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“As nice as all that sounds, a family reunion, why are you making such a show of this?”
Putting her wine down, she stared at him. “I have my reasons, but the result is to let every man and woman on Titus know that the Ongahri is not a dwindling tribe. I know how we are perceived by the people of Titus, Fadon. The Constants, enforcers, the Owl, the rich traders and merchants who seem to be buying their way to the political stage. We are losing our place in this world, Brother. We’ve become indulgent and complacent. We have forgotten. I want us strong again, for every soul to know that the Ongahri is not a dying tribe.”
Fadon was taken aback by her little diatribe. He knew his sister was a passionate person, tenacious and determined when her mind was set. But he had no idea the depth of feeling she possessed about their people, their legacy, their future.
It made her obsession with House Dega shine in a new light, made him quickly reassess her actions over the past few years. It also meant there were things unknown to Fadon, more than likely a plethora of unknowns that he, being captain of the House’s army and not a political adviser, wasn’t privy to. In the past, he preferred it that way. His role mirrored who he was—a warrior first, a protector. Now, however, he felt his role had a disadvantage.
“So, yes, Fadon,” she said, “this ceremony is a show. A show of strength, of union. A stamp on the grand map that screams we are still players on the board.”
“Please tell me you didn’t invite the Owl’s Superior.”
She laughed. “Gods, no. Demos is good enough to bear witness.”
He thought of last night, when the Servant and his queen had been holed up in her parlor. “Anything you wish to reprise me of from the conversation you had with him last night?”
A small tightness in the corner of her mouth showed Fadon that whatever had been discussed was a thorn in her side. “Only that the Owl has its head up its ass. This so-called faction is nothing to worry about. But I will look into it later, once the ceremony is over. If it were not for our ancient pact, I’d wash my hands of them and never cast eyes on them again.”
“Indeed. As you say, the world is changing. We can only hope their order will fade into antiquity.”
“Not soon enough, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “I heard you scheduled a tour for our omega. I’ve been so busy this morning I haven’t gotten a chance to see her yet. I think I’ll dine with her in my quarters, spend some time with her. Tomorrow, I have scheduled a wardrobe fitting. I cannot wait for her to see her gown!”
“Sounds charming.” Womanly pursuits didn’t interest him.
“She is lovely, Fadon. I just hope Lysander can see it.”
He leaned back in his chair. “He does. We talked briefly last night.” And I punched him in the nose as well, Fadon thought, keeping that part of the tale to himself. “He said the Owl chose well.”
She made a humming sound. “That’s promising, coming from him. I agree fully. She is refreshing.” Her voice softened and it made her seem like an average young woman instead of the feisty spitfire queen she was. “She has similar traits in her character as Mother had. Have you noticed that?”
Now that she mentioned it, he did notice. Sierra was soft, passionate, kind, standing apart from most of her sex. His mother had been the same. Ongar, he missed her. It was funny how he’d thought more about his parents over the past few days than he had in decades. Seemed his sister had as well.
Mari tapped her nails on the table. “I almost wish she’d go into estrus, trigger a rut in Ander. That he cannot fight.”
Fadon let out a grunt. She was right about that. He had first-hand knowledge about how powerful Sierra’s Omega was. Still, hearing the word “rut” was just too close to home for him, reminding him of all the chaos that had ensued.
He got to his feet and tucked in his chair. “If that is all, I’ll let the guards know to not send anyone out and just expect Lucius’ men at the gates.”
She inclined her head. “Good. Once they arrive, I’ll have my guard take them to the throne room. Your presence isn’t required, but I’m sure your curiosity won’t be sated until you hear with your own ears what they’ve come to say.” Her mouth quirked.
“Very well.”
“Goodbye, Fadon.”
“My queen,” he bowed and left the east wing, heading out to the courtyard to speak with the guard.
He spotted Lysander and Sierra strolling back from the stables. Her arm was on his, her head tilted up at him, his angled down in return. Both of them were laughing.
She looked different. Her wavy hair was escaping her braided crown, her cheeks were flushed, and she looked as fresh as a white rose. Her riding dress hugged her figure, and her bearing and beauty seemed to naturally announce her as the princess she was now.
Fadon felt a tightness in his chest and looked away, only to spy the Servant across the courtyard, who was studying the couple. He noted the expression Demos wore. It was a look of regret, of longing. He realized he’d seen that same look on his father’s face after Fadon’s mother had died.
He looked back at his brother and his betrothed, then back at Demos again.
“I see,” Fadon said aloud.
As if he’d heard him, Demos looked straight at Fadon, his expression once more of haughty indifference. He nodded at the captain, then walked away, heading for the guest stables.
If what Fadon had surmised over the past few weeks were true, that Demos had eased Sierra’s estrus with more than just tonics and simple attending, he could completely understand that expression he had witnessed on the Servant. Sierra wasn’t just any woman. Trying to forget her would be like trying to forget light in a pitch-black room. Its absence enormous.
