As soon as she saw him, Cassandra took his arm and led him away from the other men. "Do you think it's wise for everyone to be out here?" she asked quietly. "Won't it be too intimidating?"
"And whom would you ask to leave?" Saetan replied, knowing full well he was one of the people she thought should be absent.
After receiving his note, Cassandra had arrived to help with the preparations, but she'd acted too forcedly cheerful, as if she were really preparing for the moment when Jaenelle would face an empty drawing room. Sylvia, on the other hand, had thrown herself into the preparations and had bristled at anyone who dared to express a doubt.
A wise man would have locked himself in his study and stayed there. Only a fool would have left two witches alone when they were constantly circling and spitting at each other like angry cats.
When Cassandra didn't answer his question, Saetan took his place in the great hall. Andulvar was one step behind him on his left. Mephis and Prothvar were on Andulvar's left and a little to the side so that they weren't part of the official greetings. Cassandra stood on Saetan's right, one step behind. By rights she should have stood beside him, Black with Black, and he was only too aware of why she was using an option of Protocol to distance herself from him.
Saetan turned toward the sound of feet racing down the staircase in the informal drawing room.
Sylvia burst into the great hall, looking a little too lovely with her golden eyes shining and her cheeks flushed. "The wolf pups hid Jaenelle's shoes and it took a while to find them," she said breathlessly. "She's on her way down, but I didn't want to be late."
Saetan smiled at her. "You're not—"
A clock struck three times.
Cassandra made a quiet, unhappy sound and stepped away from him.
For the first time since he'd told her about the party, Sylvia's eyes filled with concern.
They all stood in the great hall, silently waiting, while Beale stood woodenly by the front door and the footmen who would take the outer garments stared straight ahead.
The minutes ticked past.
Sylvia rubbed her forehead and sighed. "I'd better go up—"
"We don't need any more of your kind of help," Cassandra said coldly as she brushed past Sylvia. "You set her up for this."
Sylvia grabbed Cassandra's arm and spun her around. "Maybe I was too enthusiastic, but you did everything but say outright that she would never have a friend for the rest of her life!"
"Ladies," Saetan warned, stepping toward them.
"What could you possibly know about wearing the Black?" Cassandra snapped. "I lived with that isolation—"
"La—"
BOOM!
"Hell's fire," Andulvar muttered.
BOOM!
Beale leaped to open the front door while it was still intact.
She swept into the great hall, stopping where the sunlight coming from the lead glass window above the double doors produced a natural spotlight. Tall and slim, she wore severely tailored, dark blue trousers, a loose jacket, and heeled boots. Her white-blond hair rose in spiky peaks above her head like sculptured ice. Darkened eyebrows and lashes framed ice-blue eyes.
"Sisters," she said, giving Sylvia and Cassandra a perfunctory nod that couldn't quite be called insolent. Then her eyes raked over Saetan from head to toe.
Saetan held his breath. Even if Lord Morton hadn't slunk in behind her, he would have bet this was Karla, the young Glacian Queen.
"Well," Karla said, "you're not bad-looking for a corpse."
Before he could reply, Jaenelle's serene but amused voice said, "You're only half-right, darling. He's not a corpse."
Karla whirled toward the informal drawing room, where Jaenelle leaned against the doorway, her fingers hooked in the jacket thrown over one shoulder.
Karla let out a screech that raised the hairs on Saetan's neck.
"You've got tits!" Karla pulled open the blue jacket, revealing a silver, just as skimpy top. "So do I, if you call these lovely little bee stings tits." Smiling the wickedest smile Saetan had ever seen, she turned back to him. "What do you think?"
He didn't stop to think. "Are you asking if I think they're lovely or if I think they're bee strings?"
Karla closed the jacket, crossed her arms, and narrowed those ice-blue eyes. "Sassy, isn't he?"
"Well, he is a Warlord Prince," Jaenelle replied.
Ice-blue eyes met sapphire eyes. Both girls smiled.
Karla shrugged. "Oh, all right. I'll be a polite guest." She stepped up to Saetan, and that wicked smile bloomed. "Kiss kiss."
He refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him wince.
Karla turned away from him and headed for Jaenelle. "You've got some explaining to do. I had to figure out all those damn spells by myself." She swept Jaenelle into the drawing room and closed the door.
Saetan stared at his shoe. "Damn it, she did step on my toes," he muttered before realizing Morton had come close enough to hear him.
"H-High Lord."
"Lord Morton, I have only one thing to say to you."
"Sir?" Morton tried to suppress a shiver.
Saetan tried to suppress a rueful smile and couldn't. "You have my heartfelt sympathy."
Morton melted with relief. "Thank you, sir. I could use it."
"Help yourself to the refreshments in there," Saetan said, making a slight gesture toward the closed door. "And if they start making plans to knock down any walls, let me know."
BANG!
For one panicked moment, Saetan thought the caution had been made too late. Then he realized someone was, more or less, knocking on the front door.
If Karla was ice, this one was fire, with her dark red hair flowing down her back, her green eyes flashing, and a swirling gown that looked like an autumn woods in motion. She headed for Saetan but veered when Jaenelle and Karla poked their heads out of the drawing room. Grinning, she held up a cloth bundle. "I wasn't sure if we would end up in the stables or digging in the garden, so I brought some real clothes."
Saetan stifled a growl. Didn't any of them like to dress up?
The girls disappeared into the drawing room—and closed the door.
The youth who'd come in with the fire witch was tall, good-looking, and a couple of years older. He had curly brown hair and blue eyes. Smiling, he extended one hand in informal greeting.
With his stomach sinking toward his heels, Saetan clasped the offered hand. There were a lot of ways he could describe those blue eyes. They all meant trouble.
"You must be the High Lord," the young Warlord said with a smile. "I'm Khardeen, from the isle of Scelt." He jerked his thumb toward the drawing room. "That's Morghann."
The drawing room door opened. Jaenelle approached them hesitantly. Then she held out both hands in formal greeting. "Hello, Khary."
Khary looked at the offered hands and turned back to Saetan. "Did Jaenelle ever tell you about her adventure with my uncle's stone—"
"Khary,"Jaenelle gasped, glancing nervously at Saetan.
"Hmm?" Khary smiled at her. "Did you know that a proper hug can toss a thought right out of a man's head? It's a well-known fact. I'm surprised you hadn't heard of it."
Jaenelle had been balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to bolt. Now her heels came down and her eyes narrowed. "Really."
Watching the two of them, Saetan decided the prudent thing was to stand still and keep his mouth shut.