“What happened today . . . What those boys did . . . That’s happened before. Not to me and mine, but to others.”

He nodded.

“Been a long time since someone looked at us and saw people instead of less.”

He nodded again, not knowing what to say or what this man wanted.

“I fought in the landen uprisings.”

“So did I,” Theran replied.

The man glanced at the cart. “If there had been someone like her around two years ago, maybe we wouldn’t have felt the need to fight. I just wanted you to know that.”

His throat closed. Something ached inside of him. He raised a hand in farewell, then climbed up to the seat. A moment later, Shira joined him, and they drove away with Ranon riding behind them as escort.

“Exciting day,” Shira said.

“Yeah.” Too many things had happened too fast. There were too many things to think about.

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about any of them.

CHAPTER 29 - KAELEER

CHAPTER 29

KAELEER

Daemon shifted the wooden delivery box to one hand and knocked on the cottage door.

He understood Jaenelle’s reason for waiting in solitude. Witch would not have been an easy companion last night, and Witch wouldn’t have been soothed by the company of all the women who had rallied around Marian. Lucivar had placed the Eyrien warriors on alert, and that had been enough warning for the women. For the warriors, seeing Lucivar go to the Keep armed and shielded told them everything they needed to know. If a fight broke out at Ebon Askavi between the three strongest Warlord Princes in the Realm, it would shake the whole damn valley. Or worse.

So the Eyrien women had gathered to keep Marian company, to keep Daemonar distracted. To wait.

But the Queen would have waited in silence, in solitude. Because if she’d felt the need to reclaim what she had given up, she would have terrified all of them.

He wasn’t sure who—or what—would open the door, and he began to worry when she didn’t answer.

Then the door opened and Jaenelle stood there, studying him with those haunted sapphire eyes that always saw too much.

“Why were you knocking?” she asked, the tension visible in her stance—and audible in her voice.

“Because this is your private place.”

Like his suite of rooms at the Hall.

Relaxing, she nodded, acknowledging his reason. “What did you bring?”

“A loving man—and breakfast.”

Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “In that case, Prince, come in.”

He was so glad to see her, he didn’t try to fight a smile. There were shadows under her eyes, testimony of a sleepless night, and her hair was sticking up every which way, making her look like a scruffy waif . . . who was wearing snug trousers and one of his silk shirts.