“Yes,” Surreal replied with maddening calm. “The three of us—meaning me, Jillian, and the prick-ass—are going to the Sweet Tooth for coffee and cakes. A perfectly respectable public place.”

“Why there?”

“It’s pretty?”

He prowled behind his desk and snarled, “Pretty isn’t the same as good. You know why they make the cakes look so fancy? So you won’t notice the damn things are dry and don’t have much taste.”

He needed to fly. He needed a fight. He needed to tear into someone who wouldn’t—couldn’t—be hurt, who could handle not just the temper but the power. Mother Night, how he missed his sister at times like this. Jaenelle Angelline could have fought him into the ground, slammed strength against strength until he could put what he understood instinctively into words.

His beloved sister and Queen wasn’t here, hadn’t been for a lot of years now.

But Surreal was here, and she didn’t back down either.

He shot her a hostile look. “Daemon wouldn’t sit down in a place like that, no matter how many aristos filled the tables.”

“Of course he would, for the same reason you did—to please someone else. And if he shared your opinion about the cakes, he would look around for another place that had the same exterior feel but served better food. Something you might want to look into before you take someone out for the next special occasion. Doesn’t have to be in Riada, you know. There are plenty of cities in Askavi where you could go to the theater or have a fancy meal. You could use a Coach to ride the Winds so no one’s dress gets rumpled during the journey.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“Love you too, sugar.” She studied him. “Had you met Dillon before the moment when you were choking him?”

“No.” As far as he was concerned, that was a serious tactical error on the boy’s part.

“Then this little outing will be very interesting.”

 

 

TWENTY

 

 

Dillon studied his reflection in the mirror and nodded, satisfied that he would make a good impression on Lady Surreal SaDiablo.

“You don’t know that family,” Terrence said, worrying a button on his jacket until it hung by a thread.

“Do you?” Dillon turned away from the mirror and focused on his cousin, curious. He’d never met an Eyrien until he saw Jillian at the lending library and decided she was the answer to his future.

“Only by reputation. I’ve seen Prince Yaslana around the village, but I’ve never spoken to him. Dillon, Eyriens are a warrior race, and even among them, Yaslana is a law unto himself. He isn’t someone you want to cross. They say he slaughtered an entire army of Eyriens once when they turned against him and tried to take over the valley.”

He could believe that. What he couldn’t believe was the way Yaslana exploded over him being friendly with a girl who worked for the man’s wife. Jillian’s sister was a Healer, and that gave her good social standing, but they weren’t aristos. Unless Jillian was an unacknowledged daughter, he couldn’t figure out why Yaslana paid so much attention to the hired help.

Until he received Jillian’s note, he’d thought his efforts had been wasted. Yaslana’s display of temper had been too public for him to try again with another girl anywhere in this valley. Thank the Darkness he was being given another chance.

“And no one even dares whisper anything about Yaslana’s brother,” Terrence added.

“Who is married to the Lady who invited me to this outing?” Dillon brushed nonexistent lint from his sleeve. Older women usually looked favorably on a young man who paid attention to them and made them believe they were interesting—a sentiment that would have earned him a reprimand if he’d still been training to serve as an escort in a court. Oh, he wouldn’t aim too much attention in Lady SaDiablo’s direction. Just enough for her to think favorably about him handfasting with Jillian.

“Why are you so focused on this Eyrien girl?” Terrence asked.

“Because I like her.” That realization surprised him. He did like her. More important, she liked him and listened to him with a shining and apparent belief that he was wonderful and intelligent and educated. He could see himself living with her for the year of a handfast and enjoying the experience of being both lover and mentor.

What surprised him even more, he could see himself living in Riada for a year. Terrence had turned out to be a lively companion, if a little shy, and his parents had been gracious about having a distant relation show up on their doorstep, looking to visit for a few weeks.

Until the collision with Yaslana, he had felt safe here in a way he hadn’t felt safe since Lady Blyte and her family had set out to ruin him. Even before he’d met Jillian, he’d begun thinking of what sort of work he could do in order to stay in Riada for a while.

Of course, now living here with Jillian would mean bumping up against Yaslana for that year. He’d never dealt with a man who thought killing someone was more expedient than handing that person an envelope of gold marks to encourage that person to go away.

“Everything will work out,” Dillon said. “You’ll see.”

“You don’t know that family,” Terrence said again. “You don’t know him.”

No, he didn’t. But he was about to find out everything he could over coffee and cakes.

 

* * *

 

* * *

Jillian was right about the young Warlord. He was certainly pretty. Brown hair leaning toward red complemented the green eyes and the skin that had received just enough sun to look healthy instead of pasty. He was trim and moved with confidence, but the trimness came from youth rather than the work a man put in to toning his muscles, and that made her wonder what he’d look like with his shirt off. She didn’t think he would be quite so appealing without his clothes.

Superficially, he reminded her of Rainier, the Warlord Prince who had been her companion for decades. They had been friends who had loved each other and had shared a house, but they hadn’t been lovers. Yes, similar coloring and a graceful way of moving reminded her of Rainier, but there was something about this boy that lightly scratched her temper.

Maybe she was a bit influenced by Lucivar’s dislike of the young man. Or maybe it was the hint of something in his psychic scent that made her study him like a Warlord Prince’s second-in-command—or like an assassin assessing her prey.

Yes, he was definitely pretty, and he knew it. Surreal watched the way he smiled at the somewhat attractive girl waiting tables—and the way he smiled at the beautiful girl working behind the counter, taking care of customers who wanted to bring home a treat. Something going on between those two? No. At least not yet. But the beautiful girl was signaling quite clearly that she would like more than a smile and a bit of flirting from him.