“Who do you consider Dena Nehele’s people?” the Warlord Prince asked.

The effort he was making to keep his voice neutral told her how important her answer was to him.

“Everyone who lives within the borders of this Territory,” Cassidy replied. “Landens as well as Blood.”

“What about the Shalador people?”

“Now is not the time for that, Ranon,” Theran snapped.

“Then when is the time, Grayhaven?” Ranon snapped back.

“Who are the Shalador people?” Cassidy asked.

“What’s left of a race who came from a Territory that no longer exists. We live on reserves in the southern part of Dena Nehele, land that was granted to us by the Gray Lady.” Ranon gave Theran a hostile look. “Land that’s been trimmed by the hand of every Queen who has ruled since Lia until there’s barely enough farmland to feed us and not enough healthy woodland to supply the game we need.”

“Now is not the time,” Theran said again, shifting into a fighting stance.

“Prince Theran is right,” Cassidy said as Ranon also shifted into a fighting stance. The odds were against Opal being able to win a fight with Green, but Warlord Princes who served in the same court could not be allowed to fight. “Now is not the time.”

She saw bitterness in Ranon’s eyes, but she pushed on. “What you have said deserves more thought and discussion than I can give it this morning. But we will discuss the concerns of your people, as well as the other people who live in Dena Nehele.”

Hers. She saw it in his eyes as he relaxed a little and stepped back from the killing edge. Even if he’d hated her answer, he would have served in her court. It would have damaged something inside him, but he would have served.

Five more Warlord Princes made their way to the front of the room to stand before the platform. The connection, the need for what she was, wasn’t as strong with them as she’d felt with Ranon, but it was there. For the first time, she felt the weight of being a Queen, of holding lives in her hands.

She stepped back to the center of the platform. As Theran announced each man, he came up on the platform, knelt before her, and said, “Your will is my life. Take what you need.”

Surrender. Loyalty. At least for the next year.

Theran had knelt before her and said those words with Prince Sadi and the High Lord as witnesses. He hadn’t meant them. They’d all known that last night.

But Ranon and the other five Warlord Princes did mean the words—and the fact that they did mean the words terrified them.

Scared her too.

When the chosen stood at the back of the platform, Cassidy turned to Theran. “Who else is waiting to be considered for the First Circle?”

He looked at the remaining Warlord Princes, then at her. “You’re dismissing the men who are here?”

“I don’t think they’re best suited for this First Circle,” Cassidy replied quietly. “I would like to meet with the others before making further decisions. But I need some air and some time to think. We’ll reconvene in two hours.”

“May I remind you that you have seven males,” Theran said, shifting so most of the men couldn’t see that he was getting angry. “You need twelve to form a court. If you dismiss these men now, you may not get any of them back.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Walkies!Vae shouted. *You males will go for walkies now. You can mark the trees. Human males do that sometimes. And I will teach you how to play fetch.*

Vae leaped from the platform and sailed over the men’s heads, landing in the middle of the room—an impossible thing to do without Craft. She disappeared for a moment, then popped up shoulder height, her tail smacking faces as she began herding the men out the door.

Theran was angry. This audience hadn’t gone as he’d wanted, and by turning the Warlord Princes away, she was taking the risk of not being able to form a court. If she couldn’t form a court, whatever favors he had called in would have been wasted, so she couldn’t blame him for feeling upset.

Ranon, on the other hand, looked more relaxed as he came up to stand on her left side. Baffled, but more relaxed.

“She’s a relentless little bitch, isn’t she?” Ranon asked, tipping his head to indicate Vae.

The knot in Cassidy’s stomach eased as she watched Warlord Princes obeying a dog because they couldn’t figure out how not to obey the dog. That, at least, felt like home.

She smiled at Ranon. “Of course. She’s a Sceltie.”

CHAPTER 11

TERREILLE

Gray pressed himself against the big stone gardening shed, his limbs trembling, his heart racing, as if his body were still trying to outrun the nightmares that had filled his sleep last night.

There was a Queen at Grayhaven. He could feel her presence, even out here. She would be living in that suite of rooms, in that room, doing . . . things.

