“Since we’ll have to rent a Coach here in Amdarh to ride the Winds to the Hall, contact Ladvarian and tell him to have one of our private Coaches ready so we aren’t home long enough for anyone to ask questions. And tell him not to bring anyone except Kaelas.”
“Why do we have to bring him?” Daemon grumbled as he got out of bed and slipped on a robe.
Jaenelle paused at the bathroom door. “Daemon? Where are you planning to sleep for the next decade?”
Hell’s fire. “Fine. All right. I’ll tell the Sceltie to bring the cat.”
She just smiled and closed the bathroom door.
Great. Wonderful, Daemon thought as he left their room to use the bathroom down the hall. She had a point about placating those two. If Ladvarian’s feelings were hurt by being excluded, the Sceltie could make his life very difficult. And Kaelas had a few points of his own. They were called teeth and claws. Pissing off an Arcerian cat who was a Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince and who already resented that a human male was claiming a piece of Jaenelle’s bed wasn’t the best way to begin his new position as a husband.
As he adjusted the water in the shower, he contacted Ladvarian on a psychic spear thread and delivered Jaenelle’s instructions—and felt grateful the dog didn’t ask any questions since he didn’t have any answers.
That done, he stepped into the shower and quickly washed while he considered if he was amused or insulted by Jaenelle’s “discovery.”
Growing up under Dorothea’s control had stripped him of innocence at a very early age, and there was little, if anything, of a twisted, vile nature that he hadn’t experienced. The Darkness only knew all that he’d done, but one thing he knew with absolute certainty: He was not naive.
2
Surreal stared at Helton. “They left?”
“Immediately after breakfast,” Helton replied.
“Did Prince Sadi say where he and Lady Angelline were going?” Lucivar asked.
“He did not, Prince Yaslana. Nor did he leave instructions on how to reach him. He did say he and the Lady would be returning, but he did not say when.”
Surreal blew out a breath and looked at Lucivar, who shrugged.
“Would you like some breakfast?” Helton asked. “Or perhaps coffee served in the sitting room?”
“Coffee’s fine,” Surreal said. She walked into the sitting room and waited until Lucivar closed the door before she kicked a footstool.
“You pissed off about something, or are you reacting to this room?” Lucivar asked, moving around the room as if he were looking for a trap he knew was there but couldn’t see.
“What about the room?” she snapped.
“The hot anger still lingering in it.” Lucivar studied a spot on the carpet. “The cold rage underneath the anger.”
Surreal stopped her own prowling to see what had caught his attention. “Where’s the chair?”
“What?”
“There was a stuffed chair in that spot. At least, there was when I was here this winter to do some shopping for Winsol.”
Lucivar crouched, his hand moving slowly just above the carpet. Then he pulled a sliver of wood out of the carpet and held it up.
He didn’t have to say anything.
She closed her eyes. “Mother Night, Lucivar. Did I do something stupid by coaxing Jaenelle into coming to Amdarh?”
Rising, he tossed the sliver into the fireplace. “You didn’t know about the rumors.”
“Where do you think they’ve gone?”
Lucivar turned slowly. His Ebon-gray Jewel glowed. He paused, then clearly broke whatever link he’d been trying to make. “Daemon’s not responding, but he’s west of here. Heading for the Hall, I think.”
Daemon was the only person Surreal knew who could make Lucivar wary. That Sadi wouldn’t respond to his brother made her nervous.
A light knock on the door preceded Helton, who brought in the tray that held a dish of pastries as well as the coffee. It would have been natural, even expected, for one of them to ask him about the chair’s absence.
Neither of them asked. They kept silent until Helton left the room.
Then Lucivar sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “What are you planning to do?”
Surreal poured coffee for both of them. “I’ll stay here for a few days, do some shopping, see if I hear anything interesting. What about you?”
“I think I’d better go to the Keep and inform the family patriarch about what’s happening,” Lucivar replied, taking his cup of coffee.
“Well, that should perk up Uncle Saetan’s day.”
He snorted. “Yeah. He’s going to be thrilled.”
3
“Is there anything you can do?” Lucivar asked, finding no comfort in the way Saetan sat so silent and still.
Finally, Saetan sighed. “I gave up my claim to Dhemlan last year when I decided to remain here at the Keep. The Queens there no longer have to answer to me.”
“But they know you. They’ll listen to you. Hell’s fire, Father. Things are shaky enough between Jaenelle and Daemon. If these rumors—”
“I beg your pardon?”
He felt that whiplash of icy temper and winced. “You’ve visited them at the Hall often enough,” he hedged. “Surely, you’ve noticed . . .” Oh, shit.
Saetan shook his head. “My apologies, Lucivar. I have no right to lash out at you for saying something I don’t want to hear. Daemon came too close to sliding back into the Twisted Kingdom when he thought Jaenelle died. If he loses her now . . . I’m not sure what would happen.”
“You know what will happen,” Lucivar said. “You were in that camp in Hayll. You know what it’s like to dance with the Sadist. He played out a game with illusions, but with the right provocation, he’s capable of doing things like that. He’s capable of doing anything. You know that.”
“Yes, I know that,” Saetan replied too softly. “After all, he is his father’s mirror.”
For a moment, Lucivar couldn’t breathe. The deliberate reminder that a place called Zuulaman no longer existed was a caution about dealing with the man who sat on the other side of the desk—and a warning about the other man who wore Black Jewels. After all, Daemon was the reason he didn’t fear Saetan. When it came down to it, the Sadist could be a more elegantly vicious enemy than the High Lord of Hell would ever dream of being.
“What do we do?” Lucivar asked.
“We wait.” Saetan paused, then added, “And we hope.”
4
He was naive. It was the only explanation for why he was standing in a meadow on a spring afternoon feeling overdressed and feet-deficient.
Of course, being flanked by a huge cat and a small dog while enclosed by a circle of unicorns could make any man feel . . . out of step.
Then the unicorns shifted, making an opening in the circle. Jaenelle stepped through the opening, flanked by Moonshadow, the Queen of Sceval, and her mate, Mistral, the Warlord Prince of the unicorns. Behind them came the Priestess, who had agreed to do her best to say words that would be meaningful to humans while she stood as witness to the “mating” of Kaeleer’s Heart to Prince Daemon Sadi.
Thank the Darkness, none of them expected him to consummate the marriage in front of these witnesses.
Jaenelle’s eyes brimmed with amusement as she took her place beside him. On his left.
He didn’t think about it. He simply stepped back and shifted until he stood on her left, the subordinate position. Her startled expression told him she didn’t know what to think about that move, since he now outranked her and was entitled to stand on the right. But his choice had nothing to do with the Jewels she now wore and everything to do with who, and what, she still was. Her place wasn’t at his side; his place was at her side. And always would be.
Before her uncertainty could be sensed by the unicorns around them, Mistral reared. Then, looking at Daemon, he flicked his tail and snorted before moving to one side.
Jaenelle pressed her lips together.
*You’d have no use for me if I was hung like that,* Daemon told her on a psychic thread.
She changed her muffled laugh into a series of coughs, causing Ladvarian to declare it was still too cold for the Lady to be outside much longer.
So Moonshadow tossed her head, the sun gleaming on her spiral horn, and all the unicorns pricked their ears as the Priestess took her place in front of the two humans.
*Jaenelle,* the Priestess said, *this human stallion stands before you, wanting to be your mate. Will you accept him?*