Kaeleer, Dhemlan province, Halaway
The Queen
At one time she would have flat-out refused to dress up for dinner. But marriage meant compromise, she was firmly told. And so she had.
And so had her husband. That was fair, both of them giving in a little.
Her husband.
It still amazed her she had one. And that it was him.
Saetan Daemon SaDiablo. Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, Black Widow, High Lord of Hell, High Priest of the Hourglass, Prince of the Darkness. And only Darkness knew how many more titles and nicknames he'd earned over the last fifty thousand years. And every one of them deserved.
Only if one watched carefully, saw how little food he needed, recognized the distinctive aroma of the yarbarah he drank three times daily, would one realize he was a Guardian. Had lived so many thousands of years, many people believed him to be a legend, a myth to frighten little children.
Marrying Saetan had been an amazing change in her life. But it almost hadn't happened, not just once, but twice.
After the Witchstorm he withdrew from the Living Realms, breaking off their relationship. But three years later, saying he couldn't step away as other Guardians had done, he had asked her to marry him.
She said yes.
When Sylvia stopped by the neat cottage where Tersa lived, to tell her the news – she was deeply fond of Prince Sadi's mother – Tersa was in one of her lucid periods. Even broken, she was a powerful Black Widow. Grabbing Sylvia's hand, she spoke.
The Web is the Triangle, Tersa told her as she traced the shape on her palm.
Father, Brother, Lover. Bound together by the Queen.
Jaenelle Angelline. Witch.
Sylvia understood. Saetan loved her, but he was Jaenelle's father and former steward of Witch's Court. He served her first and always would. She had Saetan's heart. He would die for her, kill for her. But for Witch the High Lord would crawl on his hands and knees over broken glass.
She could accept that. Witch was the living myth, dreams made flesh. She was the darkest Power among the Blood, and even without a Court everyone knew she ruled Kaeleer. Terreille cowered under her shadow.
Then two days later, Prince Sadi asked to see her privately. He came to talk to her for an entire evening, to make sure she understood what she was getting into with the SaDiablos. Sylvia listened to the Prince without speaking, topping off their wineglasses periodically. She thought she was prepared...but she wasn't, couldn't have been.
Some of what he said amazed her. A lot of what he said surprised her. And some of it horrified her. She could never have imagined Saetan had lived through so much, done so much, endured so much, for so many lifetimes.
When he was finished, Daemon asked if she had any questions. He had talked for so many hours, the smooth, deep voice had grown hoarse.
Picking up her wine, Sylvia finished it off, looking into the fire. Then she looked up at him as he stood before her. Really studied the man who had asked her to call him by his first name, who might become her stepson.
Beautiful, lethal man, whose Black-Jeweled power and fiery temper was inherited directly from the man she had just promised to marry.
After seventeen centuries, Daemon and Lucivar finally found freedom, family, and happiness with the women they loved. All of which they would never have had without their father's encouragement and support.
For five hundred centuries, Saetan had no one, except for a few friends who became demon-dead.
She cleared her throat. "Prince – I mean, Daemon – tell me honestly. Do you think I can make your father happy?"
She had surprised him; his eyebrows went up. But he knelt down before her chair so that their eyes were level. He took her hands in his own – slender, strong, with the black-tinted nails so like his father's, that she felt a shiver run up her spine.
Then he smiled, the smile all his own, the one which few people besides his family ever saw. "Sylvia, darling, I do think you'll make him happy. As long as you understand that his power is something to be frightened of. But not the man himself. And it's that man you'll be marrying."
She shook her head. "He's a Warlord Prince as well as a man. If I marry one, I marry the other."
"Yes." Daemon sat back on his heels, locking his eyes with hers. "And that Warlord Prince is the most powerful and famous in the history of the Blood, whose temper should never be underestimated. But if he loves you with everything he is – and Saetan Daemon SaDiablo would only agree to marry you if it was with everything he is – then you will have everything you need to make him happy."
