Falonar's face tightened. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I guess I should. It doesn't look like the bastard's going to show."

"What bastard is that?" Lucivar asked mildly. More of the women and some of the men who had refused to acknowledge him had wandered over.

It was a young Warlord who answered. "The Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih. We'd heard..."

"You heard... ?" Lucivar prodded when the Warlord didn't finish, noticing the way the man shifted a bit closer to the witch who was holding an adorable little girl in her arms. Lucivar's gold eyes narrowed as he opened his psychic senses a little more. A little Queen. His gaze shifted to the boy who had a two-fisted grip on the woman's skirt. There was strength there, potential there. He felt something inside him shift, sharpen. "What did you hear?"

The Warlord swallowed hard. "We heard he's a hard bastard, but he's fair if you serve him well. And he doesn't..."

It was the fear in the woman's eyes and the way her brown skin paled that honed Lucivar's temper. "And he doesn't plow a woman unless she invites him?" he said too softly.

He felt a flash of female anger nearby. Before he could locate the source, he remembered the children who probably already carried too many scars. "You heard right. He doesn't."

Falonar shifted, bringing Lucivar's attention—and his temper—back to someone who could handle it. Then he gave Hallevar a sharp look, and a couple of other men that he'd known before centuries of slavery had taken him away from the Eyrien courts and hunting camps.

"Is that what you've been waiting for?" It took effort, but he kept his voice neutral.

"Wouldn't you?" Hallevar replied. "It may not be the Territory that we knew in Terreille, but they call it Askavi here, too, and maybe it won't feel so ... strange."

Lucivar clenched his teeth. The afternoon was fleeing. He had to make some choices, and he had to make themnow. He turned back to Falonar. "Are you going to choke every time you have to take an order from me?"

Falonar stiffened. "Why should I take any orders fromyou ?"

"Because Iam the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih."

Shock. Tense stillness. Some of the men—a good number of the men who had wandered over—looked at him in disgust and walked away.

Falonar narrowed his eyes. "You already have a contract?"

"A longstanding one. Think carefully, Prince Falonar. If serving under me is going to be a bone in your throat, you'd better take one of those other offers, because if you break the rules that I set, I'll tear you apart. And you— and everyone else who was waiting—had better think about what Ebon Rih is."

"It's the Keep's Territory," Hallevar said. "Same as the Black Valley in Terreille. We know that."

Lucivar nodded, his eyes never leaving Falonar's. "There's one big difference." He paused and then added, "I serve in the Dark Court at Ebon Askavi."

Several people gasped. Falonar's eyes widened. Then he looked at the Ebon-gray Jewel that hung from the gold chain around Lucivar's neck, but it was a considering look, not an insulting one. "There's really a Queen there?" he asked slowly.

"Oh, yes," Lucivar replied softly. "There's a Queen there. You should also know this: I present her with my choices about who serves me in Ebon Rih, but the final decision is hers. If she says 'no,' you're gone." He looked at the tense, silent people watching him. "There's not much time left to make a decision. I'll wait by the gate. Anyone who's interested can talk to me there."

He walked to the gate, aware of the eyes that watched him. He kept his back to them and looked at the corrals set up as waiting areas for other races. He observed everything and saw nothing.

It shouldn't matter anymore. He had a place here, a family here, a Queen he loved and felt honored to serve. He was respected for his intelligence, his skill as a warrior, and the Jewels he wore. And he was liked and loved for himself.

But he had spent 1,700 years believing he was a half-breed bastard, and the insults and the blows he'd received as a boy in the hunting camps had helped shape the formidable temper he'd inherited from his father. The courts he'd served in as a slave after that had put the final vicious edge on it.

It shouldn't matter anymore. Itdidn't matter anymore. He wouldn't allow it to hurt him. But he also knew that if Hallevar decided to go back to Terreille or accept whatever crumbs were offered in another court instead of signing a contract with him, it would be a long time before the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih returned to the service fair.

"Prince Yaslana."

Lucivar almost smiled at the reluctance in Falonar's voice, but he kept his face carefully neutral as he turned to face the other man. "The bone's choking you already?" The careful wariness he saw in Falonar's eyes surprised him.

