It wasn’t the day for the full open market, but the grocer had carts of fruits and vegetables set up outside. Before she could walk into the butcher shop and buy a replacement roast, Tagg dashed toward a cart full of vegetables and leaped—a move that would have landed him in the middle of the produce. Daemonar caught him in midair, swinging the Sceltie out of reach a moment before Tagg grabbed a crown of broccoli.

“What’s going on?” The grocer dashed outside, holding a broom in a fighting stance.

“Sorry, sir,” Daemonar said, struggling to hold the excited dog. “This is Lord Tagg. He likes broccoli.”

٭Greens are good!٭ Tagg whapped Daemonar’s leg with his tail.

٭Hello,٭ Morghann said. ٭We are Scelties. We live at the Hall with Prince Sadi and Lady Surreal, but we are visiting Prince Yaslana and Lady Marian.٭

The grocer blinked. Then he pursed his lips as Jillian and Khary rushed up to join the kerfuffle.

Honestly, it was like dealing with fast-talking, four-legged toddlers who dashed off to look at, sniff, and taste whatever caught their interest.

Well, she’d been helping Marian deal with children since Daemonar was a baby, so she could, and would, deal with this too.

“Yes, we do need some greens for tonight’s dinner, but I’m going to select them, and there will be no tasting until we get home and Lady Marian decides what she wants to use.”

٭Morghann and I can help choose the fruits,٭ Khary said. ٭We’re good at sniffing out the ripest fruit.٭

“That’s all—,” Jillian began. Then she—and everyone else—stared as the two Scelties rose until they were standing on air level with the cart bed. They walked above the mounded fruit, their paws never touching anything as they sniffed the offerings. Their selections rose above the cart to float on air.

٭I can help!٭ Tagg struggled to get out of Daemonar’s arms. ٭I want to help.٭

٭Move away from the carts,٭ Jillian told Daemonar on a psychic thread.

٭I’m supposed to stay with you.٭

٭If he manages to get away from you, he’ll land right on top of all the vegetables in the cart. Do you want to explain that to your father?٭

٭I’m not moving out of sight.٭

٭Just out of range of getting us both into trouble.٭

Daemonar grinned and walked to the next shop, which had brooms in a barrel just outside the door. Nothing much there to tempt a Sceltie—she hoped.

They were drawing a crowd. She heard a woman asking, “What about the melons? Can you pick out the ripest melon for me?”

Jillian gave the grocer an apologetic smile. “They’re just visiting.”

“What about this one?” Another woman held up a different melon.

Morghann sniffed it. ٭Not ripe for eating today, but soon.٭

“That’s good. I wanted it for a couple of days from now.” She went past the grocer and entered the shop with the chosen melon and the rest of the produce in her basket.

“So those are Scelties,” the grocer said quietly, talking more to himself than to Jillian. “You hear stories about them, even here in the valley. Didn’t expect to see one.”

Jillian scanned the list Marian had provided. She swiftly chose the fruits she was supposed to buy, taking her selections from the fruit floating above the cart. “I have all the fruit we need. You should—”

“Oh, couldn’t they help a little more while you finish your shopping?” That was another woman. With a little shiver of dread and fascination, Jillian realized they had drawn a big crowd, and the grocer was looking a bit bemused by the entertainment value being provided by his fruit and vegetable carts.

٭You should finish up before the grocer offers one of them a job,٭ Daemonar said.

She hoped he was teasing, but just in case he wasn’t, she selected the vegetables using touch and her own nose.

٭Broccoli!٭ Tagg said. ٭Is Jillian buying broccoli for us?٭

“The last time I visited the Hall, Uncle Daemon said you weren’t allowed to have broccoli, because it makes you fart,” Daemonar said.

Tagg whined and gave the grocer a pleading look.

“I might risk Prince Yaslana’s displeasure,” the grocer said, “but I’m not going to do anything that could stink up Lady Marian’s home.”

Reminding herself that boys thought farts were an acceptable topic of conversation no matter where they were, Jillian ignored the chuckles from the men and tsks from the women as she took her basket inside and had the purchases added to the Yaslana household account.

“Come on, everyone,” she called as she headed back to the butcher shop. “We don’t have all day.”

٭We have to go now,٭ Morghann said, trotting between the shoulders of two customers. ٭We are chaperons today.٭

Approving nods from the women, along with a few “Come back and visit again” remarks.

Jillian vanished her basket. Without the broccoli being right in front of him, Tagg settled enough that Daemonar could put him down.

When they reached the butcher shop, she saw a flash of movement in the alleyway, there and gone.

٭Jillian.٭ The whisper of her name was so unexpected, she almost gasped. Dillon didn’t like using psychic communication. He said it didn’t convey half of what could be heard in a real voice—the difference between corresponding with a person and meeting face-to-face.

She looked at Daemonar. “Do you know what to purchase?”

“Jillian.” Daemonar’s voice held a warning.

A Warlord Prince was the most amenable he would ever be in his entire life during those years just before he began the change from boy to man—unless that boy had almost lost his mother and would no longer back down from a fight. “Five minutes. Right next to the shop in plain sight. I just need to tell Dillon about the arrangement I made with Lady Surreal.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “Please?”

“Out in the open, in full sight of people on the street,” he finally said, reluctantly yielding to her plea. “You promise?”

She should have agreed immediately. Making a promise to someone so much younger rankled enough to have her hesitate.

“Jillian, whatever you’re planning to do? Don’t,” Daemonar said. “You’ve already made a promise to Auntie Surreal, and she’s half Dea al Mon. Your friend’s life won’t be worth anything if you break your promise to her.”

Jillian swallowed the lump of fear that suddenly blocked her throat. “I won’t break my promise to her or to you.”

She watched him walk into the shop. A boy had given a prime roast to the Scelties for breakfast, but the young Warlord Prince who walked into the butcher shop didn’t sound like a boy.