Page 97 of Blood of Ancients

“The way you introduced yourself. I heard your name . . . and then a lot more tacked on afterward.” I showed a hint of a smile. “Care to expand on what that was all about?”

Corym looked away, into the thickets beside him, and puffed out his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his head, hesitant.

I grabbed his hand, noticing his reticence. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. You don’t have to tell—”

“It is my title. My full role in Alfheim. I needed to say it so Jhaeros would not attack us.” He looked suddenly flustered, which was a strange expression for him. “I should have told you—”

My hand went to his cheek before he could finish, cutting him off. He felt so smooth, looked so golden, in this strange afternoon glow in Alfheim. “It’s okay, Corym. We’ve only had so much time together. I’ve beenmuchmore interested in learning who you are rather than what titles you hold.”

His smile brightened my soul, stealing away some of the trepidation I’d been feeling—about Magnus’ whereabouts; Frida’s shadowy involvement in all this.

Tilting his head closer to me as we walked, and with my other mates noticeably eavesdropping around us, he said what he had told Jhaeros. “Corym Vaalnath-Taramore E’tar. Fifth Company-Prince of Heira’s Eastern Crossing.”

I pulled my face back, staring at him slack-jawed. “Princewas one of those words?”

He gave me a shy nod.

Sven snorted. “I should have known you were royalty by how uptight and proper you are, pointy-ear.”

A smirk curled Corym’s lips. “Fifth Company-Prince is not as special as you think it is, wolf. I am the fifth prince in line, yes,but I will go no further than leading the Company of the Eastern Crossing legion. There are . . . thirty-six others.”

I guffawed. “Thirty-sixprinces?”

“Those are just the ones not from ourMaltor, our monarch.”

Shaking my head, not understanding anything about what he was talking about, I waved my hands in the air. “Hold on. Back up. Can you explain that better?”

Even though we were in a tense situation with wood elves who didn’t trust us, my mates forgot about them and scooted closer to listen. Only Hersir Kelvar stayed gazing outward, apparently not interested in Corym’s past.

“MaltorVaalnath is the sovereign of Heira,” he began.

“The one with four wives and two husbands?” I asked.

“Good memory,lunis’ai.”

“That’s also one of your names,” I pointed out helpfully.

“Indeed. The first of my middle names, as you would call it, is from the breeder—the one who impregnates. The second name, my mother Taramore, is who I was born to—the impregnated.”

That made enough sense to me. “So Vaalnath was the father, Taramore the mother.” I shrugged.

“It’s not so simple, love,” he continued with a smile. “Because Vaalnath isalsocapable of giving birth.”

Sven let out a sound of disbelief, and Grim chuckled.

My mind wrapped around that. “Vaalnath is . . .”

“Intersex, humans would call it. Children born from Vaalnath’s womb are Court-Princes. The important children, that is, for royal succession. Vaalnath’s offspring born from other wombs are Company-Princes. We are placed in generally important positions among Heira. There are thirty-six of us half-princes, as we’re called, spread among countless women andin’kylins—other intersex folk.”

“So if Vaalnath’s womb whelps you, you’re important. If Vaalnath’s cock whelps you, you’re not as important,” Sven crudely said.

Corym’s lip twitched. “Yes, wolf. That is a succinct and vulgar way of putting it.”

Sven shrugged. “Makes sense to me. Wombs are more important than cocks in Midgard, too. They’re the ones who give birth, after all.”

Arne raised a finger. “Yes, but wombs can’t give birth without the help of cocks, dear Sven.”

“Fair point, dandy. In my pack, the breeding bitches are always the nurturers. It checks out that Vaalnath would feel more connected with their womb-born flock.”

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