Queen of the Darkness (25 page)

Andulvar shrugged. ”My ego’s not bruised, puppy. She’s too good a Queen not to understand the needs of the males who serve her. Right now, you need to make the arrangements more than I do.” His smile had sharp edges. ”But if you don’t inform me of your arrangements, I
will
be insulted.”

”If you have time now, we could take a look at a map,” Lucivar said.

”You’re learning, puppy,” Andulvar said as he draped an arm over Lucivar’s shoulders and led him out of the study. ”You’re learning.”

When Daemon made no move to leave, Saetan leaned against the blackwood desk. ”Something on your mind, Prince?”

”I don’t give a damn what familial ties you and Lucivar claim to have with her, I am
not
her brother,”

Daemon said too quietly.

”No one said you were. The fact that I’m her adopted father and you happen to be my son is irrelevant.

You’ve never thought of her as a sister, and she’s never thought of you as a brother. That hasn’t changed.”

The chill in Daemon’s eyes thawed to bleakness. ”She may not think of me as a brother, but she also doesn’t want me to be anything else.”

Saetan snapped to attention. ”That isn’t true.”

Daemon’s soft laugh held bitterness and grief. ”It usually takes me less than an hour to seduce a woman when I’m trying. And usually not more than two when I’m not. I can’t even get close enough to talk to her most of the time.”

Daemon’s acknowledged ability to seduce chilled Saetan. Because the people telling the tales didn’t know they were talking about his son, he’d heard enough stories about the Sadist to feel uneasy. Those bedroom skills, like the man who wielded them, were a double-edged sword.

If Daemon felt driven enough to use those skills prematurely...

Saetan crossed his arms to hide the slight tremor in his hands. ”The boyos find this little chase between you and Jaenelle amusing.”

”Do they?” Daemon asked too softly.

”And, I confess, so do I.”
Or would, if I could be certain you weren’t going to go for my throat
before I finish this.

Daemon’s gold eyes held a bored, sleepy look Saetan knew too well—because there had been times when he had looked into a mirror and seen it in his own eyes.

”Do you?” Daemon asked.

”A couple of days ago, Jaenelle asked for my opinion about the dress she was wearing for dinner.”

”I remember it. It’s a lovely gown.”

”I’m delighted that you appreciated it.” Saetan paused. ”Can you also appreciate that, in the thirteen years she’s lived here, Jaenelle has never been concerned enough about clothes to ask for my opinion about something she was wearing. And can you appreciate that she wasn’t asking for my opinion as her Steward or her father but as a man. And I admit that, considering the way that dress fit her, my opinion of it as a father would have differed considerably from my opinion as a man.”

Daemon almost smiled.

”She sees you as a man, Daemon. A
man,
not a male friend. For the first time in her life, she’s trying to deal with her own lust. So she’s running.”

”She’s not the only one trying to deal with it,” Daemon muttered, but the sleepy look had changed to sharp interest. ”I
am
her Consort. She could just—”

Saetan shook his head. ”Do you really think Jaenelle would demand that from you?”

”No.” Daemon raked his fingers through his hair. ”What can I do?”

”You don’t need to do anything more than you’re already doing.” Saetan thought for a moment. ”Do you know how to make a brew to ease moontime discomfort?”

”I know how to make a few of them.”

Saetan smiled. ”In that case, I suggest that the Consort prepare one for his Lady. I don’t think even Jaenelle would disagree about that falling into the category of ’reasonable fussing.’ ”

7 / Kaeleer

Surreal paused in the dining room doorway and swore under her breath. The only people in the room were Alexandra and her entourage.

Hell’s fire. Why couldn’t Jaenelle have left well enough alone? The meals had certainly been more relaxed and the conversation more interesting when Alexandra and her people had been taking their meals separately. When she had pointed that out to Saetan, he had informed her it had been Jaenelle’s idea to have Alexandra and the others join the rest of them for meals, in the hope that they might acquire some understanding about Kaeleer.

