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CAERWYN was hunting the wrong prey.

Every second he spent in Galwei allowed the men responsible for the murder of his parents to slip further from his grasp.

Those same parents, however, raised him to be a man of honor and integrity. Knowing the cruel injustice occurring under the thumb of Magistrate Beste, Caerwyn was compelled to act to protect the innocent. No matter the cost to his own quest for justice.

Ignoring the impatient awareness of time ticking away, Caerwyn clenched his hands into tight fists and waited. Beneath the shadows of the trees, he remained silent and still, watching as Magistrate Beste strutted up the path.

The man’s black linen suit was both too fashionable and too expensive for the simple village behind him. And his greying hair, curled and coiffed into a ridiculous architecture, that did nothing to hide his balding pate. The aging popinjay looked completely out of place for the rural farming community.

Beste strode with purpose, negotiating the muddy road with deliberate swagger. His posture was straight and proud, as if he had all the right in the world to perform the nefarious task awaiting him in the woods.

The Magistrate paused before stepping off the rutted track and, for a moment, Caerwyn thought he’d been seen. But Beste only glanced over his shoulder to check the road and village behind him. Satisfied no one followed, he lit the small thief’s lantern he carried.

The sliding panel would give Beste enough light to negotiate the treacherous trails without alerting anyone to his nighttime adventures.

His victims, already huddled and waiting in the picnic clearing deep within the woods, had had no such luxury. They’d been instructed to bring no lamp, to take no risk of being seen by the villagers. They’d had to traverse the winding, root-filled path in the gloom of the moonless night.

Enough was enough. Disgust gripped Caerwyn in a vice, and he stepped from the shadows to stand in front of Beste. The Magistrate juggled the lantern and took three quick steps back at the sudden apparition before him.

Like Beste, Caer wore clothes that were all black and expensive. That, however, was where the similarities ended. His breeches and vest were made for a specific purpose. The supple, soft leather moved easily, like a second skin. Tight enough not to be snagged and tough enough to offer some protection. The crisscrossed straps along the back of his vest left his arms and back vulnerable, but it would be a necessity for the task at hand.

Beste’s open mouth pressed into a firm line, surprise flickering into annoyance on his sharp-edged features. He drew himself up and, though he stood a foot shorter than Caerwyn, managed to stare down his nose at the man blocking his path.

“Who are you? What is your business here?” he demanded. “Strangers lurking in the trees can only be up to no good. I should call the village watch.”

“Perhaps you should.” Caerwyn remained unmoving and forced the words to roll out cool and even. “But, then, they might discover the dirty secret you have waiting for you in the woods.”

Caerwyn had to give the man credit. His eyes widened only slightly and his skin paled only a little before he regained his composure.

Clinging to his arrogance and self-importance, Beste prickled under Caerwyn’s steady gaze, his pointed chin rising even higher in disdain.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. The town watchman isn’t going to listen to a stranger’s fairy stories against the Magistrate of the entire district.”

“No?” Caerwyn smirked, allowing some of his pent up fury to flicker in his eyes. A glimmer of his tightly leashed power slipped out and the shadows gathered around them. The skin of his arms and hands began to glow with the soft golden hue that hummed along his flesh.

He leaned forward, like sharing a secret with a friend, and whispered in the Magistrate’s ear.

“They might not believe a stranger. But the word of Caerwyn, Lord of Alwyn, Lord of Vengeance, will carry a little more weight, don’t you think?”

His lips curled back in a feral parody of a smile when the air around Beste trembled with his fear.

“You can’t… It’s not possible. No one knows how to summon the Milesans or their Attributes anymore.”

“Oh, but a few still do remember the old ways, and we are still honorbound to answer the call.” He shook his head in mock sadness, clicking his tongue. “Unfortunate for you. Your latest victims listened when their Gran passed on stories.”

He allowed another surge of power to flicker out. Energy charged the air, his dark hair whipping with it.

The Magistrate broke then.

“No.” Beste’s lip quivered, and he looked wildly around him. “No, no, no, no. I’m sorry. Please. Mercy. I beg you.”

Beste’s chin touched his chest, his eyes locked on Caerwyn’s feet, hands coming together in supplication, thumbs braced against his forehead.

“Did you have mercy for your victims? Or did you ignore their protests and pleas? Take advantage where you could with your power and their weakness? Choose your own gain and your own twisted pleasure?”

Beste broke.

