“She was a bitch, a liar, and a user. She got away with it because she never quite crossed the line of forcing a male into her bed. Well, planning to accuse me of attempted rape crossed that line.”

“You only have the word of a hearth witch that Roxie intended any such thing.”

“A witch who was willing to open her mind to my Queen, knowing a lie would destroy her. Hell’s fire, Luthvian! It doesn’t matter if Roxie would have gone through with accusing me. Even if she’d had second thoughts about taking me on, she wouldn’t have had second thoughts about trying that game with a male who wouldn’t have known what to do once she’d gotten a Ring of Obedience on him.”

“What would you have done?”

“Ripped the bitch apart. She wouldn’t have lived an hour after she put a Ring on me.”

Marian clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. As the tense silence continued, she peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of Lucivar as he paced away from Luthvian and turned back, framed by the archway. The look on his face . . . Warrior. Predator. He looked magnificent. And terrifying.

“You don’t mean that,” Luthvian said, her voice tight.

His laugh was sharp and bitter. “I saw hundreds of Rox ies while I was a slave in Terreille. They didn’t survive me. Do you know why they stopped trying to use me as a pleasure slave, Luthvian? Because I was so damned vicious, and every one of those bitches left the bed damaged in one way or another. The bedroom wasn’t just a battleground for me; it was a killing field. I gloried in the spilled blood, the screams, the pain—because those bitches gloried in inflicting pain, in spilling blood, in hearing men scream.”

“Stop it,” Luthvian said.

“Why? Turning squeamish? I loathed everything Roxie was.”

“She was a high-spirited aristo witch,” Luthvian protested. “Maybe she’d become too obsessed with having you for a lover, but she’s just—”

“Another Prythian. Another Dorothea. Another bitch like the ones who turned Terreille into a nightmare. If you’re telling me that’s what is festering in the aristo families in Doun, then there’s going to be a purge and a blood-letting the likes of which Ebon Rih has never seen.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t bluff.” A long pause. “Let it go, Luthvian. I let her live. Let that be enough.”

Silence. Then the front door slammed.

Knees shaking, Marian crept into the kitchen. Setting the jar of fruit on the counter, she glanced over and saw Lucivar in the archway, watching her.

“You have an opinion?” he snarled. “Then say it.”

She said the only thing she could think of, the only thing that mattered. “You aren’t vicious.”

He just smiled at her. “I’m a Warlord Prince, Lady. I was born vicious.”