The intention might have been good, Surreal thought crossly as she strode to the table, but the reality was a miserable failure. Not one of them, from Alexandra right down to the least-ranking escort, wanted to understand
anything
about the Blood in Kaeleer. And the midday meals were the, worst since Saetan didn’t preside over them.

As she reached the table, the two Province Queens, Vania and Nyselle, gave her looks that mingled smug superiority with disgust. She might have taken it personally if she hadn’t known that they looked at
all
the witches there in exactly the same way—including the Queens who far outranked them.

Then Vania looked at the doorway, and her expression changed to predatory delight.

Glancing over, Surreal saw Aaron pause in the doorway—and decided that a man who had been told the date of his execution looked pretty much the same way. Figuring that he didn’t need another woman staring at him, she turned her attention to the table.

The first point of interest was the way this group had split. Alexandra, Philip, and Leland were sitting at one end of the table. Nyselle was sitting at the other end, her Consort and the escorts ranged around her.

Vania’s Consort sat on his Lady’s left, looking unhappy. The chair on Vania’s right was empty, as were the ones across from her.

The second point of interest was the serving dishes on the table. Breakfast and the midday meal were usually set out on the huge sideboard so that everyone could fill a plate and take a seat as they pleased.

Dinner was the only meal that had a set starting time, and was the only meal where the footmen served the food.
This
midday meal had been set out family-style, as if only a small number of people were expected.

That was fine, Surreal thought as she began filling her plate from the closest serving dishes. That was just
fine
— as long as everyone else was going hungry to avoid eating with the guests. But if she found out that another midday meal was being quietly served elsewhere, she was going to have a few things to say to
someone
about not being told.

”May I sit with you?” Aaron asked quietly as he joined her.

She was about to make a tart reply about there being plenty of chairs when she saw the hunted look in his eyes.

As if her noticing him had given him some kind of permission, he shifted closer to her. Close enough for her to feel the way his muscles quivered with the strain of keeping strong emotions tightly leashed.

”Why don’t you sit over here, Aaron?” Vania said, giving him a coy smile while she patted the chair on her right.

Well, that more than explained the hunted look.

During the time Surreal had been at the Hall, she’d observed that the males—from the most menial male servant right up to the High Lord—had some very particular ideas about what was considered acceptable physical distance, and the cold courtesy they could all turn on a woman was usually an effective determent when that distance wasn’t respected. The males in the First Circle not only tolerated being approached and touched by all of the witches in the First Circle, they welcomed that friendly intimacy. But they didn’t welcome it from anyone else.

He considers me one of them,she realized, feeling a jolt of pleasure at the acceptance.
He considers me
safe.
Because of that, her ”Of course,” in reply to his question was as soothing as she could make it.

Which, for some reason, distressed him.

I was a good whore, she thought as she picked up the serving fork and the carving knife from the platter holding the roasted turkey.
A damnedgood whore. So why is it that, all of a sudden, males are
impossible to figure out?

”Would—”

Surreal turned her head to look at Aaron, the carving knife poised over the turkey. ”You weren’t going to suggest that I don’t know how to handle a knife, were you, sugar?”

Aaron’s eyes widened. ”I would never be so foolish as to suggest that a Dea al Mon witch didn’t know how to handle a knife,” he said, sounding suspiciously meek. ”I was going to ask if you would mind cutting a slice for me.”

”Of course you were,” she replied tartly. She felt something in him relax and swore silently about perverse male behavior. Then again, she mused as she cut the turkey breast, maybe the males were just so used to that blend of tart and sweet in a witch’s personality, they could relax around it. It could be an acquired taste, like pickleberries.

The thought made her chuckle.

After placing the serving fork and carving knife back on the platter, she settled down to eat. There wasn’t much conversation, which suited her just fine—especially since all of Vania’s remarks were aimed at Aaron and his replies had become curt to the point of rudeness.

Hoping to break, or at least change, the tension that was getting thicker by the minute, Surreal looked up, intending to ask Alexandra when she and her party were going to leave. But she didn’t say anything because she found herself looking straight at Vania. There was a nasty kind of anger in the woman’s eyes directed right at Aaron.

After toying with her food for a minute, Vania pushed her plate away and smiled coyly. ”I declare, I’m just too tired to eat right now. Aaron was
so
stimulating this morning.”