With a sob and more speed than Caerwyn would have credited, he darted to the side and made haste for the cover of the trees.

In his panic, he crashed through the underbrush, eschewing the trail. In seconds, the dense foliage and shadows of the forest swallowed him except for a peek-a-boo flash of the lantern. The occasional glimpse of light, and his thrashing, like a thousand bears stampeding through the woods, made tracking simple.

Caer whistled two short, sharp sounds and three pure white Hounds moved out of the shadows. The dogs, each waist high and solid muscle, milled around his legs, growling and straining toward the fading sound of flight.

Caer pointed toward the trees and smiled at the eager animals. “Go. Chase. Hunt.”

As one, the Hounds leapt after their prey, three white blurs disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared.

Following behind the coursing Hounds, Caerwyn took in the obvious signs of flight. Even on the moonless night, the trampled undergrowth, the broken branches and the smell of sweat and fear made the Magistrate’s passage clear to his eyes.

With senses more acute than any human, Caerwyn could have tracked Beste without any help from his Hounds. But they needed the exercise.

He heard Beste’s labored breathing when the Hounds closed in. Knew from the scent and the sounds that the older man was pushing himself hard. Probably harder than he ever had in his life.

Pathetic.

It took Caer less than a minute to catch up with the chase. The Hounds were holding back, only nipping at the bastard’s heels. With bone shivering growls and snaps of their powerful jaws, they herded the Magistrate exactly where they wanted him to go. Pushing him in a wide arc through the forest and exhausting him before he got to the final destination they’d intended all along.

The three white Hounds weren’t laboring at all, and neither was Caerwyn.

Jeremiah Beste was proving to be a disappointing hunt.

By the time the Hounds steered him into the wide clearing, the Magistrate stumbled and tripped with every weary step. The Hounds surged forward, pushing him further and cutting off escape.

With his head foolishly turned to watch his approaching doom, Beste never saw the log that caught at his feet. His own momentum worked with gravity to pull him to the ground in a wornout heap. The Hounds circled, hemming him in at the center of the clearing.

Beste still clutched the lantern though the headlong flight had long since extinguished the tiny flame. He blinked at it for a second as if it had betrayed him, then the sound of Caerwyn’s approach kicked in his coward’s instincts once again.

The three Hounds stalked and snapped in an ever moving, vicious circle around the cringing Magistrate. Dropping the useless lantern, he collapsed in on himself, curling up and covering his face with his arms like some foppish hedgehog.

“Please don’t let them eat me.”

Maddyn, the largest of the three Hounds, made a snorting sound, and Caer had to cover up his own laugh at the notion.

“Please,” Beste continued to plead and babble at his feet. “Please, I beg you, let me go. I have jewels. Gold. Land. Anything you want. It’s yours.”

“You have gold, treasure and land because you despoiled your position and made a mockery of justice in the entire district. You let the guilty go free if they met your price. You blackmailed the innocent with threats of imprisonment for your own gain and twisted pleasures.”

“Lies,” he shouted, desperation giving him daring when he met Caerwyn’s gaze with practiced sincerity. “All lies. I swear. My enemies have spread rumors to discredit me. They wish to evade justice by shaming me. You must not believe them, my lord.”

Beste schooled his features into sober innocence. Maddyn snarled and pushed in closer, no doubt reacting to the stench of the man’s deceit. The Magistrate squeaked and attempted to inch away, only to find another of the Hounds breathing down his neck.

“Easy, Madd. Phelan, Ranulf, calm.” Caerwyn murmured soothingly to the Hounds. Then his eyes caught Beste’s again with a razor intensity and dark amusement.

“There’s a simple way to sort this all out.”

Caer tilted his head up in a quick, silent command. The Hounds backed off a few feet and dropped to their haunches. They remained ringed around Beste, giving him no avenue of escape. The sudden silence of the clearing left an ominous resonance.

The Magistrate struggled up to his knees, finery rumpled, ripped and covered in mud. His hair drooped, heavy with twigs and dirt and sweat.

Beste opened his mouth, no doubt to continue pleading his case but Caerwyn held up one hand to command silence. His eyes shifted to the murk of clearing beyond the kneeling man.

“It’s time to finish what you started, ladies.”

Beste’s face slid into a comical mask of surprised dread when a flame flared, lighting another lantern and revealing three young women waiting in the pitch black night. The sisters looked nearly identical with their pale blond hair and pale blue eyes, only three years separating the youngest from the eldest, who’d just turned seventeen.