He released her hands, rose to his feet again to pace, oddly restless. "It isn't...easy being a SaDiablo. We are the darkest Jeweled males in all the Realms. We have no equals except for one another. We're wealthy beyond most people's imagining. Imagine you are one of us, Lady. Imagine what it's like, being constantly fawned over, yet watching others cringe away from you. People who want your body, your money, your power...but they don't want you."
Daemon stopped, thrust his hands in his pockets. She sensed the tension in him. This was as much personal as it was for his father. For a moment he was silent, then he spoke slowly, carefully.
"To be loved in spite of what we are – killers and predators more powerful than any other males – is our dream. Most people are afraid of us. We're not liked, we're never trusted. But our wives, those special lovers who understand, know that we've surrendered to them completely. Everything we are, every drop of Jeweled power, is focused on protecting and cherishing our own."
Turning, he stared into the fire as if it was easier to speak without looking. "All three of us have had women who tried to hide their fear of us. Who were in our beds only because they wanted to control the power we had. But none of them were willing to trust us, couldn't trust that we believed in, and lived by, the Old Ways."
Daemon took a deep breath, and turned back to face her. "There are times...when Jaenelle comes into my arms, or Marian goes to Lucivar – they're nervous, excited. Almost to the edge of fear, sometimes even a little over that line. It adds a dimension to sex that heightens it for both partners. But that's only bedplay, a game in which Saetan is a master. It never should be real fear, the kind that eats into your gut. Because for that special woman who understands the power she holds over us, we will do anything to please her. Everything to protect her. Because most people don't trust us, but that one woman does. It makes her unique – and priceless to that man."
She felt a pang of sympathy. Wasn't what he was describing almost identical to the pain she had endured from Flynt?
When you couldn't find someone who would love you the way you were, it made you feel as if there was no reason for someone to love you at all, except for rank and status. And wasn't that precisely what happened to Saetan, when he married that triple-damned Hayllian witch?
She cleared her throat again. "Thank you, Daemon. I think I understand your father a little better now. And...I need to think about everything you've said."
Daemon Sadi nodded. He picked up her hand, and bowed over it in an old-fashioned, courtly gesture. "It's late, and I ask your pardon for staying so long. I've given you much to think about, I know."
But the look he gave her through his lashes was little-boy mischievous. It was the first time she had ever seen him drop his guard, the cold persona that he used for everyone outside of a few friends and family.
It took her breath away, and made her realize how much he was his father's son. "Thank you for being willing to listen to me," he added softly.
She was still staring when he turned serious again. "One more thing. You hold his heart, Lady. It's been broken before...not just once, but many times. It's difficult for him to risk everything again. If you think you can't love him the way he needs, with all of your heart, then I'll ask you to have the courage to withdraw now, before it's too late. None of us will hold it against you.
"We aren't easy men to love, and we'll never be the easiest of men to live with. Hell's fire, there are times we frighten one another silly, when one of us loses his temper. But Saetan is my father, and I know he has more love to give than any man I've ever met. Give him a chance. And yourself, as well."
For several days afterwards she had thought about all of it. Her. Him. Who he was, and what this was going to mean for both of them.
Yes, he was the most powerful Warlord Prince ever. He had walked off the killing fields leaving thousands of dead bodies behind. He could destroy armies of the demon-dead with a single thought. He had once wiped out an entire race, eliminating every trace of them.
He was what he was – a Warlord Prince of unsurpassed power.
Did she fear that power? Of course she did. She wasn't an idiot. To know that even his own sons found him fearsome was oddly reassuring.
But did she fear the man who wielded that power? Daemon's words had crystallized those nebulous feelings.
No, she didn't. Saetan might kill her, if she were so stupid as to do something vicious and treacherous and contrary to everything the Blood stood for. But it would be because duty demanded it, as a Warlord Prince. He took no joy in killing, would never deliberately inflict pain upon the innocent. And he respected women, had a gallant courtliness learned when he was young and had never lost.