It took Surreal a moment too long to understand that remark.

With a howl of rage, Aaron lunged across the table, grabbed Vania by the hair, and yanked her forward.

His left hand closed on the carving knife and swung it toward her throat.

Surreal grabbed Aaron’s left wrist with both hands and pulled back as hard as she could. He gave her a couple of inches before his muscles bunched and his arm surged forward.

The knife’s point jabbed Vania’s neck. She screamed as blood began flowing from the wound.

Surreal poured the power of her Gray Jewels into her hands to give her added strength, but there was some kind of tight shield around Aaron that just absorbed the power.

All right. Muscle against muscle. She could hold him off for the few seconds needed for the other men at the table to help her.

Except no one moved.

Then she got a glimpse of Aaron’s face and knew none of the other people in the room were going to approach a Warlord Prince who looked that cold and merciless.

She fought harder, used every bit of leverage she could find. She didn’t give a damn if Vania got her throat slit, but she didn’t want Aaron to get into trouble because the bitch had pushed him too far.

Surreal?Graysfang said anxiously.

Help me!

The wolf must have been nearby because he was in the dining room seconds after she called.

*Surreal ... *

Don’t just stand there. Do something!

Aaron is First Circle,Graysfang whined.
I can’t bite Aaron.

Then find someone who can!

Graysfang rushed out of the room.

If she could have, she would have used Craft to vanish the knife, but Aaron had extended that damned shield to include the weapon. She couldn’t get the knife, couldn’t even break his wrist to stop him.

Her grip on his wrist slipped for an instant—long enough for the knife to slice Vania’s neck again.

Then Chaosti was there, his hands clamped on Aaron’s right wrist. Lucivar’s hands closed over hers, adding more force and strength.

Aaron fought against them mindlessly, intent only on the kill.

”Damn it, Aaron,” Lucivar snarled. ”Don’t force me to break your wrist.”

Good luck,Surreal thought sourly as Lucivar’s hands tightened on hers. She just hoped he remembered her hands were in the way before he started breaking bones.

Aaron seemed far past the ability to hear them, but he reacted when an icy midnight voice said, ”Prince Aaron,
attend.”

Aaron began shivering uncontrollably. Lucivar quickly took the carving knife away from him and vanished it. Chaosti pried Aaron’s right hand open, releasing Vania’s hair.

Vania kept screaming—had been screaming, Surreal realized, since the first jab.

”SILENCE.”

Ice instantly coated all the glasses on the table. Vania glanced in Jaenelle’s direction and stopped screaming.

”Prince Aaron,” Jaenelle said too calmly.
”Attend.”

Flinching, Aaron slowly straightened up. Chaosti and Lucivar released him and stepped aside. Deathly pale, Aaron walked over to where Jaenelle stood and sank to his knees.

”Wait for me in the High Lord’s study,” Jaenelle said.

With effort, Aaron got to his feet and left the dining room.

Surreal looked at those frozen sapphire eyes, felt the lightest brush of immense, barely controlled rage, and started to shake. Her legs gave out. She sat on the table.

Jaenelle slowly approached the table and turned her eyes on Lucivar. ”You knew about this.”

Lucivar took several shallow breaths before answering. ”I knew.”

”And you did nothing.”

He swallowed hard. ”I had hoped it would be taken care of quietly.”

Jaenelle just stared at him. Then, ”I’ll see you in the High Lord’s study in thirty minutes, Prince Yaslana.”

”Yes, Lady.”

Those sapphire eyes pinned Chaosti next. ”And you after him.”

”It will be my pleasure, Lady,” Chaosti replied, his voice husky.

Oh, I doubt that very much,Surreal thought, still shaking.

Then Jaenelle looked at Vania—and the cold began to burn.

”If you ever again cause one of my males any physical, mental, or emotional distress, I will hang you by your heels and skin you alive.”

No one spoke, no one moved until Jaenelle walked out of the room.

Could she do that?Surreal wondered. She didn’t realize she had spoken out loud until Lucivar made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a whimper.