Page 40 of Heir to His Court

There was a meaningful pause. “Soon, Lady, you will tell me how it is that you speak Avallonnian.” My mother had refused to speak it. I now understood why.

I nodded, grim. That was a conversation I didn’t want to have with either my Lord or my father. When younger, I’d feared my mother’s wrath. But Baba. . .he was a philosophical pacifist, not weak. One word, and he could plunge us back into war. Minded of who the Prince was no matter what our personal relationship, I did not attempt mental contact when we approached, bowed, stood before our chairs.

Renaud sat. We sat, and waited.

Baroun’s gaze was shorn of his usual contempt and sparkling malice, his mouth thin. I slid my hands into my lap so their twitching didn’t betray me. The White Guard, for the first time, had disarmed me so there was no blade for me to play with. People were learning, unfortunately.

“There's been much discussion,” the Prince said, voice a ripple of sound bisecting the silence, “of how the High Court must change if we are to maintain a lasting peace. I have been informed that House Faronne has no Lord sworn to our ranks. Lord Étienne is not High Fae—the oath would break him. I will not insist on it.”

I stared hard at Renaud. “Thereisa member of Faronne sworn to the High Court. Lord Danon, currently your guest.”

The Prince turned his head, eyes like twin iridescent stones whispering of death. “I have not given you permission to speak.”

I became a still lake, cool and bottomless, then almost ruined it with a flinch when he smiled. I bowed my head, exposing the back of my neck, staring at the table beneath me. The weight of his attention, the threat of it, kept me bent.

“Your days running barefoot through the sands are over, Aerinne,” he said in Avallonnian. The gentle tone concealed nothing. Death could be gentle. “Look at me.”

I obeyed. Instantly, ignoring the vulturine attention of the Court. The majority of Everenne’s Houses traced their lineage to Ninephe. Some spoke Avallonnian, but not all, or perhaps they had pretended not to in order to curry favor with Nayya and Assariel. It had been one of my secrets that I was among that number. A secret no more.

“Lord Danon is not free. His oath is currently of little value to me. He does serve—but almost solely as the whipping boy I hold in reserve.”

Renaud addressed me, but something in his manner tasted of the General. My confusion served a secondary purpose—it sealed my tongue. Raniel had been General of Ninephe in the centuries before he retook Avallonne, but. . .Raniel had warned me to offer the General nothing but absolute submission. To tuck away all defiance. Raniel, Darkan, Renaud. Three aspects of one, betimes merged, betimes separate.

Was the General, the dark side ofRaniel, the true center of them all, the first?

I had recognized that it was the General of Ninephe who held me earlier. Instantly. Seamlessly.

I’d asked how entwined our minds were, and received an unsatisfactory response. Could I trustanythingI thought?

“You will swear yourself to the High Court,” Renaud said, that edge of brutal abyss in his voice, “and to me as your Prince.”

“No,” I breathed.

“No?”

It was a binding oath. Every High Lord present had taken it. Warriors in service to Houses took similar oaths. It was why Numair would always be mine—his oath had been to me, personally, as well as to Faronne. But I would never use the oath against his will—I had no such delusions regarding what would happen if I gave Renaud that kind of power over me. There was a graveyard of High Lords who had offended the Prince during the history of Everenne. Our only saving grace was how frequently, and deeply, he slept.

“I can not. Youknowthis.”

Besides. . .such an oath could not exist in concert with my Vow. Heknewthis. It could kill me.

“Iwillnot. If you want my head, Prince, swing the sword yourself. Let my blood soak into your skin.”

Baba stared at me, expression uncharacteristically hard. Baroun too, as if they realized there were hidden currents to the conversation. Because in the normal course of things, such an oath wasnotdirectly lethal.

Invisible claws scraped along my throat, his pupils blowing wide, black with dark amusement.

“You will not?” He spoke each word with slow precision. The General’s cadence, not Renaud’s sibilant tones. “You, barely even adult and power so minuscule you can hardly halt an errant breeze from an enemy, now tellmewhat you will not do?”

I slid my hands on the table, leaning forward, my heart beating fast. His gaze dipped briefly to the flutter of my pulse.

“General,” I said.

He lifted his gaze, pinned me in my chair. Renaud would have smiled, power and sensual malice behind his eyes. Raniel would have offered warm arrogance to disguise emotion he did not want to reveal. Darkan would have wielded words and wit like acid drenched weapons.

The General of Ninephe wanted nothing from me. I was nothingtohim, and Raniel barely controlled him.

I straightened slowly.Raniel—Renaud, leash him.His eyes narrowed, and then the pupils contracted, eyes blue again. Midnight blue.

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