"We never liked each other, for a lot of reasons. We don't have to like each other now in order to work together. We've fought together against the Jhinka. You know what I can do."

"We were green fighters then, both taking orders from someone else," Lucivar said carefully. "This is different."

Falonar nodded solemnly. "This is different. But for the chance to serve in Ebon Rih, I'm willing to set aside the past. Are you?"

They had been rivals, competitors, two young Warlord Princes struggling to prove their dominance. Falonar had gone on to serve in the High Priestess of Askavi's First Circle. He had gone to slavery.

"Can you follow orders?" Lucivar asked. It wasn't an unreasonable question. Warlord Princes were a law unto themselves. Unless they gave their hearts as well as their bodies, following orders wasn't easy for any of them. Even then, it wasn't easy.

"I can follow orders," Falonar said, and then added under his breath, "When I can stomach them."

"And you're willing to follow the rules I've set, even if it means losing some of the privileges you may have come to expect?"

Falonar narrowed his gold eyes. "I suppose you don't break any rules anymore?"

The question surprised a laugh out of Lucivar. "Oh, I still break some. And I get my ass kicked for it."

Falonar opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"The Steward and the Master of the Guard," Lucivar said dryly, answering the unspoken question.

"Those Jewels would give you some leverage," Falonar said, tipping his head to indicate Lucivar's Ebon-gray Jewel.

"Not with those two."

Falonar looked startled, then thoughtful. "How long have you been here?"

"Eight years."

"Then you've already served out your contract."

Lucivar gave Falonar a sharp-edged smile. "Plant your ambitions somewhere else, Prince. Mine's a lifetime contract."

Falonar tensed. "I thought Warlord Princes were required to serve five years in a court."

Lucivar nodded and clamped down on the pleasure that jumped through him when he saw Hallevar coming toward him. "That's what's required." He smiled wickedly. "It only took the Lady three years to realize that wasn't what I agreed to."

Falonar hesitated. "What's she like?"

"Wonderful. Beautiful. Terrifying." Lucivar gave Falonar an assessing look. "Are you coming to Ebon Rih?"

"I'm coming to Ebon Rih." Falonar nodded to Hallevar and stepped aside for the older man.

"I'd like to come with you," Hallevar said abruptly.

"But?" Lucivar said.

Hallevar looked over his shoulder at the two boys who were hovering out of earshot. He turned back to Lucivar. "I said they were mine."

"Are they?"

Hallevar's eyes filled with heat. "If they'd been mine, I would have acknowledged them, whether or not the mothers denied paternity. A child isn't considered a bastard if a sire is listed, even if the man doesn't get a chance to be a father."

The words stung. Prythian, the High Priestess of Askavi in Terreille, and Dorothea SaDiablo had spun their lies in order to separate him from Luthvian, his mother, and they had altered his birth documents because they hadn't wanted anyone to know who his father really was. It had stunned him to learn that the hard feelings he carried inside him because of that deceit were nothing compared to Saetan's rage.

"One has a mother who's a whore in a Red Moon house," Hallevar said. "Stands to reason she wouldn't know whose seed she carried. The other woman was the known lover of an aristo Warlord. The witch he'd married was barren, and everyone knew he made sure his mistress didn't invite another man to her bed. He wanted the child, would have acknowledged the child. But when it was born, she named a dozen men in the court that she claimed might have been the sire. She did it on purpose, and because she wanted revenge on the father, she condemned the child."

Lucivar just nodded, fighting the anger that burned in him.

"This is a new place, Lucivar," Hallevar pleaded. "A new chance. You know what it's like. You should understand better than anyone. They're not strong like you. Neither of them will wear dark Jewels. But they're good boys, and they'll carry their weight. And they are full-blooded Eyriens," he added.

"So they don't carry the stigma of being half-breeds?" Lucivar asked with deadly control.

"I never used that word with you," Hallevar said quietly.

"No, you didn't. But it's an easy enough word to say without thinking. So I'll give you fair warning, Lord Hallevar. It's a word you would do well to forget, because there's nothing I could do to save you if you said it within my father's hearing."

Hallevar stared at him. "Your father is here? You know him?"

"I know him. And believe me, you haven't seen temper until you've been on the receiving end of my father's rage."

"I'll remember. What about the boys?"