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Dharman groaned. Shannari knew better
than to ask, but Sal didn’t wait for permission.

“I think you should begin wearing Green
Land clothing.”

She jerked to a halt so quickly Dharman
ran into her. Immediately, his arms closed around her to steady her balance.
She couldn’t help but feel the erection beneath his
memsha
. Normally he took every effort to hide his arousal from her,
even in bed at night. Poor boys. She knew they must be suffering. They’d been
patient, more than patient, but she just couldn’t take that step with them. Not
yet. Not after Rhaekhar’s violent death.

I
may never forgive him for leaving me.

“Why would you want her to wear such
ridiculous clothing?” Dharman retorted. “I hate the armor for it tells me she
doubts we can protect her. But if she were to wear anything else, why not
Sha’Kae al’Dan clothing? At least she could drill and fight, then, instead of
tripping over those floor-length heavy…” His voice fell off and he swallowed so
hard she felt the impact against her back. “Oh.”

Bracing herself, she asked, “Why, Sal?”

He tilted his head. Blood-auburn hair
slipped over his shoulder like a velvet mantle. Eyes smoldering, he quirked his
mouth and used his most rumbling purred voice. “So I may hide beneath. Just
think,
na’lanna Qwen
, of all the ways
I could distract you beneath that heavy gown while your Council drones on and
on.”

Dharman’s erection pulsed against her,
so hard and thick she could feel it through her leathers. Now it was her turn
to swallow hard, her throat tight, her heart thumping frantically like a
runaway horse. The skirts of the current gowns were ridiculously belled by hoops.
Even a warrior of Sal’s width and height could fit beneath on his knees. If she
were sitting in her chair, and he crawled beneath…

Dharman’s hands convulsed on her waist
and he gave a little involuntary nudge with his hips that made her heart gallop
up in her throat. Her body responded. Her inner muscles tightened, a dull ache
spreading through her midsection, the molten heat between her thighs readying
for one these warriors to slide inside.

Tears spilled from her eyes and a
pitifully weak whimper escaped her mouth that shamed her. Her first instinct
was to draw steel and whirl around and challenge the Blood at her back. No
tenderness, no emotion, because to thaw the frozen Silver Lake within her would
lead to a storm of tears and sorrow all over again. If she stayed cold and
numb, then she couldn’t hurt.

“Forgive me, forgive me.” Sal dropped at
her feet and buried his face against her, clinging to her. “I didn’t mean to
upset you,
na’lanna Qwen
. On my
honor, I’ll never joke about your clothing again.”

Dharman shifted, beginning to pull away.
She knew he understood the true reason for her upset; as First Blood, he
listened to her bond constantly. To reassure him, she hugged his forearm
tighter to her, stilling his withdrawal.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered, smoothing
Sal’s hair. “Someday.” She didn’t want to freeze solid again, not if it meant
cutting them up with her icy heart. “Give me a little more time, all right?
Maybe someday I’ll let you do exactly that.”

Sal looked up at her and smiled, his
eyes lighting up with hope. “Don’t forget the crotchless drawers.”

* * *

“WELCOME HOME, YOUR MAJESTY.” KING
Challon inclined his head politely. “We’re pleased to have you back in
Shanhasson so quickly.”

At her feet on the left, Sal leaned
against her leg, his right arm curled beneath her leg, his palm covering her
knee. Jorah squatted on the other side but didn’t touch her. As usual, Dharman
stood behind her, but he kept his hand on her shoulder, his bond wide open and
so concentrated on her that she could almost feel the searing heat in her mind.
Perhaps that’s why she heard his muffled curse, and Sal’s snort of derision.
None of the outlanders about the table even batted an eye, so her Blood’s
responses must have been in the bonds.

Without Khul’s bond filling up her mind,
theirs had begun to take over.

