She called in the simple wooden box her father had made for the gift the High Lord had given her when she’d finished her apprenticeship in the Dark Court. Pressing the two spots on the sides to release the latches, she removed the cover, revealing the small silver cup and silver-handled knife. She set the cup on the table, pushed up her left sleeve, and, before anyone knew for certain what she intended, picked up the knife and opened a vein in her wrist.

A wash of sounds and protests was drowned out by the snarl of a Sceltie who knew her Craft.

*Stay!* Vae growled. *This is ceremony!*

Ceremony. Ritual. Sometimes formal, sometimes casual, but always, always precise in the intention.

As soon as the cup was filled, she turned the blade of the knife flat against her wrist, hiding the wound as she used the Healing Craft she’d been taught to seal this kind of cut.

Setting the knife on the table, she held out the cup to Talon. “Freely offered,” she said, knowing every man in the room would remember the words. “Freely taken.”

Talon hesitated, then took the cup, his hunger apparent in his face. “You honor me, Lady.”

Two swallows. That was all the cup held. But blood freely offered had a different flavor from blood that was soured by fear.

Talon recognized the difference, even if he wasn’t quite sure of the reason.

He set the cup on the table with great care.

“Is that dog going to bite me if I heal your wrist?” Shira asked.

In answer, Cassidy held out her wrist, all the permission her Healer needed.

As soon as Shira finished the healing, Cassidy vanished the cup, knife, and box, preferring to clean them in private.

She looked at Theran. Was he relieved a formal court was established? Upset about her offering her blood to Talon? She couldn’t read him, couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

And she suddenly felt too tired to care.

“Gentlemen, it’s been a long day. Prince Powell, please send the Province Queens my regrets and ask them to meet me tomorrow morning.”

Tense silence.

“Aren’t the Province Queens aware that the Warlord Princes chose a Territory Queen?” Cassidy asked.

“There are no Province Queens,” Talon said.

“All Territories are divided into Provinces and Districts,” Cassidy said. “There must be Province Queens.”

“They all died two years ago,” Talon said. “The psychic storm that swept through Terreille took all of them.”

Cassidy sank into the chair behind the table. “District Queens?”

“A few,” Talon said. “The ones who are too old or weak to be a threat to anyone. Or the ones too young to form a court and rule anything.”