“DeHelios. Ha! The last time I saw
you, you sprawled unconscious in
a shrub leaving a lovely piece of
horseflesh in need of an owner.”
Hel studied the speaker. He knew
that laconic drawl—but its owner
was a criminal with no love for
Verdantian nobility. What was this
man doing here? “Ramsey
DeKieran, you nefarious thief!
You owe me the price of that fine
horse. You fell on me from a tree,
you coward. I never had a chance.”
Ramsey snorted. “Still an
egotistical ass. You should be
grateful I took only the horse. Your
head is still nicely attached.” He
caught the eyes of the other two
men. “Gentlemen, that tower of
smelly fur is ‘Hel’. You may know
him by a different name. The
Haarb called him bás dtost—the
silent death.” Ramsey rolled his
eyes.
Hel raised his lip in a snarl at
Ramsey’s mockery. “Such
illustrious company, DeKieran.
Your status in the world seems to
have risen—but then it could
hardly have fallen lower.”
Ramsey grunted. “Unlikely, eh?
You may address me as Lord
DeKieran, Fifteenth Earl of House
DeKieran, and the striking redhead
preparing to unman you from ten
feet away is my wife, Lieutenant
Colonel Steffania Rickard of the
Queen’s Blue Daggers. Be careful
with your words, Hel. My vixen is
wicked with a throwing knife and
takes insults to me personally.”
Hel arched an eyebrow in surprise
and nodded at the glorious redhead
measuring him with amused
golden eyes. “Ma’am, my
condolences on your marriage. I
assume you had no choice.”
The stunning mercenary hid
laughter turned to cough behind a
closed fist
“So the bás dtost was real. I was
never certain,” the blond assassin
murmured to High Lord DeTano.
Hel swung his regard to the
queen’s second lover and snorted.
“I’m real enough.”
“I thought you dead on that pile of
ice you call a mountain,” said
Ramsey.
Hel paused before answering.
Many nights, alone with his
memories and tormented by
dreams, he thought death might be
a kindness but he refused to take
the easy way out. “A few of us still
fight to survive.”
obscure his face and his hair hangs
in ratted clumps down his forehead
and back. The only thing I can tell
with certainty is that he is a
hulking lump with gray eyes and
desperately in need of a barber.”
Hel laughed inwardly. Yes,
“hulking lump in desperate need of
a barber” probably described him
well.
He heard a sigh and a creak from
the upholstered chair then the lilt
of a melodious voice. “Ari, Doral,
Lord Ramsey, please move aside
so I may speak with,
ah…DeHelios.”
With obvious reluctance, the High
Lord and his assassin made an
opening. Ramsey stayed where he
was, arms crossed, but turned to
allow Hel room to pass.
A soft feminine voice caught Hel’s
ear. Behind the men blocking his
access to the queen, Hel noticed
movement. A tall, handsome
woman, a brunette with strong,
angular features cocked her head
as if listening then bent down out
of sight. Her warm brown gaze,
alive with intelligence, had locked
with his for a tangible moment. A
pulse of electricity ran down his
spine and his instincts jumped to
alert. By Her light, who are you?
Hel casually lifted his head hoping
to catch a further glimpse but she
had retreated behind solid bodies.
The women’s whispered
conversation carried just enough to
hear.
Hel climbed the steps of the dais
toward a delicately beautiful blond
woman, a mere pittance in the
upholstered chair. Her weight
barely dented the cushions in spite
of her advanced pregnancy. The
addition of a padded step stool
prevented her legs from dangling.
She arranged her arms across her
belly as if somehow she would
shield her unborn babe from
danger. Pain at the thought she
would consider him a threat to her
child softened his aggressive
stance. His steps paused several
feet from her, and he gentled his
manner.
“Adonia, with your height what do
you see? Describe it.”
Clear blue eyes held his and her
smile radiated joy. “Yes. It will be
our fourth.” She pushed up on the
arms of her chair and shifted to
another hip. “And she cannot come
soon enough. I find the waiting a
little…burdens