Well, she thought as she watched him put together their evening meal, at least she’d given him something to laugh about.

Sitting alone at her kitchen table, Luthvian poured another glass of wine and continued brooding.

Roxie was a bitch and a thorn in everyone’s side. She couldn’t argue with Lucivar about that. But she was an educated bitch from a good family. An aristo family. Lucivar just refused to see that some leniency had to be given for the Blood who ruled society and, more often than not, made up the courts that ruled in every other way.

She’d kept an eye on him since he’d become the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. He was her son, after all. Just as she knew his father had been keeping a close eye on him. But his father . . .

Luthvian gulped wine. Poured more. Better not to think of his father.

The point was, Saetan wasn’t doing a thing to encourage Lucivar to associate with Blood who were his social equals. He should have been escorting the daughter of another Warlord Prince to dinner or the theater, should have been attending dinner parties where the guests were among the elite. Instead, he was still stopping at a tavern for an ale or a meal. And who did he escort to the theater? His housekeeper.

He was becoming too attached to the hearth witch. Oh, Marian had been useful enough cooking his meals and washing his clothes. And there was no arguing that his temper had mellowed a little since she’d started spreading her legs for him. But he wasn’t treating her as a favorite servant or even a temporary lover. He was starting to treat her like a . . . wife.

And that wouldn’t do. No matter what Saetan said, it simply would not do. She wasn’t going to have some Purple Dusk witch from a nothing family dilute the SaDiablo-Yaslana bloodline. Marian didn’t have the education, the culture, the background. She would never encourage Lucivar to move in the social circles he should simply because she would never be comfortable in those circles. He’d never live up to his potential. His children would be less than they should be.

He needed exposure to women who wouldn’t set his back up the way Roxie did. Oh, not that Roxie would have been acceptable. A Rihlander, a witch from one of the short-lived races, as Lucivar’s wife? No. Not in a thousand lifetimes. But a dark-Jeweled Dhemlan witch from an aristo family? A woman like that would be perfect. Same coloring as an Eyrien but without those damned wings. The daughters from a union like that could become Priestesses, Healers, maybe even Black Widows. Maybe there would even be a Queen among them. And the sons would be something more than fighters, something more than arrogance and temper riding a cock.