“Let me rephrase that.” Amusement filled his gold eyes. “Age and rank have their privileges. You, my dear, drew the short straw and, therefore, get to deal with Jaenelle.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Marian muttered.

“I didn’t say it was.”

As he moved past her, the other man waiting to help them said, “This way, High Lord.”

Marian watched the two men make their way down the aisles of furniture. High Lord? What an odd title. Maybe it was his official title as the Steward? Although . . . She’d heard it before. She just couldn’t recall where or why.

She shook her head and hurried to catch up to Jaenelle.

It took her less than a quarter of an hour to realize Jaenelle Angelline had more energy than a roomful of puppies and less sense than any of those puppies when it came to choosing furniture that was suitable for an eyrie, let alone the home of a Warlord Prince. How was she supposed to tell the Queen—or even Lucivar’s sister, for that matter—that the lamp Jaenelle was admiring with the lumpy base and the froofy, fringed shade made her shudder just to look at it? Or that the small table, which would probably look lovely in the drawing room of an aristo house, would look pathetic in rooms that had the weight of stone and were extensions of the mountain on which they were built?

She tried to be tactful, reminding herself that she was just the housekeeper, but when she saw Jaenelle eyeing a hutch with elaborate curlicues . . .

“No,” she said firmly.

Eyebrows rising in surprise, Jaenelle turned to look at her. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want to spend half a day dusting the thing. Which wasn’t an appropriate thing to say, especially when the man assisting them was listening so attentively. “It’s just not . . . appropriate,” Marian said weakly.

Jaenelle narrowed her sapphire eyes. “So far, nothing we’ve looked at has been ‘appropriate.’ ”

That was true.

“But I haven’t heard you make any suggestions,” Jaenelle continued.

“Oh, but I’m just—” Those sapphire eyes stopped her—and made her think. She wasn’t “just” a housekeeper at the moment. She was Eyrien. She didn’t know anything about aristo houses, but she knew Eyrien dwellings. Of the three of them, she probably did know best what was appropriate for Luci—Prince Yaslana’s home.

Turning away, she began studying the other hutches available. Clean lines. Strong pieces. Lucivar’s eyrie had more windows than most, which gave the rooms more light, but the wood always had to complement stone.

Seeing two possible hutches, Marian went over to examine them more closely.

Saetan watched the two women wander among the furniture, amused at the way Jaenelle now meekly followed Marian instead of the other way around.

*Witch-child?* he called on a Black psychic thread.

*Papa?*

*You weren’t really interested in that lamp, were you?*