Sometimes she preferred secrecy to staying at a Red Moon house and providing services as a whore, which had been her other profession—until her recently acquired male relatives calmly told her that any male who got into her bed from now on had better be there for her pleasure or he would live just long enough to regret using his cock. So that endedthat career. All right, she’d already walked away from that part of her life even before she came to Kaeleer, but it was still annoying to betold she was retired.
Becoming aware of the silence, she turned away from the portrait and found seven children staring at her.
“You kill people?” the youngest girl asked.
“I was an assassin,” Surreal replied cheerfully. “And a damn good one. I know all kinds of death spells.”
"That might have been a little more than they needed to know," Rainier said.
Since they were looking at her the way a rabbit looks at a wolf, Rainier was probably right. On the other hand, they would probably want to stay away from her and would attach themselves to him during the tour, and that was all right too.
Then she looked at Rainier. His expression strongly suggested that she soften her statement.
“But I’m retired now,” Surreal said. “I don’t kill people anymore.”At least, not for money. “I’m Lady Surreal, and this is Prince Rainier.”
“Those are funny names,” the oldest boy said.
“Really?” Rainier sounded like he was gritting his teeth hard enough to break a few.
"You were the one who invited them to join us," Surreal said, earning a searing look from Rainier before she focused on the children. “So who are you?”
The oldest boy, the one she’d labeled the dominant cock, was Kester. His friend was Trist. The other boys were Haywood, who was called Henn for reasons she didn’t understand, and Trout, whose face reddened when the other boys sneered at him, but who gave her a polite bow nonetheless.
The bitch was named Ginger. Her pal, the aspiring bitch, was Dayle. The youngest girl was Sage.
"Is it common for landens to name their children after foods and spices?" Surreal asked Rainier.
"I don’t know. Maybe their mothers were hungry when they had to choose a name. Or they could be lying about their names because they think it’s amusing."
A door slammed. The house shuddered.
“I’ll check,” Surreal said, crossing the room, her hand curled in just the right way if she needed to call in her stiletto. But when she reached the sitting room doorway, there was only the caretaker in the hallway, turning away from the closed front door.
“So discourteous,” he muttered as he walked past her. “Sodisobedient. Not what I expected.”
“When does this tour begin?” Surreal asked him.
He didn’t stop, didn’t turn. “Find the first clue, and you’ll know what to do,” he snapped. He slammed through a door at the end of the hallway.
She was trying to be tolerant of this place because it was Jaenelle and Marian’s idea, but she was going to talk to them about that little bastard. Performance or not, if he tried that pissing contest with the wrong Blood male, he would end up very very dead.
And speaking of Blood males…
She headed for the front door.
“Anything?” Rainier asked as he stepped into the sitting room doorway.
“I’m going to check for late arrivals,” Surreal said. “You look for the first clue. It must be in the sitting room, since we were directed there by that little piece of walking carrion.”
“Surreal.” Rainier tipped his head to indicate the children.
She turned and gave him a look that had him backing up a step. Then she yanked the front door open—and stared at the brick wall in front of her. She reached out cautiously, sure her hand would pass through the illusion—or trigger something “spooky.” But it was solid brick against her palm.
“Hell’s fire,” she muttered. “Guess we don’t leave through the same door we entered.” And now that the door was closed, that smell in the hallway was getting stronger—and more familiar.
Near the stairs. But where…?
Using a few drops of her Birthright Green power, she created a ball of witchlight—and frowned as a gong sounded somewhere in the house. But the sound was forgotten when the light revealed a door under the stairs. No obvious knob, but there had to be a latch that was easy enough to find and open. Otherwise, the space would have no use.
As she moved closer, the smell got stronger.
Yes, there was the latch, made to look like a knot in the paneling. She shifted the witchlight so she could see inside as she opened the door and…
“Well, shit.”
“Did you find the clue?” Rainier asked, crossing the hallway to join her.
She pulled the door open a little farther so they could both see inside. “I don’t know if it’s a clue, but I did find a body in a closet.”