With hesitating steps, they moved closer. At Caer’s encouraging smile, the oldest, Brunhil, began to chant. Quickly, the other two chimed in, giving power and momentum to the words Caer, himself, had taught them earlier in the evening.

They had known only the chant to call him. When he heard their story, he broke convention. After making them swear never to reveal the secrets, he gave them the words they needed to summon his Attribute to their aid.

The recitation of words so ancient even Milesan scholars barely knew their meaning rolled through the silence of the heavy night air. The words circled around and began again, growing in volume as the girls grew in confidence and Caerwyn felt the power begin to weave around him. Shivers of energy zipped across his back, leaving a spiking itch in its wake.

He tilted his head back, staring sightlessly at the star-filled sky. The power of his Attribute flowed through him while the chant raced toward the pinnacle of its third refrain.

The prickling down his spine transformed into a cold sting, right before the familiar pain burst through his skin, along with the first traces of his wings.

He gritted his teeth against the burning ache and the vertigo that always accompanied his transformation. Six feet of feathers and bone and sinew unfurled behind him, making him fight to keep his balance. Forcing his eyes to remain open to combat the unrelenting dizziness, he occasionally caught the flutter of black feathers in his peripheral vision.

His wings opened wide in the night air and cold washed over him.  Caerwyn was maneuvered to the side and the full force of his Attribute took over. The sense of displacement no longer took him by surprise but, coupled with the vertigo, it left him uncomfortable in his own skin.

He felt his mouth open, heard words come out in a deep, uninflected voice, so different from his own, when the Attribute of Vengeance addressed the girls. And yet, the ritual words were comfortingly familiar.

“What do you seek?”

The girls, already so small, huddled close and stared with trembling awe. He feared they wouldn’t be able to answer in their fear. But the oldest found some inner resolve.

With the tiniest step forward, and away from the safety of her clinging sisters, she lifted her chin and spoke the proper words in a voice that only trembled a little. “We seek vengeance.”

If he had any control at the moment, Caer would have graced her with an encouraging smile for her courage. Vengeance was fully in charge, however, and there was no room for Caerwyn’s softer emotions as long as there was a job to be done.

Instead, his voice rose, demanding the rest of the ritual words.

“For what do you seek vengeance?”

The echoes vibrated from the trees and the girl started to shake again. Reaching behind her, she clasped the hand of her nearest sister with a white knuckled grip. But her eyes remained glued to his while she listed the litany of crimes against her family.

“We seek vengeance for the unjust imprisoning of our father. For the abuse our brother received at the hands of his guards. For the virginity he has stolen from me in order to keep my brother from prison. For what he expected to steal from my sisters this night to keep our father from the gallows.”

Her voice broke on a sob, her face no longer pale, but red with anger and shame. Her sisters crowded closer, their need to comfort stronger than the fear of the Lord of Vengeance.

Once again, Brunhil raised her chin, cheeks shining from the tears. Her voice no longer shook, but came out strong, steady and clear. “We seek vengeance for the pain and suffering and irretrievable loss caused by this man’s abuse of his power as Magistrate.”

The last of her resolve ran out with her words and she slumped back against her sisters. They gathered close, holding each other tight and whispering words of hope and reassurance.

There was no such softness within Caerwyn, at the moment. He and his Attribute were in full agreement and his head turned to glare at Beste. The Magistrate’s entire body quivered, his eyes darting from Hound to Caerwyn to Hound seeking an escape that didn’t exist.

“Not me,” he cried, shaking his head with violent abandon. “Not me. They’re lying. The father is guilty. Their brother is an accessory. I swear. I am on the side justice…”

Caerwyn’s lips peeled back, a savage baring of teeth while the predator took stock of his cornered prey.

Behind him, his wings stretched to their full expanse, sending macabre shadows dancing in the lantern’s slim light. Icy power pooled in his veins and he stared with unblinking judgment at Beste.

“Stand.” Cold authority filled the command. “Stand and be Judged.”

The shadows swirled closer, enveloping them in a black fog of his Attribute’s power not even the lantern’s light could penetrate. Beste continued to babble as he jerked to his feet, his body obeying even though his brain fought against it.

Caerwyn ignored the stream of words coming from the terrified man and watched while the golden light of his Attribute revealed the darkness. Beste’s soul opened up to him like a dark map. Every landmark and line read guilty.