His back muscles, which had never fully healed on the left side, tightened in response to his fear, threatening to spasm and leave him helpless to run, to hide until she lost interest in looking for him.

I’m Grayhaven. I’m Grayhaven!

Theran’s blade. He never betrayed his cousin, had protected Theran in the only way he could. Even when the bitch did those things to him.

He couldn’t remember that. Couldn’t. Theran was living in the mansion now. With her. No secrets. Not anymore. She knew Theran was the real Grayhaven.

He couldn’t get near the house. He had tried because Theran was in there, but he couldn’t get near the house. Talon had brought him food last night, and the men who worked in the stables had let him use their toilet and shower so he wouldn’t have to go near the house.

Her presence tingled under the land, even here at the edge of what had been the formal gardens. He didn’t remember that happening the last time. The gardens had been as close to a safe place as there had been when he’d been a prisoner here. The Queen had him shackled and staked to a long chain, like a pony being put out to graze. Let him stagger around the old gardens—or crawl when his tortured body couldn’t do more. Left him where he could see the dead honey pear tree, the symbol of the Grayhaven Queens who had stood against Dorothea SaDiablo. Dead like their bloodline. Dead for so many years, but kept as a reminder that those Queens had not endured.

Jared had given that honey pear tree to Lia, who had tended it all her life.

Who could say if it was the same tree? But everyone believed it was, and that was all that really mattered.

Hope. Life. Love. All dead, like the tree.

That’s what the last Queen had taught him.

Then Talon had found him, rescued him. And with Talon’s help,Theran had done what he could to help Gray rebuild some kind of life.

He wasn’t what he should have been. He knew that sometimes, could sense that something had been lost.

He would stay here because Theran was here, and Talon was here. But . . .

He felt her presence, felt her psychic scent as a heat against his skin.

But it was a pleasant heat, like beams of sunlight coming through a window on a day in early spring.

He peered around the corner of the shed and saw her walking toward him. But not looking for him. No, she was looking at the land.

Her scent said “Queen,” but she didn’t look like a Queen, wasn’t dressed like a Queen. She looked . . . friendly. And her hair . . .

He watched as she pulled the pins from her hair and it tumbled around her shoulders and down her back.

He’d never seen red hair. He’d read stories where people had red hair, but he’d never seen anyone in real life. And she had spots on her face. Why did she have spots on her face? Such pale skin. What color were her eyes?

With his heart pounding, Gray stepped away from the stone shed and walked toward her slowly, fearfully. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t. But he wanted, needed, to see the color of her eyes.

Cassidy watched him walk toward her. A good-looking man with a strong physical resemblance to Theran, right down to the dark hair and green eyes. Family, perhaps?

A well-toned body of a physically active adult male. But his psychic scent said “youth,” even “boy,” which was a sure sign of something wrong, and that wasn’t good because inside that body . . .

Warlord Prince. Wild. Wounded.

Mine.

The thought startled her, made her heart pound because it seemed to recognize something about this man that her mind wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

This wasn’t the same feeling of recognition that she’d had with the Warlord Princes who were now in her First Circle. This was different. Personal.

So wounded inside. She could see it in his green eyes now that he was close enough. He looked like he was ready to run, and yet he kept moving toward her as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Hello,” she said quietly. “I’m Cassidy.”

He stopped at the sound of her voice, shifting his weight from one foot to another, not sure if he should get closer or step back.

“I’m Gray,” he finally said, taking another step toward her.

His eyes roamed her face. When he got close enough, he reached out, almost touching her cheek. Then he snatched his hand back, like a boy who had almost touched the forbidden.

Wondering what he saw that baffled and intrigued him so much, she touched her cheek to see if something was on her skin.

Oh. She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve never seen freckles?”

“Freckles.” He said the word softly, as if it were a fragile gift. “Are they just on your face?”

She knew her cheeks flamed with color. She also knew that, despite the man’s body, it was a boy asking out of curiosity. Still . . .

“I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”

He nodded, accepting.

He was half a head taller than she, if that. It would have been easy enough to look him in the eyes if his own weren’t so busy roaming over her face.

“Did you come out to look at the gardens?” she asked.

He cringed, as if she had scolded him for doing something wrong.