“Jillian’s still young. Maybe she’s not ready for this.” Lucivar sounded hopeful.
He sighed. “She’s ready, Prick. She’s feeling passionate about a vintner who works on your Dhemlan estate.”
“Shit.” Lucivar narrowed his eyes. “Has he . . . ?”
“He knows enough about you—about us—not to be that foolish.”
“Lust makes foolish things sound reasonable.”
He’d seen the truth of that too many times to disagree. “Well, let’s go in and find out. One way or the other, we’ll take care of it.”
“We will.” Lucivar started up the steps. “Good thing I honed my skinning knife this morning.”
Daemon didn’t bother to reply. If it came to that, Lucivar could work out some anger by skinning the fool. The Sadist, on the other hand, would seduce their enemy to the point that the fool’s cock would explode from the ecstasy.
Daemon considered himself flexible when it came to women’s attire, and he couldn’t fault anyone who chose to wear what amounted to a signature outfit. After all, he’d worn black jackets with black trousers and a white silk shirt for centuries and saw no reason to change his wardrobe. He just wasn’t sure what Brenda’s wardrobe said about her. Not the clothes she wore when she rode Shaye or worked around the stables or played some rough-and-tumble game with the Scelties. And not the dresses she wore for the evening meals. But her working outfit seemed to consist of brown or black or dark gray trousers with a matching—or contrasting—vest and a soft white shirt. Not that dissimilar to what Surreal as his second-in-command considered her working outfits, except Brenda’s vests were always decorated with embroidery, and she always had a gold pocket watch and chain. She seemed to consult the watch often, even when she was between lessons and had no particular place to go—and she often found something amusing about whatever the watch revealed.
He had no idea what to think about that—or why, when Brenda walked into the sitting room and consulted her watch, he felt uncharacteristically nervous.
Brenda smiled at him. He smiled at her. She smiled at Lucivar, who bared his teeth.
Jillian and Surreal walked into the sitting room. Jillian took the chair positioned next to the sofa, while Surreal and Brenda sat on opposite ends of the sofa, Brenda being closer to Jillian.
Daemon eyed Surreal, who shrugged.
*No idea, sugar,* she said on a psychic thread.
He turned to Jillian, aware of Lucivar standing behind him and to the side. Fighting position. “You wanted to talk to us?” Nothing challenging in the question, and he kept his voice pitched to sound encouraging.
Jillian sent a pleading look to Brenda.
Brenda’s smile brightened. “Here’s the way of it, then. Jillian, being a bright young woman and knowing how protective the men in her family can be when it comes to . . . everything . . . realized her Virgin Night would cause some excitement within the male breasts.”
“Is that where male excitement is lodged?” Daemon asked dryly.
Brenda ignored him, but her smile got a wee bit brighter—and sharper. “When she felt it was time for her to take that step toward protecting her power, Jillian consulted with the Queens in Little Weeble, who assisted in making the arrangements for Jillian to have a private Virgin Night with as little fuss as possible.”
“What?” Lucivar roared.
“It was all done right and proper,” Brenda said as if she were soothing Lucivar after he’d skinned his knee. Then she added with some heat, “And what’s wrong with wanting an important ceremony to be private the first time? When Prince Sadi married Jaenelle Angelline, their first wedding was so private, no one knew about it except the unicorns in Sceval who stood as witness, the unicorn priestess who officiated, and, if the stories are accurate, the Sceltie who helped make the arrangements and convinced my ancestors to provide the wedding meal with no questions asked. Later on, Prince Sadi and Lady Angelline had an official wedding so that everyone who needed to know about their marriage knew about it. So what’s wrong with Jillian doing the same, especially when the whole thing, if done properly, shouldn’t be much fuss or bother?”
Daemon couldn’t tell if Surreal was appalled, delighted, or just stunned by Brenda’s reasoning. And he couldn’t reconcile Brenda’s calling the Virgin Night an important ceremony and then saying that it shouldn’t be much fuss or bother. But if this conversation continued, he was going to have to peel Lucivar off the ceiling.
“A wedding and a Virgin Night aren’t the same thing,” Lucivar snarled.
“And thank the Darkness for that,” Brenda replied. “But here’s what I’m wondering.”
Go away. Daemon saw the mischievous look in Brenda’s eyes and felt the solid ground of this discussion crumbling beneath him. Stop wondering about whatever you’re wondering about and go away.
“Why are we the only ones who have a Virgin Night?” Brenda asked. “Why don’t you?”
Daemon stared at her. “What?”
“Why don’t males have a Virgin Night? After all, you’re a virgin and then not a virgin, same as us.”
“We don’t have a hymen,” Daemon said too sweetly.
Surreal pressed her head to her knees. Her shoulders shook.
Ignoring his comment—and the warning tone of his voice—Brenda raised her hands. The fingers of one hand made a circle. Two fingers of the other hand were straight—and heading for the circle as she said, “After all, your part goes into—” She paused as if thinking. “Well, not your part, because everyone knows you’re very exclusive about where it goes.”
Surreal made a choking sound.
“But the boy part goes into the girl part, and if all goes well, the power she was born with and the power that will be hers when she makes the Offering to the Darkness are safe. But why doesn’t the boy have to worry about where he puts himself for that twenty minutes?” Brenda paused. “Maybe ten minutes.” Another pause. “Might be less. Especially the first time.”
Surreal rolled off the sofa and began crawling toward the door.
“Surreal?” Daemon’s voice might have held a hint of hysteria. Not that anyone would dare point that out.
“I have to pee.” Her voice came out high and breathy.
Swearing, Lucivar used Craft to open the sitting room door before grabbing the back of Surreal’s trousers and the back of her shirt and striding into the entryway.
“Get her to the nearest toilet,” Lucivar told Helton as he set her down. “And get a bucket in case she can’t make it that far.”
As he returned to the sitting room and swung the door shut, they all heard Surreal say, “Prick.”
“So, why is that?” Brenda said, as if there hadn’t been any interruption.
Sweet Darkness, did she never let go once she latched onto something? She was as bad as a Sceltie! Maybe worse.
It provoked him into giving her a reckless answer. “I don’t know. According to the ancient stories, when the last Queen of the Dragons shed her scales and bestowed the power that made the Blood who and what they are, only females were gifted with that power. It took several generations of strong, intelligent males mating with those females before the first male had any power that could be recognized as the Blood. Maybe that disparity of power in our creation is the reason for the disparity of who is at risk now. If you’d really like to know, you could always go to Ebon Askavi and ask the Seneschal. After all, Draca was the Queen of the Dragons who created the Blood.”
Brenda blinked. The smile that followed was filled with delight—and completely terrifying. “Really? We could go there and ask her?”