This wing was too quiet. Too still.

Oh, the maids still ensured that her suite remained dust-free, the grounds beyond the windows were tidy and well-kept, and the footmen were nothing short of courteous whenever she required anything. But the fragility in the air was fresh, and able to be shattered with a single word. So the servants saw that she was well-seen-to, and she made sure that she was barely seen at all.

Hekatah slowly paced the length of her generous receiving room, hips unconsciously swaying in the sashay that pulled and held the male eye. Her long, dark hair followed her suggestive curves, swishing gently with every stride. Though her brow was furrowed in thought, mouth made for pouting drawn in to match, it didn't detract from her beauty. Like many women in Terreille, her beauty was a weapon, and most didn't look past it long enough to see the intelligence swimming in her golden eyes. She could be glorious in her fury, though few enough had witnessed it, and fewer still had appreciated it. Even the males who quivered beneath her in bed, restrained and painfully aroused as the beautiful, deadly, Red-Jeweled Priestess rode him to her own completion, saw only a hint of who she truly was.

Temper flashed through her eyes again. All THEY saw was an attractive woman with voracious appetites, appetites that had been encouraged by her mother and then refined by her Sisters. The Red gave her another edge over the males she brought to her little home-away-from-home in Hayll, but that release still wasn't what she wanted, what she needed, what she craved. Oh, it was true that she'd never felt anything as delightfully exquisite as having Saetan for a lover, but, ultimately… it was never enough. Could never BE enough. Not for a woman who'd cut her sexual baby teeth on the thrill of overpowering a man, of watching him grow aroused despite his distress, mounting him while he stared at her with that exciting combination of fear and lust in his eyes. She'd had to keep a vicious chokehold on that particular facet of her personality while she'd wooed the most dangerous male in the history of the Blood.

Neither of them were who they had thought the other to be, and her carefully constructed façade was crumbling under the pretense. It had been for some time, if she wanted to be honest with herself. Hekatah choked back a snarl as she reached one end of the room and spun on her heel. She had never been one to turn from harsh truths if it cleared the way for her plans, and the harsh truth was, despite the care she'd taken, she knew next to nothing about Prince Saetan Daemon SaDiablo. The man who should have thrown his strength behind her had instead stagnated her influence, tried to curb her ambition. She should have been able to share her darker desires with her husband, but his bedroom skills had been honed in courts, with Witch, and his precious honor prevented that sort of play.

She spun again, frustrated. The man never reacted as planned. Every time she thought she had him, another quirk, another obscure piece of Protocol, another layer of honor, another frightening use of Craft would surface. She had been manipulating men all her life, and yet she could NOT get under his skin. She'd learned early that simpering and playing the petty bitch only annoyed him, and his intelligence surpassed hers in enough ways to turn her schemes to dust. Worse, he was starting to realize that her love for him began and ended with the Jewels he wore, but, until recently, she'd at least had the leverage of their children. Saetan might have cautiously opened his heart to her, but his sons he loved with a reckless abandon. Since her return – she fought off a chill that owed nothing to the cool evening breeze – she'd seen them only a handful of times. Despite the protective, possessive instincts of an adult Warlord Prince, Hekatah knew he wouldn't deny her access to the boys if THEY wanted to see her – which is probably the only reason the chaperoned visits happened at all.

Her brow furrowed again as she neared the open window, coming to a stop with one arm braced against the sill. What HAD she been thinking, trying to use his newborn son against him? Another hard truth pushed at her as she watched the gathering darkness. It had a kind of beauty to it, the deepening shadows seeming to blossom out into the land around them, softening the stark edges of the Hall. Hekatah closed the window and tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The other hard truth was that she HADN'T been thinking. She'd made the decision only a few hours out of a birthing bed, system churned with pain and Healer's brews, anxious, impatient and annoyed. Not her finest moment, and her most costly. The chill finally became a shudder that wracked her body. She hadn't thought – NO ONE had thought – Saetan capable of such a feat. And in the months that had passed, the terrifying edge in the Hall was only getting worse. Even the servants, those he usually shielded from such temper, moved as if very aware they were caught in the eye of the storm. She was finally beginning to understand how a living man could be called the High Lord.

