Surreal gave him a sharp look but didn’t move away from him until they started walking toward the Hall’s front door. Then she took a long step to the side and would enter the Hall a couple of steps behind him.
Fighting room.
Beale waited for him in the great hall. He’d expected that, but he didn’t expect his butler to look tired—or regretful.
“Beale.” Daemon’s voice was filled with a quiet warning. “Are you well?”
“I am well, Prince,” Beale replied. Meaning he had no physical injuries or serious emotional trauma.
“And Daemonar?”
“Physically, he is well.” Beale hesitated. “Although he barely touched his breakfast.”
Daemonar wasn’t eating? What in the name of Hell had happened? And who . . .
“We have guests?” Daemon asked too softly.
“Lady Grizande and Prince Jaalan.” Beale called in two sheets of paper. “Their bloodlines.”
“Grizande?” Surreal stepped up to stand beside Daemon. “Wasn’t she . . . ?”
“The Queen of the Tigre and a member of the Dark Court’s First Circle,” Daemon replied. “This witch is a descendant of Grizande and Elan.” And the Warlord Prince came from Jaal.
Hell’s fire.
“They came to the Hall last evening, looking for help and safety.” Beale hesitated again. “The girl has been tortured. I don’t know about the kitten.”
It took effort to keep the Sadist leashed. “Sexual?”
“No. Lady Nadene confirmed that Lady Grizande is still a virgin.”
Sexual torture didn’t require a loss of virginity, and if the girl was the unfamiliar Sapphire his psychic probe had picked up, someone would have tried to break her before she grew into her strength. Unless that person died trying and the girl had escaped.
Daemon pushed those thoughts aside since they called to the Sadist.
“I am sorry, Prince, but . . . Her will.” Beale held out a pale gray paper, folded and sealed with black wax. “It was a small indiscretion, but since you weren’t at the Hall, it fell within the boundaries of her command.”
“Shit,” Surreal whispered.
Daemon took the paper, broke the seal, and read his Queen’s command.
“Hell’s fire,” Surreal said as she read the note. “I’ve known women to spritz a bit of their signature perfume on a letter, but I didn’t know anyone could infuse the feeling ‘I am seriously pissed off’ into paper and ink.”
“Yes,” Daemon said. “The Lady is not pleased.” He read the names of the individuals who had been summoned to the Keep; then he looked at Beale. “Who crossed that line?”
Beale sighed. “Lady Zoela.”
That’s what he figured, based on the names. If it had been Daemonar, Witch would have dealt with her erring nephew directly. This formal summons was meant to scare the shit out of everyone. Especially a young Queen.
Daemon folded the summons and vanished it.
“What else is going on?” Surreal asked.
“Squabbles among the young Queens,” Beale replied. “Nothing connected to the guests.”
“But connected to whatever prompted Zoey to cross a line?” she suggested sweetly.
Beale didn’t answer—which was an answer.
“Have a Coach brought around to the landing web,” Daemon told Beale. Then he looked at Surreal. “With me.”
They went to his study.
“You want me to stay at the Hall while you get this settled,” Surreal said.
“Yes,” Daemon agreed. “You don’t have to interact with the youngsters if you don’t want to get entangled in their . . .”
“Bitch drama-trauma?” she supplied cheerfully. “Actually, sugar, I think I will wade into that and show them what a real bitch looks like.”
He choked on a laugh. “Yes. That.” He sobered. “I’m making the request because you’re my second-in-command and you wear the Gray.”
“And someone might come looking for the girl while you’re at the Keep.”
“Yes.”
“Well, the staff here has had plenty of experience cleaning up ponds of blood, so we’ll be fine.”
Her enthusiasm for the possibility of another pond was a little alarming. “Do you want to come with me to meet our guests?”
Surreal studied him for a long moment before shaking her head. “Not right now. The Tigre witch came here seeking help from you. Prince of the Darkness, High Lord of Hell. One side of the Queen’s Triangle. Time enough for her to meet me.”
Queen’s Triangle. As Daemon walked to the guest room, he wondered if that was as significant as Surreal seemed to think. He and Daemonar were two sides of that triangle. How would Grizande react to Lucivar, the third side?
Maybe they should find out before he made any decisions about the girl.
Assuming he would be making any decisions.
As he approached the room, he released a thread of psychic power. He’d expected to feel the girl’s Sapphire and the kindred tiger. But . . . Green?
He rapped on the door and walked in.
*Prince!* Liath gave him an enthusiastic tail wag. *I am reading to Grizande and Jaalan to help them learn the human words.*
Daemon recognized the book floating on air. Sceltie Saves the Day. Well, generations of four-footed youngsters had learned how to read using those books.
The Tigre witch leaped to her feet. Fearful. Wary. Hopeful. Uncertain.
“Lady Grizande.” He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, giving the impression of being totally at ease, despite the way his heart ached for this girl who had such need. “I knew Grizande and Elan. You come from a strong line, witchling. As does your little brother.” He tipped his head to indicate the kitten.
Her fingers touched the tunic she wore. “Helene gave. I not take.”
“I know,” he said gently. “Did she give you more than one outfit?”
She nodded.
“We have been summoned to the Keep.” He watched her. A moment’s panic eclipsed by excitement—and hope. “We’ll leave in about an hour. Liath? Can you escort Lady Grizande and Prince Jaalan to the great hall when it’s time?”
*I will escort them.*
Badger and herd was closer to the truth, but everyone learned about dealing with Scelties in their own way.
“Have you had breakfast?” Daemon asked. Then clarified when she looked confused: “Food?”
“Yes.” She seemed to be gathering herself to ask a question. “Daemonar. He said in morning. I not see.”
“He’ll be coming with us.” That didn’t explain why the boy hadn’t come to check on her, but it did confirm that Daemonar was Grizande’s touchstone. For the time being, anyway.
Daemon gave the girl a warm smile, then headed for his nephew’s room. The boy wasn’t eating, wasn’t honoring a promise to see someone who clearly needed some help?
He rapped on Daemonar’s door, and this time he waited for permission to enter—and he wondered who the boy was keeping out by putting a Green lock on the door and a Green shield around the room.
He released a drop of Black power, rippling it across the Green shield in a way that would let Daemonar know who was outside his room without breaking the shield.
The door opened. Daemonar stared at him, then stepped back.
Daemon walked into the room and closed the door—and found his arms full of a boy who’d received an emotional kick in the gut and hadn’t regained his balance yet.
“What happened?” Daemon asked as he massaged the back of the boy’s neck and added a soothing spell to quiet some of the emotional turmoil. “Report.” A word that required a recitation of actions but didn’t require any explanation of the feelings connected to those actions.
Daemonar took a breath, released it in a shuddering sigh, and told Daemon everything he had done to settle Grizande—and told him about his clash with Zoey.