Lucivar nodded. He would have preferred blunt words to this diplomatic hedging, but he was Eyrien. “You have a solution?”

The Prince tipped his head in acknowledgment. “My brother serves as an escort in a Queen’s court. She rules one of the larger cities on the coast of Askavi. A quiet word to him would spread to the other courts. If Roxie relocates to one of their cities, they’ll know.”

Lucivar thought about the young man he’d met on Roxie’s street, a young man who would spend the next few years working hard to clean that smear off his reputation. “Do it.”

Just then Marian rushed in from the kitchen, looking breathless and windblown—and beautiful.

“Lucivar, I—Oh. Good day, Prince.”

“Lady Marian,” the Prince replied, offering her a slight bow.

“Would you care for refreshments?”

Lucivar almost grinned at the exasperated look she gave him, could almost hear her thoughts: Leave him alone for a few minutes, and he keeps an important visitor standing at the door. She’d come a long way from the frightened hearth witch who had sat at his kitchen table last summer.

“Thank you for the offer, Lady, but I need to be getting back.”

When the Prince left, Lucivar locked the front door and came back to the kitchen, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t care who comes knocking, for the next hour you and I are going to have some peace.”

“I brought back kegs of ale and some brandy,” Marian said as she unbuckled the belt of her new cape.

“Give me a hug. That will do more for me than ale and brandy put together.”

She looked at him, startled, then gave him an understanding smile as she walked into his open arms.

“Poor Lucivar,” she said as she slid her arms around him. “You’ve had a beastly day, haven’t you?”

He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “And it’s not over yet.” There was one visitor he was expecting who hadn’t shown up yet. He was almost looking forward to that little discussion.

Marian heard the raised voices when she came out of the pantry with a jar of fruit to go with the steak pie. Feeling cowardly when she recognized Luthvian’s voice, but not sufficiently ashamed of the feeling to enter the front room, she stayed at the edge of the kitchen where it was least likely she’d be seen. She didn’t want to get in the middle of this—especially when she heard a viciousness in Lucivar’s voice that made her shiver.

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Luthvian said.

“What tone?” Lucivar snarled. “I’m not a boy you can slap down, and I’m not a slave you can control. You don’t like my tone, get out of my house.”

Luthvian’s voice gained a sharp, slicing edge. “You exiled an aristo witch simply because—”