“No.”
“Then why would you be offering it and getting our hopes up? And why is it only the human females who are troubled by needing a ceremony for what amounts to a poke and a pop?”
“Stop.” Daemon raised a hand. “Just . . . stop.”
He had to put an end to this before she backed him into a corner and wore him down to the point that he would take her to the Keep so that someone else would have to answer the question. Questions.
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful, it was like being around Jaenelle and the coven again. And having Brenda go to the Keep and meet Jaenelle and Karla? No, no, no. He had enough trouble dealing with those two.
“If Lucivar and I agree that there was merit in Jillian having her Virgin Night in private, will you agree to drop the subject?”
“Jillian will still need to show up at the establishment and stay in the room for twenty minutes—”
“An hour,” Lucivar snarled. “If you want anyone to believe she had an actual Virgin Night, she stays in the room with that cock and balls for an hour. Every aristo in the city knows if he took less time than that with my daughter, I’d skin him alive.”
“An hour, then,” Brenda agreed. “Maybe Lady Surreal could arrange to have drinks and nibbles slipped into the room so they’ll have something to do that won’t involve an activity that will require Lucivar skinning someone afterward?”
“I’ll talk to Surreal,” Daemon said.
“And we’ll still have the party? Really, that’s the best part of it all.”
The Hall was a big place. Among all the wings and rooms there had to be a secret hidey-hole where he could escape from females with questions and opinions.
“We’ll have the party.” Daemon used Craft to open the sitting room door. “Now go away.”
Jillian had been sitting through all this in open-mouthed shock. Now Brenda tapped her hand and said, “You have something for Prince Sadi?”
Jillian stood. She called in a letter and held it out for Daemon.
Not seeing a good choice, he took the letter.
Brenda sprang to her feet and looked at Jillian. “Come along, then. There are still things to be done.” She strode out of the sitting room with Jillian trailing behind.
Daemon put a Black lock on the door and closed his eyes. “Not. One. Word.”
Lucivar paced, swearing under his breath. He prowled, his wings opening and closing as a sign of agitation. “Someone must have asked the question at some point.”
“I mean it, Prick. Not. One. Word.”
“And now that it has been asked, it will spread through the Hall and beyond. . . .”
“Shut up, Lucivar. One more word and I will pull out your tongue and tie it around your cock!”
Lucivar stared at him before smiling that smile that always meant trouble. But he didn’t say anything. He just nodded.
Remembering the letter in his hand, Daemon looked at the seal and groaned—a weeble pressed into bright blue wax. He swallowed a whimper as he opened the letter.
“Lady Perzha’s written assurance that Jillian’s Virgin Night was performed discreetly and safely and properly.” He held out the letter. “It’s signed by Perzha and the current Queen of Little Weeble.” Which amounted to a Sceltie paw print on the paper.
Lucivar sighed. “It could have been worse.”
Daemon just looked at him and said, “How?”
Jillian stood outside the sitting room door, unable to move. Then she noticed the way Brenda calmly pulled out the pocket watch and studied the hands.
“That went well,” Brenda said cheerfully. “And I have to give them credit. They held out twice as long as my father and brothers when I asked them that question before my own Virgin Night.”
“You asked your father?”
“Well, sure, I did.” She tucked the watch into the pocket in her vest. “None of you have wondered about this before now? Really?”
“Really.”
“Then you’ll have something to ponder while you’re having your official Virgin Night without the sex.”
THIRTY-FOUR
As her father drove the Coach to the Isle of Scelt, Saetien tried not to fidget, tried even harder—and with less success—not to feel a sharp regret that because Helene was traveling with them she hadn’t been invited to sit in the driver’s compartment and she had to make do with sitting in the passenger area. She didn’t know why the Hall’s housekeeper was going with them to Scelt, and Helene’s precise and chilly nod of greeting made it clear questions, or any conversation, wouldn’t be welcome.
Fine. Just fine. She didn’t need to converse with the staff—a thought that made her unhappy because there was a time when she could have chatted about all kinds of things with Helene. Just another thing that had changed because of that awful house party and the unwitting part she’d played in almost getting Zoey and Titian killed.
Saetien wanted to ask her father about this family she’d be living with. She wanted to know who had the answers about Wilhelmina Benedict that she needed in order to untangle her life. But even if she had been sitting in the driver’s compartment with him, her father wouldn’t have engaged in weighty discussion when he was driving a Coach that was running on the Black Winds. Shelby, who was excited about returning to Scelt, couldn’t tell her much beyond that Scelt had good smells and lots of other Scelties. Well, he’d been a just-weaned puppy when he’d come to Dhemlan, so human activities that didn’t involve Scelties had held no interest for him. Still didn’t hold much interest unless he could herd or help a human.
Saetien closed her eyes. She wanted to be done with this part of her life. Wanted to close the door on it and turn the key in the lock—and then throw away the key so there was no turning back.
Trouble was, she didn’t know what, if anything, might be ahead.
Daemon guided the Coach along the Black Winds, grateful for the speed that would shorten the journey.
A part of him wished Helene had chosen another time to go to Scelt, although he understood the practicality of coming with him to personally interview the youngsters who wanted to work in service and were interested in receiving some seasoning and polish at the Hall. He would have liked to spend these last few hours with Saetien before she walked away, maybe forever. Before he let her walk away, maybe forever.
A part of him wished Helene had chosen another time because those interviews would delay his return to SaDiablo Hall, and he didn’t want to be within reach when Saetien had her first collision with Butler. And there was going to be a collision because Saetien and the Green-Jeweled Prince stood on opposite sides of a line called Jaenelle Angelline.
He’d keep to the house in Maghre and to the Sceltie school. Eileen would understand if he turned down an invitation to dinner—assuming she issued one. More likely, she wanted him gone as soon as possible so that Saetien couldn’t run to him if she didn’t like the rules—and also so the girl couldn’t give up and return to the sanctuary before she’d even tried to find the answers she claimed she needed to find.
Leaving Saetien to stand on her own without his protection grated against every instinct he had as a Warlord Prince and a father. But what he’d told Kieran was true. He knew too much, had seen too many witches destroyed. Had failed to protect strong young witches in his own Territory. Now, for her sake, he was walking away from his daughter, leaving her well-being in someone else’s hands.
In Kieran’s hands—and in Butler’s.