Afraid to answer—and more afraid not to—Theran nodded.

He couldn’t look away from those sapphire eyes.

Then her eyes were simply blue again. “Welcome to the Hall, Prince Grayhaven.”

Maybe it was because he was getting used to the feel of being in a room with Sadi that he was finally getting some sense of the woman.

A Queen. He felt certain she was a Queen. That caste had a distinctive psychic scent. But he couldn’t figure out if she wore a lighter Jewel or a dark one. She seemed to circle around his own Green, feeling lighter one moment and darker the next.

Your wits must still be addled, he thought. The Blood had a Birthright Jewel and a Jewel of rank, and each had a clear, separate feel. Since surviving could sometimes depend on knowing if the person you were facing wore a darker Jewel than your own, conflicting information like he was picking up from the woman could prove deadly.

“Prince Grayhaven,” Daemon said,“this is my wife, the Lady Jaenelle Angelline.”

“It is a pleasure, Lady.”

A horse bugled, a sound full of annoyance, followed a moment later by hooves thundering down on a hard surface.

Jaenelle hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “My ride is getting impatient.”

Theran wondered why anyone would bring a horse into the great hall—and wondered why the animal had sounded so loud—but he didn’t get a chance to ask.

“Have a seat,” Daemon said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Grateful to be alone,Theran scrubbed his hands over his face. After the past few minutes, he needed a long walk or a cold shower—or both.

As Daemon escorted Jaenelle into the great hall, he lightly touched the stallion’s mind. *I need to talk to the Lady before you go riding.*

The stallion, wearing a hackamore and barely enough leather to be called a saddle, tossed his head, revealing the Gray Jewel that was usually hidden under his forelock.

Nighthawk was kindred—the name given to the Blood who were not human. A different body and a different race, but a Warlord Prince was still a Warlord Prince, and those who had chosen Jaenelle as their Queen had learned to work together and share their Lady. In most ways.

*Theran Grayhaven,* Daemon said on a psychic thread aimed exclusively at Jaenelle. *What do you think of him?*

*Why does it matter?*

*He’s come here to ask a favor. I can hear him out or show him the door.*

When she looked at him, he saw who she was beneath the surface: Witch. The living myth. Dreams made flesh. The Queen, even though she no longer ruled.