“I understand.” Saetan forced his lips to curve into a smile. “Prince Yaslana.”

Andulvar didn’t try to return the smile. “High Lord.”

Saetan listened to Andulvar’s retreating footsteps before he turned back to study the web.

Yes, they’d been friends too long to break completely. Centuries ago, they’d first met in a court, two Red-Jeweled Warlord Princes who came from cultures that had nothing in common. Despite that, or because of it, they had become friends. It wasn’t the first time they’d parted on uneasy terms. It wouldn’t be the last. But this time, it was different.

Are you afraid of me, Andulvar?

Yes. I’m afraid of you.

“So am I, my friend,” Saetan whispered. “So am I.”

Two hours later, after cleaning the workroom, locking away the tools of the Black Widows’ Craft, and scrubbing himself while he silently wept, he opened the door to the playroom.

“Papa!”

Mephis and Peyton rushed toward him, then skidded to a stop. His heart broke when they hesitated to come near him.

Then Mephis said, “You should sit down.”

Since his legs were shaking, that sounded like a good idea. Moving carefully, he made his way to the large stuffed chair near the hearth. As soon as he was settled, Peyton climbed into his lap. Mephis, always more cautious, leaned against the side of the chair, then brushed a hand against his shoulder.

“Were you sick?” Mephis asked.

“I . . . wasn’t well,” he replied.

“Was that why Uncle Andulvar took us to stay with him?” Peyton asked.

Wondering how long it would be before he and Andulvar sat at a table together to talk and argue as they’d done for so many years, he swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Yes, that’s why.”

“Are you better now?” Mephis asked.

He reached up and curled his fingers around his son’s hand. “Yes, I’m better now.”

Mephis’s hand tightened to hold on to his, surprising him.

They had been the beacons he’d followed to find his way out of the Twisted Kingdom. He hadn’t wanted to leave. There had been peace there after the baby stopped crying. There had been an absence of pain he knew he wouldn’t find in the sane world. But he’d made the journey back because he needed to be with them, needed to be here for them.

His little Warlord Princes. The day would come when they realized who . . . and what . . . their father was. And things would change between them. But until that day came, they were his boys, his sons, his joy. He would protect them, no matter the price.

“Papa?” Peyton said. “Would you read us a story?”

He pressed his lips to Peyton’s forehead, savoring the contact, just as he savored the feel of Mephis’s hand in his. “Yes, my darlings. I’ll read you a story.”