“You have been Judged, Jeremiah Beste. Your soul is riddled with the guilt of a multitude of crimes. But I am here to avenge only one.”

Beste had fallen silent, finally, when the Attribute’s words flowed out of Caerwyn’s mouth. Now, he sagged a little in relief. Then the shadows descended on him, blocking the Magistrate from sight in a thick cloak of night. The dark silence was ominous as all eyes in the clearing tried to watch the unwatchable.

When the darkness dissipated, Beste was once again on his knees. The tears flowed unchecked down his face and sobs of anguish tore from his throat. His eyes stretched wide, unblinking and devoid of anything but pain and terror. Whatever he was seeing, it was no longer the clearing or the people gathered there.

Inch by inch, the deep emotionless freeze within Caerwyn receded. His wings folded back, feathers always surprisingly soft against his skin, sank in and faded from sight.

He took a minute to get his bearings and his balance, adjusting once more to the world around him as Caerwyn, Lord of Alwyn while Caerwyn, Lord of Vengeance waned.

Finally, the girls found the courage to move closer. When Beste showed no notice of their movement, Brunhil waved her hand in front of his face. Still no reaction from the man. The sobs had quieted to hoarse whimpers and the tears had slowed but had not stopped.

“What did you do to him?”

“He is reliving the pain and fear and despair of every victim he ever mistreated while Magistrate.”

“Oh. I thought you said he would only be punished for one crime?”

“He is. His crime was the misuse of his position. In his life, he has committed a great many crimes that had nothing to do with being Magistrate.”

“How long will he remain like that?”

Caerwyn shrugged.

“A few months. A few years. It will depend on how many victims and how much he hurt each one.” He shrugged again. “From the glimpse of his soul, I would guess, years.”

The girl dropped her chin, glancing back at her sisters. “And our father? What will happen to him now that the Magistrate is…incapable?”

Before the Milesan answered, a voice spoke from behind him.

“I’ll take care of that. He’ll be released tonight and a real investigation into the thefts will be made.”

Caerwyn spun toward the sound, shifting to put his body between the sisters and the intruder.

The Hounds growled, straining between their duty to guard the prisoner and their duty to protect Caerwyn. He waved them off, keeping his focus on the three strangers standing in the clearing.

The two larger men, dressed in leather fighting gear and taking defensive, alert positions behind the third, were obviously bodyguards of some sort. The smaller man stood relaxed and amused, his garments even finer than Beste’s. This man, though, exuded power that the clothes merely enhanced, whereas the Magistrate had used the frippery to try to impress and push his self-importance at others.

“Who are you?”

“Daen. Prince of Galwei.” That explained the guards, anyway. But not what he was doing here. Now. They weren’t far from the capital, but this village was hardly the kind of place for a late night stroll.

“What brings you to these woods, at this time of night?” Crossing his arms, Caer forced his shoulders to relax.

The casual smirk slipped and the prince’s eyes hardened. For a moment, Caer wasn’t sure the man would answer.

Then Daen pushed out an angry breath, and, like Caer, forced the most obvious tension out of his muscles to feign a relaxed attitude.

“The local Baron is… He has difficulty with confrontation.”

Caerwyn nodded in acknowledgment. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out the local nobility, who should have been a failsafe against Beste’s corruption, was little more than a coward. He spent his entire life with his head in the sands so he didn’t have to do anything about men like the Magistrate.

“He, apparently, has been turning a deaf ear to the rumors for years, but even he couldn’t ignore the gossip about what Beste was doing with–” Daen faltered and glanced at the three girls, still huddled together in wide-eyed confusion and awe at the appearance of their prince.

Daen sighed. “He didn’t feel competent in dealing with it, however, and called to the capital for help.”

“And the prince himself answers the call?”

The knowing smile returned, but Caerwyn smelled the tension ramp up in the clearing. The Hounds responded as well, shifting uneasily behind him.

“I felt the need to stretch my legs. And, as Magistrate, Beste dispenses justice in my name. I take that kind of thing personally.”

The scent of deception was wrapped in truth, but Caer shrugged it off. Whatever Daen’s agenda was, his part in the local drama was done.

“Of course.” Caer jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You want us to take care of him, or do you have plans for him?”

“Well, I had planned to force him to stand for justice in my court, but it seems unnecessary considering his current condition.” Daen nodded to one of the guards. “Take him back to the village gaol and release the girls’ father. We’ll send Beste to the capitol and find someplace for him to live out his punishments.”

