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Daemon Sadi, the Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince of Dhee that marked the boundary between private property and public land On one side of the bridge was the drive leading to SaDiablo Hall, his fa to the village of Halaway

Fluffy snow dusted the bottoe in blissful solitude Of course, he’d had to sneak out of his own honized that there was soht about theout in order to avoid three snoozing Sceltie puppies But whether he was allowing little bundles of fur to dictate his actions instead of using his rank and power to do as he pleased wasn’t the point At this , and that was the point No one hining about having cold paws No one was co because he wouldn’t stop every few feet so interesting smells could be properly sniffed

And no one was going to sulk because he refused to carry soainst his white silk shirt

Solitude Bliss And, if his ift he’d asked her to make, fun

Winsol was almost here Those thirteen days were a celebration of the Darkness—and they were a celebration of Witch, the living myth, dreams made flesh

It would be his first Winsol as the ruler of the Dhemlan Territory, his third celebration since he’d come to live in Kaeleer The first year, he’d still been ile frodorief And in that first year, he’d also been lost in the wonder of finding Jaenelle Angelline again, alive and well—and still able to love him

The second year, she had been the one who had been so terrifyingly fragile She had unleashed her full power to prevent a war between Kaeleer and Terreille that would have destroyed both Realms—and had torn her body apart in the process She shouldn’t have survived—wouldn’t have if the kindred and the Weaver of Drea myth, the Queen as Witch

But this year he and Jaenelle were together, they wereover their heads was how s they needed to accept in order for him to fulfill his duties as Dhemlan’s ruler

He hts in the s of most of the houses The snoasn’t marred yet by many footprints or cart wheels, but soon the es would fill the sidewalks and streets, and the sh another day of holiday preparations

As he approached the cottage where his e and the neighboring one that was occupied by Manny, an older woman he considered a friend rather than a for Craft, dealt with the snow as he glided up the ay and knocked on the cottage door

He waited a ain

The third ti knuckles to wood, which guaranteed the sound would roll through the cottage like thunder

A few seconds later, the door swung open as the young worowled, “If someone doesn’t answer the door, you could take the hint that it’s too early for com—”

She blinked at him He smiled at the journey

“Lady Allista,” he said politely

“Prince Sadi” Her tone was much less polite Since he ho and what he was, she couldn’t shut the door in his face