Something had to be done. She wasn't constrained to her wing, not by any means, but neither did she feel safe – or brave – enough to venture forth from it unescorted. Not that an escort could, or would, stop an enraged Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince, but having even one other male present somehow eased the fear. Saetan's eyes still glazed whenever he saw her, his voice dropping to a singsong croon. That tone used to send anticipatory shivers down her spine while she contemplated directing that glorious dark power, but the shivers were very different when his pain – and therefore, his rage – was centralized on HER. Saetan didn't make idle threats. He didn't have to. And that was why she had fled back to Hayll, back to her parents, to finish her recovery.

Hekatah shook her head and resumed pacing. This needed to be done very, very carefully. She'd made entirely too many mistakes concerning her husband, and Saetan had already demonstrated the absolute power of his Jewels. She'd meant to break his heart, and had broken the man instead. And yet, she still lived. He hadn't killed her. He hadn't even divorced her, despite his cold, distant treatment. Which meant that she still had a chance. One last chance, because the shiver that ran through her whispering Zuulaman also knew that the High Lord would not be so forgiving next time.

"I'm going to Hayll." Hekatah kept her back straight, chin lifted in subtle challenge. The slight tremor in her hands was all that betrayed her nerves; the storm of roiling fury that saturated the study had obviously been felt all the way in Askavi, for Andulvar had been compelled to his friend's side. Because the room was used so often, it was impossible for her to tell how much of the emotion was fresh, but the pungency of it made her glad she'd stayed close to the door.

Saetan didn't even spare her a glance as he dipped a pen in ink. Andulvar, however, gave her a narrow-eyed look. "Very well." With those words, it was clear she was dismissed.

"Would you like a message when I've arrived?" she pressed.

"If you like." His hard, condemning voice never changed. Beside him, Andulvar rustled his wings, obviously uncomfortable.

"Saetan—" She tried to step closer, and realized she couldn't. He'd put a shield around the blackwood desk, and the men behind it. Hekatah made a frustrated sound, cut off when Saetan finally raised his head. Hard yellow stones glared out of his handsome face, a face that seemed as carved from the living mountain as his home. She swallowed thickly as he slowly put the pen down and gave her his full attention. "I—" Hekatah swallowed again and called in two envelopes. "I may be gone for some time. Will you give these to the boys?"

"No."

Her surprise was not feigned. "No? Why?"

"Because that is my answer."

"Saetan—"

"No."

"SaDiablo—"

"No."

That last, implacable answer was delivered to Andulvar as he rose. The Eyrien Warlord Prince tensed under the weight of that stare, but he still murmured, "You're being unreasonable."

Saetan smiled – and the other two occupants of the room shivered. "Am I?" he crooned, rising to stand with his friend.

Hekatah watched Andulvar's face drain of color as Saetan turned to face him, and felt her heart skip a beat. She had never seen the Eyrien afraid of anything, and especially not the man he'd called friend and rival for so long. But he was afraid now. However, true to his nature, Andulvar gently placed his hands on his Brother's shoulders. "Yes, Saetan. You are."

Slowly, the cold seeped from the room, the tension from the High Lord's solid frame. Hekatah, frozen by fear, didn't notice that the shield had dropped until Andulvar circled to the front of the desk and plucked the letters from her hands. Her fingers convulsed as they warmed, and she staggered back a step. Andulvar caught her arm until she steadied, studying her. Saetan hadn't moved.

"I'll make sure Mephis and Peyton get these," he said quietly, vanishing the papers. The question hung in the air between them, but all she could manage was a weak expression of gratitude before excusing herself.

As she made herself comfortable in the Coach, Hekatah replayed the scene between the two men, trying to scrub the worst of the fear from the memory. There was something there, something elusive. Something that could chain Saetan's precious honor, leaving her free to pursue her ambitions.

Perhaps there was someone who could stand in his way after all.

She turned that thought over and over during the trip. She would have to ask her Sisters when she saw them. That was why she was bringing them together, wasn't it?