She tightened her jaws and took a deep
breath, readying her mind to stack another wall of ice between them and her,
when she remembered the way they’d let her punish their bodies with her wounded
fury. The way they held her each night, innocently and without sensual
pressure. The way they took such unfailing, dedicated care of her every wish
and thought before she could even ask.

It hurt, more than she cared to admit,
but she didn’t build another cold, gray wall. It was the least she could do for
them.

Sal nestled his head against her side
and Dharman stepped closer, his fingers tightening on her shoulder.

“I’m sure you’re very pleased,” she said
aloud, letting her wry smile sharpen her words. “As High Queen of the Green
Lands, I now claim Shanhasson as my permanent home. What business would you lay
before me this day, gentlemen?”

King Challon settled back in his chair
and smiled, his hands steepled before him. “Our first recommendation is that
you select a new husband. One who’s more acceptable to the nobility and can
provide royals heirs more—”

Jorah clamped his hand on hers, keeping
the
rahke
in its sheath. Dharman
vibrated against her back, and she was pretty sure Sal was snarling at the man.
Her rage, or theirs? Did it matter?

She held her breath and mentally counted
to ten, twenty, deliberately relaxing each and every muscle in her body until
she slumped in the formal and rigid chair in which her Council insisted she
sit, a sign of royalty despite their schemes to dethrone her. Jorah’s fierce
grip on her hand eased, but he didn’t release her. Sal crouched beside her,
muscles bunching down his back as though he would leap upon the man and rip his
throat out with his teeth.

Dropping her hand on his head, she said
lightly, “Interesting. Do you have anyone to put forward as a candidate?”

Shock sliced through the Blood bonds and
Dharman’s fingers dug into her so hard she worried he might have dented her
armor.
:Trust me.:

He relaxed his grip on her slightly, but
his bond still rang like drawn steel in her mind.

Challon glanced around the table, and
she knew he was mentally running through which man was married and whom she
might consider. He himself was too old, as was the King of Taza. Her father was
obviously out of the question. Benton, the Steward of Far Illione, had been
married for twenty or more years and had at least two sons. Which left young
Royce, the new Duke of Pella, or King Phillip of Maston.

Phillip knew exactly what sort of
desires she had. He was so pale she feared he might faint. He leaned toward
Challon and whispered urgently. One curt word from the older man and Phillip
flushed and jerked away. She stared at him with a small smile on her face,
waiting for him to look at her.

Hands trembling on the table, he bowed
his head. He couldn’t.

“I must admit, Your Majesty, that I’m
rather surprised at how amendable you appear to be to this suggestion,” King
Challon said. “By all accounts, you loved the barbarian. You wed him against
any and all custom of our lands, and the rumors…” He shrugged and spread his
hands out apologetically.

Her smile sharpened, her mouth aching
with strain. She knew the nobles at court had gossiped about her and her
barbarian horde of lovers. Most likely, she could lay blame for those rumors at
this man’s feet. “Why would I object to a reasonable request made by my
Council?”

:You
would let one of these…these…curs touch you?:
Dharman growled
incredulously in her mind.

She didn’t have a hand left to touch
him, but she kept her mind and bond open to him in reassurance.

“There are, however, a few requirements
these candidates must fulfill before I’d even begin to consider them as my
king.”

Deliberately, she settled more fully
against the back of the chair, rubbing her cheek on Dharman's hand on her
shoulder until he slid his forearm around her neck in as much an embrace as the
chair allowed. She knew he bristled with fury like an indignant herd stallion,
and Sal still growled and bared his teeth like a caged tiger. Jorah was silent,
but he shone brighter, his golden hair and skin catching the light and
reflecting it back until Royce, who sat nearest on the edge, winced and
shielded his eyes. He hid his hands beneath the table, but not before she noted
how much they shook.

“Any man who desires to sit at my right
hand as my king must first come to my bed.” Through the bond, she asked Sal to
look up at her. She ran her fingers through his hair, lifting the heavy red
pelt and letting it spill through her hand like silk. Then she traced the bite
mark on his neck. Old and white it might be, but she knew Phillip remembered
how the red-haired warrior had gained that scar years ago. The King of Maston
made a sound very much like a whimper and fled the room.

