Saetan walked into a sitting room similar to the one he’d left at the Keep in Terreille, but this one held a golden-haired treasure.
“Before we were interrupted, I believe you were going to tell me why you’re spending a few days with me here,” he said as he settled on the sofa next to Jaenelle.
“Because my moontime was supposed to start this evening, and Daemon politely requested that I spend the three days when I’m vulnerable here instead of remaining at the Hall.”
“With him.”
“With him.” She looked tired and sad.
“Was he right? Did it start?”
She gave him a sour look. “You know it did.”
Of course he knew. He smelled the change in her scent the moment he walked in the room.
“Give him time, witch-child. He’s running scared. He loves you with everything that’s in him—and he’s just beginning to understand that it really is
everything
that’s in him.”
“I miss him.”
Saetan drew her closer and put an arm around her shoulders. “Not half as much as he’s missing you. And right about now, he’s wondering why he’d been such a fool as to ask you to come here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s a mirror.” He kissed her head. “So tomorrow when he shows up, don’t tell him he looks like he hasn’t slept, because he
hasn’t
slept. And don’t bristle over whatever paltry excuse he makes about you needing a nap. Just tuck in with him so he can get some sleep—and let him heal his wounds in his own way.”
Those sapphire eyes looked at him, looked through him.
“Will he heal, Papa?”
“In order to be with you, Daemon needs to heal. So he’ll heal,” Saetan replied.
They sat quietly for a couple of minutes. Then Jaenelle said, “So why were you called to the Keep in Terreille?”
“For this.” He called in Cassidy’s note and handed the pages to her.
About halfway through the first page, Jaenelle began to chuckle. Wasn’t his reaction to the words, but he had suspected it would be hers.
“Oh, my,” Jaenelle said. “Cassie is
really
pissed.”
“And showing a fair amount of backbone,” Saetan said.
“She always had that, but she never had to fight for anything enough for it to show.”
“Looks like she’s fighting now.”
“And may the Darkness help whoever is dumb enough to get in her way.” Jaenelle folded the pages and handed them back to him. “She didn’t provide any dimensions. Hard to really know what she wants, isn’t it?”
He knew a leading question when he heard one. “Yes, it is. Any suggestions?” As if he hadn’t guessed.
Jaenelle smiled at him. “I think we know a good carpenter who could be persuaded to work in Dena Nehele for a few days.”
He returned her smile. “Yes, I think we do.”
CHAPTER 17
KAELEER
D
aemon walked into his closet and pulled a white silk shirt off its hanger. As he stuffed one arm into a sleeve, he muttered, “It’s your own fault, you brainless fool. So do something about it.” And he damn well
was
going to do something about it just as soon as he got this miserable rag of a shirt over his shoul—
“Stop it,” Jazen snapped, rushing into the closet. “Stop!You’ll rip the seams.”
Daemon bared his teeth and snarled at his valet. “What’s wrong with Lord Aldric that he couldn’t get the measurements right? I give him enough business.”
The valet stripped the shirt off him and hung it back up with a fussy care that honed Daemon’s temper—and also made him wary.
“It doesn’t fit because it’s not your shirt,” Jazen said, examining the shoulder seams for rips.
“Then why is it in my closet?”
“Because it’s Lady Angelline’s shirt.”
“Then why is it in my closet?”
Jazen huffed out a breath, and Daemon got the impression the valet had hoped never to have this conversation.
“It has to stay in your closet with the rest of your clothes in order to absorb your scent,” Jazen said.
“Are you saying I
smell
?”
“If you want to pick a fight, look elsewhere,” Jazen said with a rigid courtesy. “You asked a question; I’m trying to give you an answer.”
Daemon closed his eyes and struggled to leash his temper. “My apologies, Jazen,” he finally said. “I’m a bit . . . cranky.”
“Prince, you passed cranky halfway through breakfast—which is when Beale suggested I pack a bag for you so that you could leave the moment you decided to go to the Keep.”
He’d always been so good at hiding feelings he didn’t want anyone to see. When had he stopped being good at hiding?
