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hearty bowl of stew before she joined him in the dining
hall. He was sitting alone with his elbow on the table, chin propped in his
hand, staring at the painting of the father he had never known. The Baron
Daniel Montyne had been a strikingly handsome man with a thick thatch of curly
black hair and eyes the color of a summer sky. There was a twinkle in those
merry, blue eyes and the smile that pulled at the baron’s lips held the
unmistakable hint of mischievousness about it. Seyzon regretted never having
met the man. He knew in his heart Daniel Montyne would have been a wonderful
father.
    As it was, Seyzon had grown up at Wicklow
among a gaggle of women. Vindan’s father, the king, had been noticeably absent
from the castle. When he wanted to see his son, King Nolan sent for the boy to
be brought to him at the capitol in Devonshire. Not once had Seyzon ever laid
eyes on the man his mother had often called Raphian’s Right Hand—referencing
the demon known as the Destroyer of Men’s Souls. Millicent Montyne entertained
no love for Nolan Brell and whenever the man was mentioned, fury gathered in
her slender body.
    “How was the stew?” she asked as she came
to the table.
    “Good.”
    She looked down at his bowl and realized he
had eaten little—if any—of the savory fare. “All right, boy. Out with it. What
happened?”
    “I need some fresh air,” Seyzon told her.
    “You’ll not get it. You are under house
arrest and in the keep you will stay. I’ll have a window opened.” She pulled
out a chair and sat down facing her son. “I’m waiting.” She frowned. “And pray
sit in that chair like an adult instead of a disrespectful ten-year-old.”
    He sat back, curled his fingers over the end
of the chair arms then took a long, shuddery breath.
    Lady Millicent’s gaze went to his hands and
was dismayed to see he was gripping the chair so tightly his knuckles were
white. His arms were stiff. “Zonny, look at me,” she said softly. When he
raised his head and his eyes met hers, the despair on his face was
heartbreaking. “What happened?”
    His eyebrows drew together. It was obvious
he was striving to hold back his emotions. She reached out to place a hand on
his taut forearm.
    “Tell me,” she coaxed. She felt him tremble
and watched as his chin quivered, but motherly instinct warned her not to press
any further, to let him speak in his own time. Even when his eyes shifted from
hers and sought refuge across the room she held her peace. The steady tick-tock
of the great clock in the main hall was the only sound breaking the silence for
the longest time. Then a single tear wound its way down his cheek.
    “He…” her son began then had to swallow the
anguish he struggled to contain. “He came into the chapel at the moment the
priest pronounced us man and wife.”
    “He?”
    “Vindan.”
    Millicent raised her chin and released a
long breath. “I take it you did not know he was coming.”
    Seyzon shook his head. “No.”
    “Was he angry?”
    “He was smiling,” he answered. “But I knew
he was furious with me. I could see it in the way he was smiling. It was that
sneaky smile that means he’s about to do something to you that you’re not going
to like. You know the one I’m talking about.”
    “All too well,” she said then pursed her
lips. “What then?”
    “He took me into the sacristy and let me know
just how angry he was then he had me call my lady in.”
    “He spoke to her?”
    Seyzon nodded. “Aye, but I don’t know what
he said. He sent me out of the room and when she came out, she wouldn’t speak
to me. She ran from the chapel.”
    His face crinkled, his chin trembled, and
his eyes were so bleak Millicent feared what he would say next.
    “He had sent her to her room and me…”
Another tear fell. “Me he sent to the dungeon then he…”
    His chest heaved. Pain shifted across his
face. A low, keening sound came from somewhere deep in his chest—barely making
it past his tightly