preferences.”
    Two pairs of gold eyes fixed on Theran, and he was really hoping there was a house rule that guests were not executed at the dinner table.
    “But like you,” Jaenelle continued, “Theran will have to develop some flexibility and learn how to compromise.”
    “Is that what I did?” Saetan asked.
    “Yes, Papa, that’s what you did.”
    “I’m delighted to hear it.”
    She laughed, and Theran watched in a kind of wonder as the sound completely relaxed two violent and powerful men.
    Then those sapphire eyes looked into his. “There is a Queen who may be willing to come to Dena Nehele and show your people how a Territory is ruled when the Old Ways are followed. If she decides to accept the offer, she will be at the Keep seven days from now. The terms Prince Sadi has set for her being in Terreille are acceptable to her. You need to talk to your people to see if the terms are acceptable to them. If they are, you’ll meet us at the Keep, and she will return with you to Dena Nehele.”
    Theran’s heart sank. “There’s only one who might be willing? We’re talking about a whole Territory, not some village.”
    “I’m sure there are others, and you’re free to seek them if you choose. But you came here and asked for our help. This is our answer.”
    Your answer, Theran thought, knowing it was the only answer.
    “I’d like to get back to Dena Nehele as soon as possible,” he said. “There will be much to discuss before we make a decision.”
    “The Coach can take you back to the Keep this evening,” Saetan said.
    Theran nodded and said nothing more as the last course of the meal dragged on. As soon as he could, he left the table, offering the feeble excuse of needing to pack.
    One choice. One chance. Would this Queen have enough dazzle to convince bitter men to serve?
    One way or another, he’d have his answer in seven days.

    “If you’ll excuse me, I want to check the rest of the messages Beale has waiting for me,” Jaenelle said. “I never got past Sylvia’s note when I returned from Dharo.”
    “Probably because you were laughing so hard,” Daemon said.
    “True,” she said, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “No, don’t get up. You two enjoy your wine.”
    As soon as she walked out of the room, Daemon dismissed the footman who had served them at dinner.
    For a few minutes, the two men simply drank wine—he finishing up the bottle of red, while Saetan drank yarbarah, the blood wine.
    “You didn’t tell me Sylvia cut her hair,” Saetan said quietly.
    “I wasn’t sure you wanted to know about her personal life,” Daemon replied.
    “I don’t. Can’t. But . . . Is it that unattractive?”
    “Not at all. It’s sassy. It suits her.”
    “Then Grayhaven’s an ass.”
    Daemon