“Did you learn that from your father and uncle?” Raine asked.
Daemonar shook his head. “I figured that out from Jillian’s first romantic entanglement. He was a Rihlander who made a bad choice about his first time and things soured for him after that, until he ended up in Ebon Rih and latched onto Jillian—and then had to deal with Lucivar.”
Brenda and Raine looked across the room at Daemon and Lucivar. “I’m thinking those two got a wee bit excited about it all,” she said.
“You could say that. It ended with the discovery of the ‘if you loved me’ spell and how it was being used—and it ended with my father taking the title of Demon Prince and ruling all of Askavi.”
“What happened to the boy?” Raine asked.
Daemonar smiled. “They gave him a second chance and sent him to Dharo to serve in a Queen’s court.” He lowered his voice. “One of his descendants works for Mrs. Beale now. The Dharo Boy?”
Brenda hooted. Daemonar and Raine shushed her when Daemon and Lucivar looked over—then pointedly ignored the three of them.
“Does Jillian know?” Brenda asked.
“No,” Daemonar replied. “And unless the Dharo Boy is the one to tell her, she never will.”
“What do you think those three are talking about?” Stefan asked as he watched Brenda, Daemonar, and Raine laughing about something.
“I don’t want to know,” Jillian replied. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. “Well, it’s done, and we have Prince Sadi’s permission to bounce the bed.”
Stefan choked. “He did not say that.”
“No, Brenda said it. I’m not sure if she intended for Lucivar to hear her, but it certainly got a reaction.”
“Is that why he snapped the legs off that little table?”
Jillian nodded. “He gets exercised about some things.” She sighed. “You’re going to make us wait until we’re home, aren’t you?”
“Since I’d like to keep my balls behind my zipper and not in a jar on the mantel, yes, we’re going to wait.”
She stifled a laugh. It was funny, but knowing Lucivar and Daemon, it was also true.
“Besides,” Stefan added. “We have time.”
Jillian leaned back to look at him. Loving Stefan was a quiet excitement with plenty of sparks. Rather like Lucivar and Marian’s love, although she didn’t think Lucivar would understand the comparison—yet.
The party was winding down and nobody had died. Lucivar figured he and Daemon had done well, and Surreal was right—as long as he didn’t think too much about Jillian having a lover for a decade or two, he’d adjust to her being with Stefan.
He watched Jillian cross the room. Alone.
“If he ever hurts you . . . ,” Lucivar said softly.
“I will call in my Eyrien war blade and slice him into pieces,” Jillian replied. “And then I will call you to deal with whatever part of him is left. Although I guess Daemon would be the one who would deal with what’s left after the transition to demon-dead.”
“He’d let me help.”
A beat of silence before she said, “Stefan won’t hurt me.”
No, Stefan wouldn’t. Not because of the men in Jillian’s family who would be there to protect her, but because Lucivar had seen the way the vintner looked at Jillian. Had seen love and desire rather than lust.
“If you two decide to handfast, you’ll give me a little more warning?”
Jillian nodded. “We’re not thinking of that just yet, but I will tell you if we do. And Stefan is drinking the contraceptive brew, so we’ll give you plenty of warning before you become a grandfather.”
He hadn’t realized he was swaying until someone grabbed his arm to steady him.
Jillian smiled. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
Rothvar shook his head as Jillian joined Stefan, Brenda, Raine, and Daemonar. “Did she just say . . . ?”
“Yeah.”
“Hell’s fire.” Rothvar released his hold on Lucivar’s arm. “You okay?”
“Living in Terreille, I never thought I would survive long enough to have children, let alone be a grandfather,” Lucivar said. “But here I am.” He looked at his second-in-command. “Here we are.”
Rothvar scanned the room until he located Nurian. The heat of love filled every aspect of the man. “Yeah. Here we are.”
THIRTY-NINE
“There, now,” Anya said as she tucked the final pin into the coil she’d made of Saetien’s long black hair. “Now let me cover it with this netting, and you’ll be all set.”
Saetien stared at her reflection. With her hair put up this way, she looked older. Looked . . . mature, which would be fine. Would be good, in fact. But if this made her look matronly . . . “Isn’t netting old-fashioned?” Meaning suitable for old ladies rather than young women.
“It’s black, so it matches your hair,” Anya replied as she placed the netting around the coiled hair. “I’ve added a little shielding to it, so even sharp little puppy teeth won’t be able to get a grip on your hair.”
Thank the Darkness for that.
“Besides,” Anya continued, “just because something is practical and traditional doesn’t make it old-fashioned.” She blew out a breath. “Had a guest here not long ago who thought like you. She said the same about netting being old-fashioned. Only she made the mistake of actually teasing some of the puppies with her braid, even though Kieran and Ryder warned her not to do that. Well, she wore herself out with the playing and fell asleep with two of the pups still with her. Don’t know if they liked the smell of her hair or just weren’t ready to stop playing, but there she was, sound asleep, and there they were, chewing on that braid and having a good time being quiet.
“Well, she woke up by herself and started having a fair fit because she had half the hair she’d had before she fell asleep, and there were chunks of hair all over the yard because the pups didn’t know about using Craft to seal the ends to hold the braid together.”
Saetien turned around so she could look Anya right in the eyes. “You’re making that up.”
“Hand on heart.” Anya put her hand on her chest.
Saetien started to reach up to make sure she still had hair. Then she lowered her hand. “It’s practical. And traditional.”
Anya smiled. “Exactly. If you and Shelby are going to puppy school, best you go down and get some breakfast in you.”
Obediently, Saetien headed downstairs. Anya wasn’t quite as bossy as the servants who worked for her father at the Hall, but she’d give them a fair race for the trophy.
Everyone was in the breakfast room when Saetien arrived. She stopped herself from calling attention to her hair, but Kieran noticed the aborted move when she started to reach up.
“Anya found some netting for your hair?” he asked.
“Looks good,” Kildare said with a nod.
“Indeed it does,” Eileen agreed with a smile.
“Anya told me a silly story about a guest who had her braid chewed off.” Saetien rolled her eyes to indicate that she wasn’t about to be fooled, just in case Anya had been teasing.