“Which doesn’t make him any less his father’s son—” Helene said, raising her voice.

Hell’s fire! They were squaring off like two bitches ready to fight over a meaty bone—and he was not going to become the prize of whoever won this battle.

“—and I won’t have it said that any of the High Lord’s children are living in squalor,” Helene continued.

Lucivar gritted his teeth. Squalor? Squalor? He’d moved to the eyrie two days ago. There hadn’t been time to accumulate squalor. “Ladies.”

They turned on him, and after studying them the way he’d study any adversary, he wisely swallowed his rising temper. Helene worked for his father, and since he would, no doubt, continue to spend time at the Hall, telling her to leave would be an insult he didn’t want to live with. And Merry made the best steak pies he’d ever tasted. If he told her to go, it might be years before he had another slice of steak pie.

Finally Helene turned to Merry and said, “While yours is the more recent claim, it is equally valid. And there’s more than enough work for all of us.”

Merry nodded, then clapped her hands. “Come along, ladies. We’ve work to do.”

Four of the women who’d come with Merry were married or, at least, had acknowledged lovers. The other seven were younger and unattached—and would have dawdled a lot longer if Merry and Helene hadn’t herded them into the eyrie.

When he’d been a slave in Terreillean courts, he’d been stripped down and displayed for the enjoyment of the Queen who controlled the Ring of Obedience. He’d never felt the need to smile politely while he was being ogled. But here he was, smiling—showing his teeth, anyway—as Helene pushed the last witch inside and closed the door.

Rage danced in his belly, twisting it into knots. He closed his eyes and tightened the leash on his temper. He had an explosive one, and it had served him well when he’d lived in Terreille, but this wasn’t the same. He hadn’t been forced to strip down. He’d been standing outside of his own free will, and if the women who had suddenly appeared appreciated the view he provided, he couldn’t blame them for it.

Thank the Darkness none of them had tried to touch him. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if any of them had tried.

No. That wasn’t true. He knew what he would have done. He just didn’t know how he would have explained breaking a woman’s arm for a touch they’d all think of as harmless or, at the very worst, an invitation.

*Yas?* Tassle’s sending on a psychic thread sounded hesitant, a little fearful.

Turning, Lucivar looked at the young wolf. “Women are a pain in the ass.”