She was a Queen. The rules of Protocol were second nature for her. She had followed the Old Ways all her life. She knew how to handle a Warlord Prince, how to dance on the edge of that deadly passionate temper.
It was only a question of whether she was willing to do that dance with an extraordinarily powerful Blood male.
Everything has its price.
She went ahead with the wedding.
She had never regretted a single moment. It hadn't been easy, sometimes. But there were so many other moments that were unforgettable, bright warm candle-bursts of happiness and love. As she slid her feet into bright silk sandals, Sylvia grinned. She couldn't help it.
For years she had only worn clothes she considered practical. Saetan, however, preferred to dress more formally, especially for dinner.
They hadn't even picked the wedding date when the two of them started squaring off, tempers flaring, over her dislike of having to 'dress up' for the evening meal, something the High Lord had always insisted upon in his home.
Fortunately for the impending marriage, Prince Sadi came up with a solution. He had recently invested in a new business, a dressmaker whose talents he admired while in Glacia visiting friends. "Why don't we see what this new dressmaker can do? She's very talented, and may be able to design something that will please both of you."
It sounded so reasonable, she couldn't refuse. And after she spent an afternoon with Surreal, Jaenelle, and Marian in the woman's shop, she was glad she hadn't.
Eager to please her new patron, Varushke drew up sketches showing stylish separate pieces for the Queen to wear at home. They weren't quite pants, nor were they skirts, having just enough of both to please two stubborn people with diametrically opposed viewpoints.
"We wish to be comfortable, of course! To move about with ease," the dressmaker gestured expressively. "But it is important – essential, even! – for a Queen to look well, correct? Husbands care about such things, as we all know. Not the details, certainly, but every man appreciates a woman who looks beautiful, even if he does not know why she looks good. It's only important that she does. Is that not so, Ladies?"
Sylvia could hardly disagree with her, not with her three companions nodding wisely. Then Surreal smiled mischievously and pointed out, "After all, she's not just a District Queen any longer. She's going to be the new matriarch of the SaDiablo clan."
Even Jaenelle was taken aback, but after a moment she agreed. "Surreal's right, Sylvia. You aren't just marrying Daemon's and Lucivar's father. You're marrying the High Lord of Hell, who's also a Guardian. So both of you are going to be watched by everybody, perhaps for a good long while."
She hadn't thought of it in quite those terms...because she didn't want to. There was no escaping this, was there? Sylvia heaved a sigh. Damn damn damn.
Resigning herself to an uncomfortable position as the second highest-ranked Lady in Kaeleer, she gave in and purchased an entire new wardrobe.
Although she didn't have to pay for anything except new shoes, as it turned out. She kept expecting to receive a bill from the dressmaker, only to discover her new stepchildren had paid for the whole thing as her wedding present.
It was...breathtaking. Sylvia had never worried about money, the District tithes being more than sufficient to take care of her expenses, which were modest except for what she spent on her boys. So it wasn't as though she couldn't afford the new wardrobe. But her stepchildren only laughed at her protests. Jaenelle hugged her, pleading, "Let us do this for you, darling. We love you both, and it will please Daemon and Lucivar a great deal."
Her modest manor did need some remodeling to accommodate a Warlord Prince and Black Widow who had a surprisingly large number of people who regularly visited him. But Saetan tactfully insisted upon paying for that himself, as she could hardly argue the point that such a major expense wouldn't be necessary if it weren't for him moving in.
He also told her he was setting up an account for her, to ensure she had adequate funds to maintain herself, her boys, and the several new households she would be in charge of.
Saetan's idea of "adequate", however, turned out to be far beyond what she thought the word meant. Sylvia wasn't prepared for the enormous sums listed in the settlement papers.
She almost fainted when she saw the size of the principal Saetan had settled on her. And that money would belong to her alone, whether they remained together or not. Just a single quarterly income payment was twice her current annual income!
