Shalador's Lady

desk—objects that reminded him of the difference between two Queens.
    One was the piece from the broken wish pot.
    The other was a leather-bound copy of Jared’s story.

    Two days later, twenty-seven Warlord Princes walked into a meeting room at Grayhaven.
    This time, Theran didn’t stand on a platform to address them. This time, he didn’t try to stand as their leader. This time, they told him what he had to do.

    Kermilla huffed and tsk ed and made unhappy sounds as she pushed dress after dress aside. She had to have some new clothes. When she became Queen, she couldn’t be seen in these old things!
    And she was finally going to be Queen. The Warlord Princes had come. Theran hadn’t said anything about this meeting, but she’d seen the men arriving. Theran would give them a stern talking-to first, and then he’d request her presence so that she could select her court. She really didn’t want a First Circle made up completely of Warlord Princes—they were so prickly!—but she’d settle for it to get the court established and then select more congenial men for her Second Circle. And once she was Queen, she could select a man with better training for her bed.
    Not that she wasn’t still fond of Theran, but he was better suited to being a First Escort or her Master of the Guard. He just didn’t have the proper skills to be a Consort—or even a lover.
    So important to make the right impression this time. So important to look like what these men wanted.
    But how was she supposed to do that with these clothes?

    Alone again, Theran closed his eyes and swayed as the pain raked through him.
    It was done. The Warlord Princes would help him save what was left of Dena Nehele.
    Now all he had to do was fulfill his part of the bargain before time ran out.

    A handful of outfits were strewn on her bed and the chairs, souring Kermilla’s mood as the inadequacy of her wardrobe became more and more clear. But she had to find something before . . .
    She glanced out one of her bedroom windows, then stopped and stared at the Warlord Princes walking down the long drive toward the landing web just beyond the estate’s double gates.
    They were leaving? Why were they leaving ?
    She pulled on a simple housedress, stuffed her feet into soft house shoes, grabbed a shawl, and rushed downstairs to find Theran.

    Theran went into his study and gave Julien a psychic tap on the shoulder. Within a minute the butler knocked on the door.
    “Lady Kermilla and I have something to discuss,” Theran said. “While she is here with me, you and Hanna need to move fast.”
    After receiving his instructions, Julien hurried out of the room. Moments later, Kermilla rushed in.
    “They left!” she said. “Why did they leave without seeing me?”
    “Sit down, Kermilla.” Theran waved her toward a chair. “I have to explain some things.”
    “What things?” She sat on the edge of the stuffed chair.
    He nudged the footstool back and sat down. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t want her to realize he had a skintight Green shield protecting his skin, his face . . . his eyes. He felt foolish—and deceitful—doing that with her, but he couldn’t ignore the warnings the other men had given him about how previous Queens had reacted to disappointment.
    He sighed. “I love you, Kermilla. Everything I am wants to surrender to you. If my life was the only one at stake, I would give it to you. But I’m the last of the Grayhaven line, and I have a duty to the land and the people of Dena Nehele, and what Dena Nehele needs is more important than what I want for myself as a man or a Warlord Prince.”
    “What does that have to do with the other Warlord Princes leaving before I could choose my court?”
    “There isn’t going to be a court.”
    Kermilla rolled her eyes. “I can’t rule Dena Nehele without a formal court.”
    “I know. I’m sorry. I am so very sorry.”
    It took her a moment, but when she realized what he was saying she drew back a little.
    “There isn’t going to be a court,” Theran said quietly, just to make sure she understood. “You aren’t going to rule Dena Nehele.”
    “Why?” she wailed. “Is it because you’re mad at me for breaking that old pot?”
    “In a way, it is about the wish pot. Not because you broke it, but because all you see is an old pot that has no value to you. And what that tells me is that in all the months you’ve been here, you haven’t listened to anything I said about Dena Nehele.