“This man must come to my bed and
survive
.” Laughing softly, she twisted
her hand in Sal’s hair and gave him a jerk that pulled his head sharply to the
side. He moaned deep in his throat and melted against her, burying his face in
her lap perilously close to the junction of her thighs. “This man must come
through each of my Blood and meet with their approval. And then, he must
satisfy my First Blood’s challenge.”

“Challenge?” King Challon asked in a
shaky voice.

Dharman smiled so widely the other man
recoiled. “No man comes to
na’lanna
Qwen’s
bed except through me. Any man desiring to lay with her must
challenge me for the honor of touching one hair on her head.”

Sal retorted, “And I,” followed by sharp
ayes from each of her Blood.

Letting her eyes smolder, she rubbed the
back of her head against Dharman’s stomach. “Surely the servants have spread
the tales, yes? Two of my Blood sleep in my bed each and every night. That will
never change.” Never mind that nothing had actually happened. Yet.

King Challon spluttered, his face pale
but splotched with red. “Your Majesty, you can’t honestly expect your king
to…that is…”

Sal lifted his head and licked his mouth
thoroughly. A rush of heat flooded her, even though she knew firsthand he
hadn’t actually done anything. “If she desires another man, he would have to fight
each and every one of us first. And then, if he still has blood remaining in
his body enough to rise for her challenge, he would have to watch me and her
First Blood nag her from sundown to sunrise, for we have first claim on her
heart. And then, if she still desires this man, he may crawl into her bed with
her First Blood at her back and my
rahke
at his throat to ensure he does it right.”

Murmuring their apologies, the nobles
made a rapid escape. She couldn’t laugh, not with Sal’s promise blazing through
her mind. Dharman released her but remained at her back, his bond crackling
with heat.

Lady help her, she couldn’t think and
plot her strategies with them burning up like wildfire in her mind. She tried
in vain to lighten their mood.
:Sundown
to sunrise?:

:Sal
must have been mistaken.:
Dharman’s bond oozed through her
like warm, gooey honey.
:For that is not
nearly long enough.:

:Days,
at least,:
Sal agreed.
:Yet
I didn’t want to scare them off completely.:

“Are you sure that was wise, Daughter?”
Valche’s face was red, but his face had often been red once he met her
barbarians. “Marriage to the right noble will cement your allies to you.
Instead, you bring only outrage and titillation to your court.”

“That’s exactly why I did it,” she said
evenly, keeping her face smooth of emotion. “I refuse to remarry, but if I
object, they’ll do nothing but harass me until the day I die. Now they’ll never
bring the issue up unless one of them is on a suicide mission.”

“You’re going to need help, though.”
Valche ran a hand through his hair. With a shock, she realized his hair had
gone almost completely silver, and his face was heavily lined. “Allandor is at
your back now and always, but we are few against so many who oppose you. An
alliance by marriage with one of the more powerful countries would settle the
republic beneath your control. Maston would have been the best choice, but I
honestly don’t think he’d reconsider.”

“No,” she retorted, blinking back tears.
Cold, so cold, the blizzard swirled to life within her, threatening to
obliterate anything and everything. Dharman squeezed the nape of her neck, hard
instead of comforting, which helped drive back the moment of weakness. “It’s
out of the question, Father. I’ll never marry again, certainly not Phillip or
any other noble. I’ll never take a king. That I’m even still alive is a…”

She’d been prepared to say curse,
eternal damnation and punishment, but her father reached over and patted her
fisted hand.

“Blessing, I know. When your mother
died…” He sighed and his eyes shimmered. “I know, Daughter, I do. I understand.
We’ll find another way to keep your throne intact. Are you sure my
granddaughters are safe with the barbarians? They could always come to
Allandor.”