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“Hadim’s brat?” the Sultan barked, abandoning the platter of food in favor of a jewel-encrusted goblet.

Beneath his mane guard, Sinadim bristled, but without missing a beat, said, “His Firstborn son, majesty.”

“Ah,” the Sultan hummed and shifted forward on his seat. Interest peaking through hard features. “Here to take your father’s place, boy?”

Swallowing back a churlish retort, Sinadim offered a placid smile. “In time, perhaps, Grandfather. For now, I merely seek to expand my holdings and secure a natural bloodline.”

A cold bark of laughter burst from the Sultan’s lips. Head thrown back, he took a hearty swig from his goblet, then stood in a swirl of pale silks. “Honesty won’t serve you well anywhere but here, boy. Well done.”

Sinadim inclined his head, apt to take the compliment when it was given.

“So,” the Sultan said and clapped his hands as he descended the three steps from the dais. Still spry, despite his advancing age. “You’re here to claim a bloodline. Tell me of this one, then. A new bride, I presume?”

Without so much as a covetous glance in her direction, Sinadim said, “Teliah of the Kopru lineage, Grandfather. Noble blood in fine standing with the throne. She was undefeated in the exhibition matches and displayed skill enough to catch even my mother’s eye.”

Showing a flash of teeth, the Sultan grinned, his tail fanning powerful Anhur musk through the still air. “Samina always had the knack for matching talented opponents.” He paused, then. Standing between Teliah and Sinadim, the loose-fitting pant swishing with every pass of his tail. “Is that what you are, girl? Talented?”

Shoulders uncoiling, Teliah lifted her head, but her eyes remained fixed to the backs of her hands. “I seek only to bring honor to my kin, Your Majesty.”

An inquisitive rumble passed through the Sultan’s throat, and he stooped. Just deep enough to catch Teliah beneath the chin with one of those dipped, golden claws. At the sight of her face, the Sultan frowned. Head cocked to the right. “Kopru, you said? Teliah Kopru?”

Sinadim swallowed, straining not to glance at the female in question. To give away the hint of fury at the sight of the other male touching what was to be his. “Yes, Grandfather.”

“I’ve given this one permission before, haven’t I?”

Eyes focused at the center of the Sultan’s chest, Teliah nodded.

A surge of dominant pheromones rose up around the Sultan’s shoulders. Distributed on the sailing fan of his tail in a heavy blanket of musk that warned of something wicked brewing in the patriarch’s mood. “And was the husband I gave you not sufficient?” He glanced at the prince, coy and suspicious. Calculating. “Have you ambitions to put one of your brats on the Karahmet throne, Teliah?”

Breath catching at the back of her throat, Teliah shook her head. Eyes fixed to the tiled floor. “N-no, your majesty. My h-husband—Dragut—he fell in the spring. Died in service to the crown, fighting in the uprising. I’ve been in mourning for the last year, praying to the Nine to allow my dear Dragut to dine as an equal in their fiery halls.”

For a moment, the Sultan was silent. Peering at the back of Teliah’s head, his mane a halo of musky intent.

Heart in his throat, Sinadim said nothing at all. He didn’t know his esteemed grandfather well enough to anticipate his moods, and instead, fell back on his training in the courts.

And then, “You have my permission,” the Sultan said with a lazy flick of his tail. “At the onset of her next season, Teliah Kopru will be bound to marry into my bloodline. That is… if the Firstborn son truly wants a wife already sullied by a commoner.”

Relief rushed through Sinadim’s blood, and he ignored the insult to claim the prize. “It would be my honor, Grandfather,” he murmured, pressing his fist deep into his chest. “Thank you.”

And then, through his teeth, a steadying breath.

“The issue of Veli Zaganos and his treachery against the sultanate must be addressed,” Sinadim murmured, each syllable laced with tact. His accusations against a long-time ally to the throne dangerous without sufficient evidence.

The Sultan glanced down at the pair, one thick wiry brow raised in question.

“He seeks to weaken the great harems,” Sinadim said, striving to impart the gravity of Veli’s scheming without sounding the petulant tattletale. “First, by throttling the sultanate’s supply of Kesh over sixteen years. And now, when confronted with the proof of his treachery, the threat of petty blackmail. Murder. Flouting ancient, honored tradition, Veli promises to revoke my intended’s hand in marriage if he isn’t paid a dowery of thirty Omega females, and five studs. Ten from each of the great harems. Including yours, my Sultan.”

Teliah’s soft gasp drew a possessive shiver across Sinadim’s nape.

With a snort, the Sultan cocked his head. “So I’ll give him a Hathorian male as appeasement.”

It was Sinadim’s turn to gasp. “My Sultan, no. Veli is an odious little parasite, and his son”—Sinadim laughed, and it was bitter—“his son is sick. And after our meeting today, I am certain Veli will not hesitate to use Teliah’s life as leverage to ensure his despicable dowry is paid.”

“You fear for her life,” the Sultan surmised, nonplused as he looked down upon the kneeling pair.

Sinadim nodded, lip curled. “Veli all but promised her safety was conditional.”

“Well,” the Sultan purred, and drew Teliah to her feet, “we certainly can’t allow such an insult.” Gold-tipped claws dimpling the soft spot beneath her chin once more, he said, “To protect her life, the widow Kopru stays with me for the duration of her confinement.”