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we’ll keep your enemies away.”
    “And if we do not?”
    “If I were in your position that is a chance I would not care to take.”
    Atreus dropped his hand from Constance’s shoulder. “What do you want?” he asked. “A spell book? A jewel?”
    Reynard’s eyes grew hard, skating past Constance as if she weren’t there. “The incubus you call Sylvius.”
    My son .

Chapter 4
    O utrage jolted Constance so hard that she gripped the arm of Atreus’s chair to keep from staggering. Her one instinct was to stay upright. If she was standing, she could defend her child.
    Something moved behind the guardsmen, gliding through the shadows.
    Not something. Someone. Oh, no .
    As if he had come at the mention of his name, Sylvius paused in the arch of the doorway, the gray stone framing him against the eternal dark beyond. He was as tall as Atreus, but pale as moonlight. He wore only loose trews of dark silk. Muscles rippled under his fair skin, but his was the lean body of a youth, not a seasoned warrior. Silver hair fell thick and straight to his hips. Startling dark eyes dominated a long, angular face that was softened only by a wide, expressive mouth.
    Just sixteen, Sylvius had never set foot outside the Castle. A foundling, Constance had raised him from a babe.
    His posture was drawn tight, like a bow about to fire, or a bird about to take flight. She could see from his face he’d heard every word. Her lips parted. Instinct made her want to call out—to warn Sylvius, to comfort him, to bring him to her side—but caution won out. Every second he remained unseen by the guardsmen, he remained safe. Constance dropped her eyes and forced her face into a neutral mask.
    She wasn’t a good enough actor. Reynard raised a brow and turned his head slowly toward the doorway. “And there he is.”
    Calm, almost casual, Atreus sat again, rearranging his robes with a careless flick. “Why do you want the boy?”
    The question was a stall. Even Constance knew the nauseating answer. The Castle took away hunger, thirst, and lust—no doubt a safety spell to keep the inmates from reproducing or feeding on one other. The result was an eternity devoid of basic, pleasurable drives.
    The antidote was the power of the incredibly rare incubi—like Sylvius. For an hour or two, their intimate touch—or blood—gave back passion. Not just the urge to mate, but gusto, energy, the gleeful frenzy of spring. This was the treasured drug the warlords were willing to kill for. With it, they could promise anything, bribe anyone.
    At sixteen, Sylvius was just coming into his power. His newly adult blood was a treasure and a weapon. And it would take no time at all to bleed him dry.
    Run! Constance willed the word with all her soul, but telepathy had always been beyond her talents.
    “The incubus is a rarity. Too dangerous to leave unprotected,” said Reynard. “My plan is to put Sylvius under lock and key. Now that he is grown, the Castle will go to war over your pet. He is the Holy Grail that could kill us all. I won’t allow it.”
    That was too much for Constance. “No! Sylvius, listen to me!” She dodged out of the reach of Atreus’s restraining hand. Every nerve in her body burst with angry excitement. “Get out of here! Run while you can!”
    “But where would I go?” Sylvius looked at his master, confusion in his eyes. He had known only kindness in his short life. Constance had protected him too well.
    Atreus cast a sideways look at Reynard, and then turned his gaze on the youth. “There is no place to run to. Do not listen to Constance, my boy. Your first duty is to obey me.”
    Atreus is taking the guardsmen’s side! Constance gaped for a moment, shocked. It was as if the universe moved, the stars and planets spinning awry. To blazes with that! She bolted forward, grabbing Sylvius’s arm, swinging him toward the door, but she was too slow. The guardsmen closed around them with the lethal swiftness of a well-tied