Saying nothing, Daemon walked into the sitting room.

Surreal dashed up the stairs, leaving Lucivar with Zhara and the Healer.

Zhara’s eyes glittered with anger. “If Prince Sadi thinks the respect the Dhemlan Queens have for his father means he can act any way he—”

“Shut up and get out,” Lucivar snarled, keeping his voice low enough not to carry to the sitting room. “He doesn’t trust you, and right now, he’ll kill anyone he doesn’t trust.” Even me.

“I am Amdarh’s Queen, and—”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with. You. Don’t. Know. But I’m very much afraid you’re going to find out. So get out while you can—and hope you’re still among the living when this is done.”

Zhara’s light-brown skin turned gray. “What are you talking about?”

Lucivar swore. “He’s a Warlord Prince. Someone tried to hurt his Queen. What do you think is going to happen?”

“It was an accident.”

“You believe that if you want to. You seem willing to believe a lot of things lately.”

Before Zhara could reply, they all heard the quiet clink of glass against glass. She glanced toward the sitting room—and the two women left with more speed than dignity.

Lucivar closed the front door, then leaned against it for a moment. He didn’t want to walk into that sitting room, but someone had to dance with the Sadist, and it looked like it was going to be him.

Taking a deep breath, and hoping he wasn’t about to make Marian a widow, he walked into the sitting room and closed the door.

“Brandy?” Daemon asked as he filled a snifter halfway.

“Sure.” Lucivar walked toward his brother, watching for any sign that things would turn lethal. Daemon sounded calm, but that didn’t mean a damn thing.

Daemon poured brandy into another snifter and handed it to Lucivar.

“I was willing to let it go,” Daemon said softly. “I told myself it was just words. Some petty bitch sees a male she wants and goes after him in one way or another. How many times had we watched that game played out in Terreillean courts over the centuries?”

“Too many,” Lucivar said, wishing he could test the brandy for poison—and knowing the insult would probably get him killed. “Hell’s fire, when that little Rihlander was planning to trap me a few years ago, I exiled the bitch.”

“Just exile? Did you have a weak moment, Prick?” Daemon’s smile was still on the chilling side, but not quite on the killing edge anymore.

Lucivar shrugged. “At the time, killing her would have caused more problems.”