TEN
Daemon approached the Consort’s suite with weary eagerness. He usually enjoyed the business side of ruling Dhemlan and taking care of the family property and wealth, but today each thing had felt like a handful of grit being sprinkled over him. Before he gave himself to the best part of the day—those hours he would have with Jaenelle—he wanted a long, hot shower. No. A bath. The luxury of soaking away all the nattering voices he’d dealt with throughout a long morning’s worth of meetings and all the paperwork he’d waded through during the past few hours. The Dhemlan Queens were still nervous about dealing with him, and he understood that. When Jaenelle’s life had been threatened by a witch obsessed with havinghim , he’d made it brutally clear what he would do to protect someone he loved. So he understood why the Province Queens were anxious to assure him that theydid have control over the territories they ruled within his Territory.
But he really didn’t need to know all the damn details.
And he really didn’t need anyone else trying to wheedle an invitation out ofhim to the private viewing of the spooky house, which everyone seemed to know about. Except him because, after all, why shouldJaenelle’s husband know about a private viewing? Hell’s fire! He’d come back to the Hall to find a note from Lord Khardeen, who wanted to talk to him about the damn place—and Khary lived on the other side of the Realm!
Rumors, he reminded himself. Just rumors, which were to be expected. Everyone was curious about this entertainment Jaenelle and Marian had created.
When he saw the envelope on the dressing table, he huffed out a sound that was part sigh, part annoyance. No doubt it was another invitation to some kind of autumnal festivity. He’d have to ask Jaenelle how many of these things she was willing to attend. Even better, he’d ask the High Lord how many the ruler of Dhemlan wasrequired to attend.
He picked up the envelope, noting it was good-quality paper, then turned it over. Just a simple, decorative seal pressed into the wax. Nothing that belonged to an aristo family or a court. At least, not one he recognized. The writing had been done by an unfamiliar male hand.
He opened the envelope and withdrew the invitation. Moments later, his anger arrowed toward one mind. "Beale!"
While he waited for the Hall’s butler to answer the summons, he paced around the room, too upset to stand still and yet feeling more and more caged by his own need to move. Damn and damn and damn!
The knock on the door was tentative, which told him how much his lash of temper had unnerved Beale.
Since it was too tempting to rip through the door—and then rip through the man—he forced himself to stand still and used Craft to open the door with obvious control.
“Prince?” Beale said when he entered the room. No sign of nerves in voice or stance, but in the eyes…Yes, there were nerves. After all, a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince could do a vicious amount of damage to a Red-Jeweled Warlord—especially if the intent was to maim rather than kill.
“Explain this.” Daemon held out the invitation.
Beale came forward just far enough to take the invitation and read it. Then he glanced at the small clock on the dressing table. His skin turned gray as he looked at Daemon in horrified apology.
“I have been down in my study doing paperwork for the past several hours,” Daemon said through gritted teeth. “I was home, Beale. I have no excuse for ignoring this invitation.” Summons, actually. They both understood what the wording meant.
“The messenger was quite specific,” Beale said, stammering.
“The invitation was to be delivered to the Consort’sroom . He specified a place, not the person. So I thought, since it was for theConsort , the Lady was planning a private evening and had asked a friend to address the envelope so the contents would be a surprise for a little while longer.”
Hell’s fire. Beale was a romantic. Who would have guessed? He’d brought up the message thinking the Queen wanted a sensual evening with herConsort.
Daemon took a moment to consider the implications of that. “Dinner?”
“Since we weren’t expecting you downstairs this evening—”
Or even out of bed,Daemon added silently.
“—Mrs. Beale planned some dishes that would not be spoiled if the meal was…interrupted.”
He really didn’t want to think about Beale and Mrs. Beale discussing his sex life.
“Iam sorry, Prince,” Beale said. He turned his head, and the slight change in his expression indicated he was talking to someone on a psychic thread. Then he relaxed a little as he turned back to Daemon. “Mrs. Beale is packing up the meal. I had already selected some bottles of wine, so she’ll pack those as well. You will arrive a little late, but perhaps a celebratory moonlight picnic will be sufficient apology?”
They both heard it at the same time—the sounds of someone moving around in the next room.
Jaenelle was home. The fact that she was here instead of overseeing the first viewing of her precious entertainment meant his absence had been noticed and he was in for a rough night.