Saetan nodded. “I’ll go to your eyrie and inform Marian. Anything I need to know?”

“No, there’s nothing that needs particular care at the moment.” As Lucivar headed for the door, he added, “Come on, Vae. You’ll ride the Ebon-gray Wind with me.”

Saetan stared at the empty doorway a long time before saying softly, “May the Darkness have mercy on you,Theran, if you do anything in the next few days that pisses off Lucivar.”

TERREILLE

You can’t hide in your room for the next three days, Cassie thought as she pulled a long, moss green sweater over her head. There’s work to be done, and how can you prove to Theran and the others that you’re capable of going out among the people if you can’t even move among your own First Circle?

She couldn’t hide in her room. But she wanted to. She knew what to expect from the males back home, but not here. Would they work together, or would the personalities that rubbed against one another turn savage?

No way to tell. Not from her bedroom.

Pressing a hand to her abdomen, she took a deep breath, blew it out, and left her suite.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, she thought a few minutes later. The male servants she had passed on the way to her office had given her a sharp glance, but that was the only change in their behavior.

As she rounded a corner, she thought, I guess I was worried over noth—

Theran drew in a breath, no doubt getting ready to “ask” why it had taken her so long to come down when the Steward and others were waiting for her.

Then his nostrils flared. His eyes glazed. And the look in those eyes was predatory, not protective.

“Cassidy,” Theran growled.

She took a step back. Took another. “I need some air. I’ll join you in the Steward’s office in a few minutes.”

“Cassidy.”

“I need some air!”

She turned and headed for the nearest door that would take her out of the house. She almost made it, almost got the outside door open, when Ranon stormed into the room, moving with an intent that made it plain he had caught the scent and come after her.

The glazed eyes. The power and savagery. Warlord Princes rising to the killing edge and honing their tempers to lethal intensity because of a blood scent.

She knew she should direct that savagery, turn it into a fierce kind of service. She was a Queen, and dealing with a Warlord Prince when he rode the killing edge was part of her training.

“Lady,” Ranon snarled, taking a step toward her.