The two bodyguards moved forward, taking control of the prisoner, casting nervous glances at Hounds. Madd and his brothers remained still and silent, hot eyes tracking every move with watchful diligence.

“Would you care to join me in accepting the Baronet’s hospitality?”

Caerwyn narrowed his eyes and assessed the prince. The offer appeared spontaneous and casual, but there was something tight in his voice. Curious, he shrugged with a nonchalant ripple of shoulders.

“I don’t have anything planned for tonight.” He glanced toward the three young women.

“Maddyn, would you and your brothers escort the girls back home to wait for their father to return.”

All three immediately got to their feet, making the clearing seem smaller by their sheer bulk. Brunhil cast a hesitant glance at the dogs, then exchanged a nervous look with her younger sisters.

Caer smiled and tilted his head in Maddyn’s direction. “I think those forms have served their purpose for the evening.”

Madd’s huge head swung around to glare at him. Then the air around the three white Hounds shimmered. A moment later, three nearly identical men in white fighting leathers stood in place of the Hounds. Tall and strong, the three blond men were as massive and vicious looking in human form as they were in canine shape. Then Maddyn stepped forward, a concerned smile softening his features when he offered an elaborate bow that made the youngest girl giggle.

The guards moved off first with Beste in tow, followed by the Hounds, escorting Brunhil and her sisters, leaving Caerwyn alone with Daen.

“I didn’t know the Milesans still responded to human requests for help.”

The comment was casual, an offhand way to break the silence. Once again, though, Caer heard that tightness in Daen’s voice.

His lips twitched and he answered with equal casualness. “Oh, we respond to those who remember the old ways and the proper words.”

“Ah. Not many remember the ways or the words anymore. Most believe it is all so much superstition.”

“Do you?”

“I did. I believed those old stories to be just that, stories. That is, until I saw it with my own eyes tonight.”

He paused. Comfortable in the cover of darkness, Daen did not attempt to mask his expression. Caer, however, clearly saw the considering look cast his way before the prince spoke again.

“I believe meeting you tonight is a sign. I hope you might see my current plight as a worthy cause.”

The words were carefully chosen, spoken with slow deliberateness. Before Caer could decide how to interpret that, Daen was talking again.

“I believe I have been cursed by a sorceress in league with my enemy.”

The word sorceress left him cold and Caerwyn clamped down on the dark, ugly memories it conjured in him.

“What sort of curse?”

“At first, I believed myself in love with her. Now, I believe this obsession may not be natural. As much as I want to be free of it, I cannot stop thinking of her. Cannot stop yearning to make her my wife.”

“And who is your enemy?”

“The Warlord Tresk. Ruler of Marnak.”

Caerwyn’s stride faltered, and he was grateful for the cover of night to disguise his reaction. He recovered quickly and two steps caught him up to Daen. He kept his voice calm and demeanor aloof while he probed for more information.

  *****

 With a burst of speed, Liadan d’Hara ran for the forest. The dense trees and thick foliage beckoned to her. Her breath came in shallow pants as she pushed herself. She ran as if the world was chasing her though she was alone in the moonless night. The further and faster she ran, the more relaxed and joyful she became, releasing the stress of one too many problems the day had brought her.

Night air whispered around Liadan, cool and liberating where it moved along her skin. Her bare feet skimmed over the dew-soaked grass while she raced across the lawn.

The third-hand trousers she wore, once so familiar, now felt strange and unnatural after nothing but months of stiff dresses. But with every step, sense memory was coming back. Too soon she touched the big, ancient oak that marked the boundary between the manor grounds and the forest surrounding it.

Rough bark skinned her palms when Lia leaned against it to catch her breath and stare longingly into the dark mystery of the wild wood beyond. Remembering when this was her domain. When exploring its natural secrets was her only job. When sketching its enigmatic beauty her only responsibility.

Lia tore her eyes away and reluctantly looked over her shoulder at the sprawling manor house. A few pale candles glowed here and there among the multitude of shadowed windows. It sat like a beckoning oasis in a sea of darkness, silent and still.

In the bright light of day, though, it was a hub of activity. Surrounded by lawns and fields and orchards and pastures in the distance, it employed a good portion of Hara Dale.

That was her responsibility now. Taking care of the people who inhabited the manor as well as those in every home in the valley. That was her job. Whether she’d been ready, or even willing to have it thrust upon her, she was doing her best by them.

