The Queen's Price

FIFTY-SEVEN

Titian waited with the other girls and the boyos who were serving in Felisha’s court today. They’d all struggled during the first couple of weeks of these exercises, but the requirement to stand for other members in the court and stand for the people under the Queen’s protection was slowly seeping past the rules and manners children learned in order to respond to adults—especially adults who were from aristo families or wore dark Jewels. Or both.

Lady Dumm’s table manners had improved considerably. Whatever Uncle Daemon had done that one night to create that smell guaranteed there would be no more farting at the table. But the “special guest” at the Hall was still pushy and opinionated and crude and rude. Because of that, the students were all learning when to push back, when to draw a line and call in reinforcements, and when to officially report an offense to the Queen they were serving that day—and she would take it to the Queen she served. Unless she was the ruling Queen that day.

Titian had never given much thought to what the hierarchy of District Queens to Province Queens to Territory Queens meant in terms of who had to make the final decision about a wrong someone had done—and the debt owed to a family or a village for that wrong. She’d seen Queens talking to her father and seen the order of command among the men who served him directly. But she hadn’t appreciated the price he must sometimes have to pay for being the person who made the final decision about someone else’s life.

Was it easier for Lucivar and Daemon now that the Queen of Ebon Askavi had officially returned to the Keep? They no longer had to make that final decision if they didn’t want to. But they wouldn’t ask the Queen to shoulder that burden unless they weren’t certain of the choice that should be made.

Maybe that was part of the price they paid for being Warlord Princes rather than being the rulers of their Territories. The Warlords and Princes who were among the students didn’t seem to be changing, but the Warlord Princes . . . A look in their eyes, a slight shift in attitude that said We are a law unto ourselves. And they were. A lot of the Blood’s laws and social rules didn’t apply to them. Couldn’t apply to them because they were predators born to stand on killing fields.

Had Uncle Daemon intended to nudge that predatory nature to the surface by using Lady Dumm?

Daemonar had said it was better to find out where the lines were drawn with a dressmaker’s dummy than with someone who could bleed.

No one believed for a minute that Daemonar had missed the target when his arrow had pinned Lady Dumm’s shoe to the ground moments after she started making comments about amateur artists—comments that had made Titian flinch. Line drawn. Warning given. The next arrow would damage more than a shoe if the subject came up again.

He’d been passing through on his way to some other lesson and had overheard Dumm’s first sly comment. He’d barely checked his pace when he nocked the arrow, pivoted, and let it fly.

No one was sure what Grizande’s target was supposed to be when her knife whipped past Lady Dumm and sliced off several plumes in Dumm’s hat before hitting a tree. Grizande claimed she missed, although she became vague about what she’d intended to hit, since no one had been standing near the weapons practice area.

Defend. Protect. That was the purpose of a court.

“Any idea why Felisha is having this extra meeting with Azara?” Trent asked as he came to stand beside Titian. “If Felisha has to give Zoey and Kathlene orders for their courts, we won’t get anything done this morning.”

Azara was the Territory Queen today, Felisha the Province Queen, and Zoey and Kathlene the District Queens. Either Azara, who preferred agreeing with other people’s opinions in case her own were wrong, had been given a challenging assignment for the day and needed extra time to figure out how to accomplish the task or . . .

“Something’s not right,” Trent said. “Raeth is with Azara today, and he says Azara and Felisha were arguing about Felisha’s part of the assignment until Azara threatened to discipline her for disobedience.”

Titian stared at him. “That doesn’t make any sense.” Especially if Azara was the one holding a line that Felisha didn’t agree with.

“No, it doesn’t.” He studied her. “You trust your uncle?”

“Of course I do!”

“What about the instructors? Lady Dumm’s table manners were an exercise pushed too far, but I didn’t get the impression that Lady Brenda or Prince Raine would do anything that would hurt anyone. And our other instructors aren’t really part of the group of adults working out these assignments.”

“My uncle wouldn’t put any of us at risk.” Titian was sure of that. But that Trent was even wondering about that just proved he wasn’t the same young Warlord Prince who had walked into the Hall a few months ago.

The door opened. Felisha walked in looking very unhappy.

Titian studied Trent, who was studying Felisha. Aunt Surreal once said there is always a moment when a Warlord Prince decides whether to obey an order or defy it, a moment when he moves a little closer to being loyal to the Queen he serves or becoming an adversary. Surreal had said with someone like Daemon or Lucivar the decision could be made in a heartbeat, but that hesitation was always there. And if it wasn’t there? That meant the Prince’s loyalty to his Queen went so deep, he would do anything for her without question. Anything. And that would make him the most dangerous male in the Realms.

She hadn’t thought about the way Daemonar hesitated when asked to do something, even when asked by their mother or father. Hadn’t considered that it was an expectation of his caste to act that way. Now, as she watched Trent, it was like seeing that aspect of a Warlord Prince’s nature unfurl. Now the boy who sometimes laughingly scolded her for not eating all her vegetables was changing into a man who would draw a line and really fight with her if he believed she needed to eat all her vegetables.

Trent was becoming a warrior who would stand on killing fields. A dangerous man. Like her brother. Like her uncle. Like her father.

“Hold out your hands,” Felisha said, gesturing to Titian, Trent, and Arlene.

Zoey frowned. Titian had said Felisha was upset after the meeting with Azara, but she didn’t seem upset now. Annoyed? Uncertain? Determined?

All of those things.

Felisha slapped the hands of the three selected members of her court. Kathlene gasped, then belatedly put a hand over her mouth to hide the sound.

Felisha turned to Zoey and Kathlene. “Sometime today, before you return from your courts’ assigned tasks, you will slap the hands of three people serving in your court.”

“Why?” Zoey asked.

“Because that is what the Queen commands,” Felisha snapped. “That was the command I was given to pass on to the two of you.”

“But . . . why?”

“Because whoever is Territory Queen now has additional instructions, specific things the people under her hand are required to do.”

“Like slapping someone?” Kathlene asked.

“Yes!” Maybe Felisha heard her own distress, because she stopped and took a couple of breaths before continuing. “It’s . . . strange, but Azara showed me the instructions that were in the envelope she received this morning, and that is what we’re required to do.”

“Who wrote the instructions?” Zoey asked. “Could this be another Lady Dumm lesson?”

Felisha shook her head. “I don’t know. Azara had to copy the instructions, so what I saw was in her handwriting.” Another couple of breaths. “It’s just a light slap. You saw how I did it.”

“It’s become fashionable for women to carry a fan at social events,” Kathlene said, the words spoken with thoughtful slowness. “Before coming here, I attended a few social gatherings with my mother and aunt and saw quite a few Ladies use a fan to lightly slap a man’s arm or hand, either to emphasize something she said or . . . something. I guess this is like that but without the fan?”

Maybe, Zoey thought. Maybe. And a light slap on the hand isn’t so bad. A little embarrassing because the rest of the court will think the people chosen had done something wrong, but no one would be harmed.

No one would be harmed.

She wondered if Prince Sadi would agree with that. Then again, he would have been the one to make up this particular lesson.