But he had spent 1,700 years believing he was a half-breed bastard, and the insults and the blows he’d received as a boy in the hunting camps had helped shape the formidable temper he’d inherited from his father. The courts he’d served in as a slave after that had put the final vicious edge on it.

It shouldn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter anymore. He wouldn’t allow it to hurt him. But he also knew that if Hallevar decided to go back to Terreille or accept whatever crumbs were offered in another court instead of signing a contract with him, it would be a long time before the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih returned to the service fair.

“Prince Yaslana.”

Lucivar almost smiled at the reluctance in Falonar’s voice, but he kept his face carefully neutral as he turned to face the other man. “The bone’s choking you already?” The careful wariness he saw in Falonar’s eyes surprised him.

“We never liked each other, for a lot of reasons. We don’t have to like each other now in order to work together. We’ve fought together against the Jhinka. You know what I can do.”

“We were green fighters then, both taking orders from someone else,” Lucivar said carefully. “This is different.”

Falonar nodded solemnly. “This is different. But for the chance to serve in Ebon Rih, I’m willing to set aside the past. Are you?”

They had been rivals, competitors, two young Warlord Princes struggling to prove their dominance. Falonar had gone on to serve in the High Priestess of Askavi’s First Circle. He had gone to slavery.

“Can you follow orders?” Lucivar asked. It wasn’t an unreasonable question. Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves. Unless they gave their hearts as well as their bodies, following orders wasn’t easy for any of them. Even then, it wasn’t easy.

“I can follow orders,” Falonar said, and then added under his breath, “When I can stomach them.”

“And you’re willing to follow the rules I’ve set, even if it means losing some of the privileges you may have come to expect?”

Falonar narrowed his gold eyes. “I suppose you don’t break any rules anymore?”

The question surprised a laugh out of Lucivar. “Oh, I still break some. And I get my ass kicked for it.”

Falonar opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“The Steward and the Master of the Guard,” Lucivar said dryly, answering the unspoken question.

“Those Jewels would give you some leverage,” Falonar said, tipping his head to indicate Lucivar’s Ebon-gray Jewel.

“Not with those two.”

Falonar looked startled, then thoughtful. “How long have you been here?”

“Eight years.”

“Then you’ve already served out your contract.”

Lucivar gave Falonar a sharp-edged smile. “Plant your ambitions somewhere else, Prince. Mine’s a lifetime contract.”

Falonar tensed. “I thought Warlord Princes were required to serve five years in a court.”