He opened his eyes and looked at Jazen. “The shirt.”
Jazen selected another white silk shirt and handed it to him. It didn’t look any different from the other one—except it fit him perfectly.
“Servants are discreet,” Jazen said. “Especially personal servants. And while they won’t discuss things that go on in the household with anyone outside their house, they do talk among themselves. So I began to see a pattern with the laundry. Lady Angelline would borrow one of your shirts, and when it was laundered, it would be returned to her closet. But the second time she wore it, she would seem dissatisfied—and go browsing in your closet again. That’s when I realized the shirt itself wasn’t the attraction. The appeal was your scent—physical and psychic—that was absorbed by the material.
“I also realized from the things the maids said that your shirts were a little
too
big to be comfortably big, and it was easy enough to learn that the High Lord’s shirts had been a better fit. So the last time I was in Amdarh to place an order for your shirts, I took the liberty of talking to Lord Aldric, and he made a couple of shirts that were just a little smaller than your measurements for shoulders and sleeves. I put a little bead on the hanger so that those shirts are easy to identify, and I position them so that Lady Angelline is more likely to choose one of them than any other.”
“I see,” Daemon said. He hadn’t considered why Jaenelle chose to wear one of his shirts. The way she looked always aroused him, even when it was clear she had no interest in him doing anything with that arousal. “Do you know why she does that?”
Jazen hesitated. “I wouldn’t presume to know what the Lady thinks.”
“I asked, Jazen. I’m not going to hold your opinion against you.”
Jazen hesitated a moment longer. “The servants at the Hall are very discreet,” he said again, emphasizing that point, “but they’ve told me a little about things that happened before the Lady came to live with the High Lord. So I would understand why she responds to some things the way she does.
“I’m guessing that she first started wearing the High Lord’s shirts when she felt nervous or vulnerable because she needed the reminder that she was safe, that he would stand as her sword and shield. Later on, since Helene and the laundry maids didn’t remember Lady Angelline abandoning his shirts after a couple of washings and she only occasionally borrowed a different one, I think she was at an age when she simply liked wearing one of his shirts—and she enjoyed a small rebellion against a father who liked women to dress for dinner.”
“So she arrived at the table well dressed but in a man’s shirt,” Daemon said—and wondered if Saetan had been amused or annoyed by that maneuver.
He missed her so much he ached. Missed her so much the loneliness gnawed at his gut. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night because her absence was too much of a reminder of all the nights of misery when he’d thought she was dead.
But this he had done to himself. He had sent her away to keep her safe from a potentially dangerous adversary.
Him.
But he had to go to the Keep. Had to be with her. And had to believe that Saetan would do whatever needed to be done if he crossed some line that shouldn’t be crossed.
“So the High Lord’s scent represents safety,” Daemon said. “What does she get from me?”
Jazen studied him for a long moment before saying quietly,“If I’ve understood correctly, you’re the only man Lady Angelline has ever welcomed as a lover. Considering her past, I would say, Prince, that your scent represents pleasure and love—and trust.”
TERREILLE
“You brainless, pigheaded ass.”
Theran stopped at the edge of the terrace and faced Cassidy, choking on the words that razored his throat. He wanted to fight, wanted to spew out his own opinions and disappointments, but he didn’t dare. Not after Talon returned from an unexplained visit to the Keep and told him flat out that from now on, the Master of the Guard would back the Queen in any dispute, no questions asked.
So no matter what Lady Cassidy did or said, if she complained about him,
he
would be in the wrong.
The only good thing about Cassidy snapping at him this morning was the look on Gray’s face. Maybe his cousin would start to realize Cassidy wasn’t so wonderful after all.
“No need to be pointing the way,” a rough voice said. “When her temper is on the boil, the girl sounds just like her mother.”
Cassidy’s eyes widened with a strange kind of apprehension. “Poppi?” she said as she turned toward the terrace doors and looked at the burly stranger. “Poppi?”
“Hello, Kitten.”
The look on her face as she launched herself at the man, who hugged her hard enough to lift her off her feet.
