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be,” the driver agreed. He paused and gave Theran a considering look. “Don’t know if any are here right now, but you don’t want to be upsetting the cats. They’re big, and they’re mean.”
    Theran forced a smile. “It’s not like they would eat me.”
    The driver just looked at him.
    “Mother Night.” Could it be any worse? He didn’t ask because he didn’t want the driver to tell him about whatever was worse than man-eating cats someone kept as pets.
    The driver touched two fingers to his temple as a salute and went back into the Coach.
    Theran quickly stepped off the landing web and hurried to the front door, which opened before he could knock, and showed him what could be worse than man-eating cats—a large, stern-faced man who was wearing a butler’s uniform and was also a Red-Jeweled Warlord.
    Outranked by a servant, Theran thought as he obeyed the silent invitation to step inside.
    “Good afternoon,” the butler said. “How may I be of service?”
    “I’m looking for Daemon Sadi. I was told I could find him here.” Of course, the Hayllian prick at the Keep hadn’t mentioned he’d be looking for Sadi inside a SaDiablo fortress.
    As the butler turned one hand, he suddenly held a small silver tray. The use of Craft was so smooth, Theran stared at the tray for a moment, feeling envious of the subtle training the butler must have received. Oh, Talon had given him the best training available, but their rough-and-ready life didn’t require subtlety in anything except fighting.
    “Your card?” the butler said.
    Hell’s fire. Did people still use such fussy things? Would the court he hoped to create have to use them?
    “I don’t have a card,” Theran said, feeling like an awkward child who’d been caught out pretending to be an adult.
    The butler’s hand turned. The tray vanished. “Your name?”
    Theran hesitated. His family had survived by hiding. But would anyone here in Kaeleer understand the significance of the name?
    “Theran Grayhaven,” he said reluctantly.
    “Territory?” the butler prodded after a moment’s silence.
    “Dena Nehele.”
    The butler tipped his head in a tiny bow of acknowledgment. “I will inquire if the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan is available to receive you.”
    “I don’t need to talk to . . .” He was talking to the butler’s back, so there was no point continuing. Besides, the man didn’t go far—just to the back of the great hall.
    After a quick knock on the door, the butler stepped into an adjoining room and stepped back out a few moments later.
    Nothing subtle about the snub if the butler now informed him that the Prince wasn’t available.
    “This way,” the butler said.
    Theran followed the man back to the half-open door. The butler stepped in and announced, “Prince Theran Grayhaven of the Territory of Dena Nehele.”
    “Thank you, Beale,” a deep, cultured voice replied. “Show him in.”
    Beale stepped aside, allowing Theran to enter, then retreated, closing the door behind him.
    The room was shaped like a reversed L. The long side was an informal sitting room, complete with tables, chairs, bookcases, and a leather sofa large enough for a full-grown man to sleep on. The short side of the room had floor-to-ceiling bookcases filling the back wall, red velvet covering the side walls, and a large blackwood desk with two chairs in front of it for visitors.
    From behind the desk rose the most beautiful man Theran had ever seen. Hayllian coloring—the thick black hair, golden eyes, and light brown skin. But the man moved like something too graceful to be completely human, and as he came around the desk,Theran felt the punch of sexual heat.
    “Prince Grayhaven.”
    The voice caressed him, a warm syrup over his skin, producing an unwelcome arousal.
    “I’m Daemon Sadi.”
    Of course this was Sadi. Who else could it be?
    He’d heard stories. Who hadn’t heard stories? But now he had a glimpse of why Sadi had been called the Sadist. All Warlord Princes had that sexual heat to some degree, but he’d never met