She called in her sparring stick. It wasn’t as thick or as long as the sticks used by the adult males, which meant the wood might snap in a real fight against one of them, but it fit her hands.

She went through the slow, precise movements, warming up muscles in her arms, shoulders, back, and legs. Her body had been going through changes for years, but lately she felt like a stranger in her own skin, and she didn’t know—

A finger ran down her back between her wings, right where Prince Falonar had . . .

She spun around and struck out, her stick hitting another already in position to counter her attack.

Mother Night! Had she been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard him approach?

Lucivar Yaslana gave her a long look before taking a step back. “Let’s talk.”

She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be told she was being selfish and unreasonable because she wasn’t comfortable with Rothvar staying overnight. She didn’t want to be told she was spoiling Nurian’s first relationship in decades because of the memory of a man who had been gone for just as many decades. She knew that already, but she couldn’t explain why it wasn’t easy to accept Lord Rothvar into their lives.

Daemonar and Titian, Yaslana’s two elder children, rushed out of the eyrie, their own sparring sticks in hand, and headed toward them.

“You two stay near the house and go through the sparring warm-up.” Yaslana’s mild tone didn’t make the words any less a command.

“But, Papa . . . ,” Daemonar began. The expression on his father’s face silenced him. “Yes, sir.” He looked at Jillian with concern and asked on a psychic communication thread, ٭Are you in trouble?٭

٭No.٭ At least, she didn’t think so.

“Let’s talk,” Yaslana said again, tipping his head to indicate the far end of the yard, where a mountain stream filled a small pool before spilling over and continuing its journey to the valley below.

She led the way with him a step behind her. She stiffened and jerked to a stop when his hand closed over her tail of hair, turning it into a tether.

He leaned over her shoulder. She tightened her wings.

“Listen to me, witchling,” he said softly. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If Rothvar ever raises a hand to you in anger, if he ever does anything that isn’t appropriate, I will skin him alive.”

His words thrilled her—and scared her. Lucivar Yaslana didn’t say anything he didn’t mean.

“But he’s your second-in-command,” she protested. Rothvar, wearing the Green Jewel, was the most powerful Eyrien Warlord and the second most powerful Eyrien male living in Ebon Rih.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Jillian’s heart pounded. Prince Falonar had been Yaslana’s second-in-command before he tried to take control of the valley and become the ruling Warlord Prince. When his followers were defeated, he was sent away to a Rihlander Queen’s court and disappeared shortly after that.

“I’m thinking that Rothvar spending time with your sister, spending time in your home, has stirred up memories that are causing you some trouble,” Yaslana said.

“Lord Rothvar hasn’t done anything wrong,” she whispered. “He’s not Prince Falonar.”

“Your head knows the difference, but your skin and your back remember the strapping Falonar gave you, and your heart remembers the pain. It’s going to take time for you to trust Rothvar because things turned sour for you after Falonar became Nurian’s lover and thought he had the right to control you. There’s nothing wrong with you feeling cautious. I just want you to know that if Rothvar hurts you in any way, he’ll deal with me.” Yaslana released her hair and stepped back. “Of course, if you think that gives you leave to act like a bitchy brat in order to make him miserable, you should also know I won’t hesitate to put you over my knee and whack some sense into your ass.”

He meant it. All of it.

“I don’t think that’s where sense is stored,” she said, trying for a lighter tone.

“You’d be surprised how much sense can be acquired when it hurts to sit down,” he replied dryly. Then he gave her a lazy, arrogant smile that had her nerves humming. “Let’s review the rules.”

She would have rolled her eyes if it had been anyone else saying that, but he was the Warlord Prince of Ebon Rih and he wore Ebon-gray Jewels, which made him the most powerful male in the Territory of Askavi—and the second most powerful male in the entire Realm of Kaeleer. No one rolled their eyes at him.

“I know the rules,” she said.

“Then you won’t have any trouble repeating them.” His smile had an edge now, warning her that he would ignore all his duties and they would stand out there all day if that was what it took for her to answer him.

She sighed. “Look equals tell. Touch equals tell. Permission before action.” That last rule made her very uneasy, because she’d broken it—but just a little. And not intentionally. Not really.

If she said anything now, after the fact, Tamnar would get into trouble, and he didn’t deserve Yaslana’s anger. Not for something that had barely broken the rule.

She eyed him and wondered if he already knew about the barely broken rule.

“Something else you want to tell me?” Yaslana asked.

“No, sir,” she said quickly. Too quickly?

He studied her until she wanted to squirm, then said, “If someone tries to hurt you, what are you going to do?”

He’d asked that same question decades ago when he found out Falonar had strapped her, so she gave him the same answer. “Kick him in the balls.”

Yaslana huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “Before that.”

She pretended to ponder the question. “Put a defensive shield around myself and holler for you?”

“That is correct. And then, witchling, you fight with everything in you until I can get to you. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Yaslana looked toward the eyrie. “Did you get any breakfast?”

“No, sir.”

“Then go eat.” He lifted his chin to indicate Daemonar and Titian, who were heading into the eyrie. “You can do some sparring after school.”

Jillian turned toward the eyrie, then hesitated. “I brought another bottle of tonic for Lady Marian.”

“It’s appreciated.”

She took a step away from him and felt something wash over her—a heat that made her nipples tighten, that made her feel warm and tingly between her legs. That heat was almost a scent in the air. Sheer intoxication, like catnip for human females.