And despite what he said, the money was for her own personal expenses. She would have, said Marcus, the SaDiablo money manager, full control of the huge household budget used to maintain her home, the part of the Keep they would be living in half the year, and two smaller residences Saetan used as his own. One was in Scelt, not far from Jaenelle's home, and the other was in Dhemlan Terreille, near the Western sea.
The other SaDiablo residences scattered around the Living Realms were always available for any one of the Family to use, she was told, but the upkeep for those was the responsibility of Prince Sadi.
There were only – only! - six of these, since Surreal and Butler long ago purchased their own townhouse in Amdarh, and Lucivar preferred the estate he had purchased for Marian in Nyokae, within easy distance of the Fyreborn Islands.
So Lady Sylvia was now responsible managing for three and one-half households, Marcus explained. A total of seventy-three servants, instead of the dozen she had before. Although, he added as an afterthought, there was land attached to the other houses as well.
But not very much, he assured her. Just another two dozen families, farming on about fifteen hundred acres of land.
And Saetan had instructed him to start looking for another home – he hoped the High Lord had already mentioned it to her? Somewhere in Nharkhava, or perhaps Dharo...nothing lavish, certainly, no more than six or eight bedrooms with a sufficiently large property attached. Did the Lady have any preferences for one over the other? Or should his people be looking in a different area?
Or would she prefer something bigger, perhaps?
The High Lord had not mentioned it, but she should have expected him to do such a thing. It was one of the advantages of an extended lifespan – one accumulated an awful lot of wealth along the way. And Saetan had already had a very long lifespan. With a sigh of resignation, Sylvia told him, "Dharo would be fine. Nothing too large, however. Thank you, Marcus."
The new wardrobe began to arrive in colorfully wrapped boxes. Oddly, there seemed to be rather more of it than she remembered ordering. But everything fit so well, and looked attractive without being uncomfortable to wear. Her old clothes hadn't given her this sense of ease, of feeling feminine without fuss or frills.
Varushke was brilliant, Sylvia admitted. Far more talented than the previous dressmaker she had used in Tallagio. And the warm pride in Saetan's eyes when he looked at her, made her admit it was worthwhile.
Even if she did have to find closet space for all the shoes Surreal talked her into buying.
She still wore pants and boots during the daytime. Hell's fire, she was a Queen, and Queens had work to do. But now the pants were cut and fitted to her figure, which had always been a little too rounded than was fashionable in the cities. They were made of sturdy fabrics that wouldn't show dirt so easily, in colors and patterns more flattering to her Dhemlan coloring.
Just as Surreal had predicted, she found herself regarded as a fashion-setter. Women began imitating her short haircut and new clothes. When Sylvia grew her hair out again, others promptly followed suit.
She was horrified, but Saetan only laughed. Tugging on a dark curl, he said, "It's flattering they're trying to imitate your good taste, darling. But they'll never be as beautiful to me as you are."
Varushke became one of the most popular dressmakers in Kaeleer. Fashions for women began to shift to designs that were softer, less stiffly formal, even at Court. The skirt-pants were showing up everywhere as daytime wear.
Tonight she wore one of Varushke's newest designs, one which she knew Daemon had purchased as well, although in a different color to better suit Jaenelle's golden hair and sapphire-blue eyes. The outfit consisted of slim-cut black silk pants with a long, gown-length tunic worn over it. But the tunic was a slinky, whisper-soft silk in a subtle mix of orange and rust, slit all the way up to the hips on both sides. Styled with a high collarless neck and no sleeves, it was comfortable yet feminine.
The outfit beautifully showed off the ruby and beryl necklace Saetan had recently purchased for her from Banard, who considered the SaDiablos his most favored clients.
As a further concession, Sylvia wore dainty slippers with a small heel. With her hair upswept and held with jeweled pins, she looked every inch a Queen. She felt that way, too. Not just the strength of a Queen, but the beauty and charm of one.
When she looked across the room and saw those golden eyes smiling at her, she could swear she fell in love with him all over again, every time.
So all right, it was worth wearing the damned heels every evening.
