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“So, he trusts Tayte—who bears the same blood—but ostracizes you because you inherited the magic?”

He paused, ostensibly to take a drink, but I suspected there was more behind it. “Yes.”

“That really makes little sense. I mean, by doing so, surely he’s increased the likelihood of such a plot coming into existence—if ever there had been one in the first place.”

The smile that tugged at his lips did strange things to my stomach. “You think with far greater clarity than my father ever has in this matter.”

“Your father is a fool.”

“On that, we both agree.”

I yawned hugely and then took a long drink in an effort to batter away the increasing weariness. “Then why hasn’t he made Tayte heir? It wouldn’t be the first time a second son has displaced the first on the throne.”

He shrugged and drained his shamoke. “I daresay he has his reasons.”

I studied him for a moment, sensing the turmoil under the calm surface. He knew the reason; he just wasn’t about to tell me. “What about Gayl? Who is she, really?”

He hesitated, his gaze briefly flicking from mine. “She’s my aunt, and I asked her here to stand in my mother’s place. She never inherited the blood magic, though. I am, in fact, the first in two generations of my mother’s line to do so.” He placed his cup on the nearby table. “But enough of me for tonight. You, wife, should go to bed before you fall asleep in your shamoke.”

“Do you intend to accompany me to that bed?”

Amusement warmed his eyes. “Do you intend to wear your stinger?”

“Indeed. But the bed is big and I’m fully capable of resisting the lure of sexual attraction.”

“I’m once again gratified to hear it exists—it bodes well for our future together.” He bowed gracefully and motioned toward the platform. “After you, dear Bryn.”

I smiled and moved ahead of him. Once I’d removed my dress and climbed under the blankets, I watched with pleasure as he unhurriedly stripped off. There wasn’t an inch of fat on the man; he was lean, long, and muscular in all the right places and hung like a stallion. All I wanted to do was explore every glorious inch of him with hand and tongue, to feel the heat of him on me, his thick length in me. To lose myself to fires of passion without the fear of ulterior motives haunting the back of my mind.

But I couldn’t so easily erase the years of caution. Not even for the man who was now my husband.

He climbed into the far side of the bed and turned toward me. “Sweet dreams, wife.”

“Remember the stinger, husband.”

He laughed softly, his blue eyes sparkling in the wash of moonlight filtering down the light tube above the bed. “I will, as long as you remember a man has little control over instinct when he’s asleep and the heat of a woman is pressed close.”

“As long as you remember a soldier sleeps light and both instinct and training often kick in before full wakefulness.”

“It could be an interesting night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, he turned around. Within minutes, the deepening sound of his breathing suggested he was asleep. I wasn’t all that far behind him.

I woke who knew how many hours later wrapped in the warmth of Damon’s body and with an odd sense of doom pounding through my veins.

The light tube above us showed gentle wisps of pink beginning to stain the night sky, suggesting it was close to six. The room remained wrapped in shadows, and though several coursers were neighing in the stables, there was little noise coming from the main courtyard.

So, what had woken me? Why did unease pound through my veins?

I slid free from the arm that lightly held me and slipped out of bed.

“Something wrong?” Damon immediately asked.

“I’m not sure.”

The platform creaked slightly as he rose from it. I padded across to my wardrobe, quickly pulling on my leathers and boots. After re-strapping my knife on, I headed for the door.

Damon met me there, fully dressed and armed. “If it was the Mareritt, the alarms would surely have sounded.”