I’ve never seen her happy,
Theran thought, feeling uncomfortable about that realization because he might be partly to blame.
*Who is he?* Gray asked as he joined Theran on the edge of the terrace.
The psychic communication startled Theran since Gray used it so rarely.
*I don’t know,* Theran replied. *But he seems to know her well.*
A flash of
something
from Gray, gone too fast to identify.
The man set Cassidy down, then smiled broadly as he ran his hands down her arms. But his smile faded as he held her hands, his thumbs brushing her palms. Sadness clouded his face as he looked at her hands.
“Poppi . . . ,” Cassidy began.
“No,” he said firmly. “It’s best if we not have words about this.” He nodded as if he’d made some decision. “Yes, I think it’s best.”
Theran caught sight of Ranon coming up behind the stranger and figured it was time to do his duty as First Escort before Ranon did it for him. So he said, “Lady?” in a tone that politely demanded information.
“Oh.” Looking flustered, Cassidy linked her arm with the stranger’s and turned to face him. “Poppi, this is Prince Theran Grayhaven, my First Escort. And that’s his cousin, Gray.” She looked over her shoulder. “And that’s Prince Ranon.”
“Gentlemen,” the man said, touching two fingers to the brim of an old brown hat.
Certainly doesn’t look worried about facing Warlord Princes,
Theran thought.
“Prince Theran, gentlemen, this is my father, Lord Burle.”
Theran saw Gray’s eyes widen.
“Your father’s come to visit?” Gray asked.
“Yes,” Cassidy said.
“Not exactly,” Burle said. Letting go of Cassidy, he pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Cassidy.
She opened it, read it—and just stared at it until Theran wanted to rip it out of her hands and find out what in the name of Hell was going on.
“I don’t understand,” Cassidy finally said.
“Seems clear enough,” Burle said.
“I asked Prince Sadi to send a bed, a dresser, and a bookcase,” Cassidy said.
“You left out a few details, Kitten. Instead of sending something that may not be what you wanted, the Prince sent me. Four days of my time to cobble together the furniture you wanted. If it takes longer than that to get it all done, I might have some pieces already made that will do, or we can negotiate for more time. I brought tools and lumber and other things. Was brought down by Coach, courtesy of Prince Sadi. The driver says he can leave the Coach as a supply shed while I’m here, but it’s still sitting on the landing web beyond the gates and needs to be moved out of the way, so he’ll set it wherever you want before he heads back to Kaeleer.”
“I can take care of that,” Ranon said, looking at Cassidy. “You want it near the house?”
“Actually . . .” Cassidy looked flustered. “The furniture is for Gray, so somewhere near the back of the gardens would probably be more convenient.”
“For me?” Gray said, looking stunned.
“In that case,” Burle said, “perhaps Prince Gray could give me a few minutes of his time and show me the space and give me some thoughts about what might suit him.”
“But you just got here,” Cassidy protested.
“And I’ll be here for the next few days,” Burle replied. “But when I’m paid for a full day’s work, I give a full day’s work. So you get on with your work, and I’ll get on with mine, and I’ll see you at dinner. Go on, now. Git.”
“Are you allowed to talk to a Queen like that?” Gray asked.
“Hell’s fire, no,” Burle said, laughing. “But I’m not talking to a Queen now, am I? I’m talking to my daughter.” He gave Cassidy a comically fierce look. “You still here?”
“Fine,” Cassidy grumbled as a smile tugged her lips. “I’m going.”
Didn’t take much brainpower to figure out Lord Burle was going to be reporting personally to Prince Sadi when he went home, so Theran extended his right hand and said politely,“Lady, if you’re ready, the Steward is waiting to review some information about the Provinces.”
His conduct as he escorted her into the house was absolutely correct.
Too bad she looked so stunned by it.
Cassie’s father. This man is Cassie’s father.
Gray couldn’t keep his mind on anything but the big man walking beside him—including where he put his feet—so he kept tripping over nothing.
“I guess you’ve known Cassie for a long time,” Gray said.
“All her life,” Burle replied with an odd smile and a twinkle in his eyes.