With a long sigh, Lia turned away from the woods that represented freedom incarnate to her. A freedom she’d given up six months ago.

The steps back toward the house were slow, her feet heavy and dragging. The lightness of her joyful run disappeared and each inch closer to her home dragged her down more. As if the stones of the manor anchored themselves to her shoulders, one by one, with every step.

Lia ignored the imposing, and loud, front door, wanting to drag out the little time she had to herself. Instead, she meandered around the back side and quietly entered through the kitchen.

Lia moved as softly as she could up the stairs. Almost forgotten muscle memory allowed her to walk through the dark halls without tripping or stepping on the squeaky floorboards that would wake Nel.

The exhaustion of the day pulled at her, but Liadan bypassed her own door to slip into the nursery where her niece slept.

A single lamp glowed from the dresser, casting warm light over the golden curls and tiny body of Tanis. Barely three and already the hope of the valley’s future.

Lia dropped to sit on the floor beside the bed and adjusted the blanket, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. The stones of duty weighing her down eased a little.

This was her true responsibility. This was the true charge thrust into her unready hands with her sister’s unexpected death six months earlier.

Lia would keep the legacy and secrets of their little valley safe for Tanis. She would help it grow and prosper so her niece would one day inherit a thriving heritage. Would find a way through the tangled and dangerous political situation her sister had created before her death.

She had to.

The alternative was unthinkable.

A few minutes later, the yawns could no longer be suppressed and her eyes grew heavy. Dragging herself to her feet, Lia let herself out and shut the door with soundless care. Turning towards her room, she stopped abruptly when a figure moved in the shadows.

“Who’s there?”

Even while she demanded an answer, the shadow stepped close enough for her to recognize the lanky form of Gui Enreiv, her sister’s widowed husband. What Marta had ever seen in the conceited airs and foppish fashion, Lia still could not understand.

“What are you doing here, Gui?”

“Checking on my daughter, of course. I saw you go in, however, and didn’t want to disturb you.”

Lia bit her cheek to keep her impulsive tongue from asking since when Gui concerned himself with his daughter when he didn’t have an audience. The last time he’d spent more than a few moments with Tanis had been during the full moon festival, when the entire valley had been present for the celebrations.

Even then, he had handed off the girl as soon as the wine and spirits began to flow.

He took another step closer and looked her over in the pale light of the dim wall sconce. A deep line appeared on his forehead and a frown darkened his charming mask.

“Please tell me you weren’t outside at this time of night? Like that?”

Lia remained silent. Despite what he seemed to think, she was still in charge of the valley and he had no authority over her.

He shook his head, ruffling his artfully arranged black hair. “Really, Liadan. Some of the elder families are already concerned about your inexperience, your lack of preparation and your, well, misspent youth.”

He took another step forward and invaded her space. She straightened her spine, refusing to back down, refusing to give an inch, knowing he would take it as a victory.

Lia gritted her teeth when Gui ran a cold, too smooth finger down her cheek in an insincere gesture of affection.

“I’ve been thinking. Perhaps it would be better for you, and the valley, if we appeared to be more…in accord.” Gui’s voice dropped on the last word, hinting at something that made Lia want to shudder in disgust.

For several seconds, she was speechless at his gall.

His wife had barely been dead half a year. And Gui had never hidden his view that he considered Lia wholly inappropriate and unladylike.

Not to mention, he was the one who’d talked her sister into the marriage contract that had the future of their valley teetering on the edge of disaster.

The political mess she was losing sleep over had been entirely Gui’s idea. He had to know what any hint of an inappropriate relationship between her and any man would mean to Daen. In turn, what consequences it would have for her and the entire valley.

Acidic words tried to fight their way past her lips but she swallowed the bitterness. He was Tanis’s father, and Tanis would one day take her proper place as leader of the valley. Antagonizing Gui would only make the situation messier.

Lia pasted on a smile and sidestepped, slipping easily around him. “Perhaps. We should talk about it in the morning. I’m sorry, I’m terribly tired.”

“Of course. I look forward to sharing breakfast. Sweet dreams.”

He turned and headed toward the east wing and his suite of rooms. It didn’t escape her notice that, not only had he failed to check in on his daughter, he hadn’t even glanced at her door when he’d walked by it.

Lia leaned against it now and whispered to the sleeping child.

“I will fix this, Tanis. You will have a valley to lead one day. One free of the political ax hanging over our head at the moment.”