Lucivar honed his attention to the Sapphire-Jeweled Warlord Prince who had moved to the front of the group. “Falonar.”

“It’s Prince Falonar,” Falonar snarled.

Lucivar bared his teeth in a feral smile. “I thought we were being informal, since I’m sure an aristo male like you wouldn’t forget something like basic courtesy.”

“Why should I offer you basic courtesy?”

“Because I’m the one wearing the Ebon-gray,” Lucivar replied too softly as he shifted his weight just enough to let the other man see the challenge and make the choice.

“Stop it, both of you,” Hallevar snarled. “We’re all on shaky ground in this place. We don’t need it yanked out from under us because you two keep wanting to prove whose cock is bigger. I thumped both of you when you were snot-nosed brats, and I can still do it.”

Lucivar felt the tension slide away and took a step back. Hallevar knew as well as he did that he could snap the older man in half with his hands or his mind, but Hallevar had been one of the few who had seen the potential warrior and hadn’t cared about his bloodlines—or the lack of them.

“That’s better,” Hallevar said to Lucivar with an approving nod. “And you, Falonar. You’ve had a couple of offers, which is more than most of us can say. Maybe you’d better consider them.”

Falonar’s face tightened. He took a deep breath and let it out. “I guess I should. It doesn’t look like the bastard’s going to show.”

“What bastard is that?” Lucivar asked mildly. More of the women and some of the men who had refused to acknowledge him had wandered over.

It was a young Warlord who answered. “The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. We’d heard…”

“You heard…?” Lucivar prodded when the Warlord didn’t finish, noticing the way the man shifted a bit closer to the witch who was holding an adorable little girl in her arms. Lucivar’s gold eyes narrowed as he opened his psychic senses a little more. A little Queen. His gaze shifted to the boy who had a two-fisted grip on the woman’s skirt. There was strength there, potential there. He felt something inside him shift, sharpen. “What did you hear?”

The Warlord swallowed hard. “We heard he’s a hard bastard, but he’s fair if you serve him well. And he doesn’t…”

It was the fear in the woman’s eyes and the way her brown skin paled that honed Lucivar’s temper. “And he doesn’t plow a woman unless she invites him?” he said too softly.

He felt a flash of female anger nearby. Before he could locate the source, he remembered the children who probably already carried too many scars. “You heard right. He doesn’t.”