“You should talk to her first,” Surreal said. “Just don’t agree to anything yet.”
He held out Lucivar’s note. “Does this have anything to do with a school?”
She read the note and snorted a laugh. “Well, he sounds thrilled.”
“He does manage to say ‘I’m the prick with the biggest balls’ even when he doesn’t use any of those words.”
“Jaenelle Saetien made it sound like Titian going to the school was all settled.”
“Titian?”
She shook her head. “Talk to your daughter.”
Seemed Jaenelle Saetien was his daughter a lot lately. “I need to have a chat with Beale and Holt first.” A hesitation. “It’s you and me for dinner tonight. Or just you, if you prefer.”
“As a punishment, depriving children of food is frowned upon, Sadi. Even when they’re trying to act like the dominant bitch.”
“The child declared she is having a tray in her room.”
“Hmm. Then you and I can have a quiet meal in the dining room.”
Daemon smiled. “I’ll convey that to Beale.”
They walked into the Hall together, then headed in different directions.
He walked into the butler’s pantry, crammed with two rolltop desks, file cabinets, and a wine rack that held the selections for a few days’ worth of meals. Holt and Beale were already there.
The butler gave him a sour look and said, “I gave the young Lady the book. High drama.”
Not unexpected. “I need your help.” He tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned against the door. “Dealing with adolescent girls is unfamiliar to me. I don’t know where to draw the lines for Jaenelle Saetien when she acts like drawing any boundaries is the equivalent of me killing her Self and yet seems relieved to have boundaries. You were both here when Jaenelle Angelline and the coven lived with my father. He dealt with the Territory Queens when they were this age. He dealt with Witch when she was this age. How did he do it?”
Holt tipped his head. “You were never around adolescent girls?”
“When I was a pleasure slave in Terreille?” Daemon knew by the way the two men tensed that his smile had turned cold—and cruel. “When they wanted to practice their social manners, I could oblige and respond with courtesy. When they wanted to practice playing the bitch or touched me without my consent . . .” He watched them shudder as they realized they were trapped in a room with the Sadist. He said too softly, “I gave them reasons to stay away from me.”
Beale cleared his throat. “Those years with your father were not without high drama and unpredictable emotions.”
“But all the males who became part of the First Circle were also in residence, so dealing with the drama and emotions was spread out among all of them,” Holt said.
“It was my impression that the High Lord had little or no previous experience dealing with girls that age, but after Lady Angelline came to live with him, it seemed to us that he quickly decided where he could yield and which lines he would hold,” Beale said. “And once he drew a line, no one could shift it. Not even his daughter.”
Daemon frowned. “Where were the lines?”
“Where it would make a difference in a young woman choosing good over bad, right over wrong. Good Queen or bad Queen. The High Lord once told the coven after some disagreement, ‘These are not the actions of a good Queen, and I will not stand by and let you become the destruction of your own people. The only way you are going to do this thing is by going through me, and you’d better be sure there is nothing left of me to stand against you. Because I will stand—and I will fight.’”
Mother Night. “Jaenelle Angelline could have gone through him. Could have ripped him apart with one moment’s loss of control.”
Beale nodded. “But he meant it, and they all knew he meant it. Especially the Lady. I don’t remember what that argument was about, but after that, the coven always knew when they brushed too close to one of his lines—and they were the ones who stepped back to avoid a fight.”
“He did support the adolescent drama in other ways. Even encouraged it by ignoring it,” Holt said.
Encouraged it? Damn man had more balls than sense.
Holt added, “He also seemed to convey without actually saying anything that these dramatics held no interest to an adult male, and if the coven wanted his time and attention to discuss whatever they wanted to discuss, they had to act like intelligent, talented young women—at least while they were around him.”
Beale smiled. “Of course, once Prince Lucivar joined the household, he constantly stirred up and shut down trouble in that way he has, leaving the High Lord to act as arbitrator between Ebon-gray Eyrien temper and adolescent female sensibilities.”
“Sweet Darkness,” Daemon muttered. “And they all survived.”
Holt laughed. Beale chuckled.
“Some days there was a fair amount of roaring and screeching,” Holt said. “Depending on the tone of the roaring and screeching, the staff either found things to do elsewhere or we drew straws to determine who had first-row seats to the dramatics.”
He really didn’t need to know that. “So. Allow for some victories without giving up any of the important lines.”
“I would say that is accurate,” Beale agreed.
He eyed his butler. “Would one of those lines I’m supposed to hold be the courtesy that is shown to the staff?”
The sparkle returned to Beale’s eyes. “Yes, Prince, it would.”
Surreal had just slipped on the calf-length green dress when Daemon knocked on the door between their bedrooms. She hesitated, studying the dress in the mirror. It was a favorite of hers, but it was old enough that she usually wore it when she was on her own. Still, she thought Daemon would understand that her choice of dress indicated that she would welcome his company as a friend tonight but not as a lover.
“Come in.”
He looked as elegant as he always did. In some ways, the mature beauty of his face, with the thick black hair turning silver at the temples, was more devastating than when he’d been young.
“Want some help?” he asked.
“Sure, sugar.” She turned and lifted her hair to give him access to the zipper.
His movements weren’t careless, but they also weren’t the sensual movements of a man looking for an invitation. Apparently, he wasn’t looking for a lover tonight either.
“You should wear a shawl over that, at least in the corridors,” he said. “I’ve added power to the warming spells in this wing, but it has started to rain, and everything feels damp and chilly.”
“Pick one out for me.”
He chose a shawl with a gold-and-green pattern that complemented the dress—and was soft, thick, and warm.
He was right about the corridors. They were damp and chilly, the first touch of autumn. “Did you add any power to the warming spells in Jaenelle Saetien’s suite?”
“She’s not a child and doesn’t want to be treated like a child.” He smiled. “So she’s old enough to take care of the temperature in her rooms. She knows the Craft required for a warming spell and has the power to create and maintain that spell. She also knows how to add power to an existing warming spell. I doubt the staff working at a school will drain the reservoirs in their Jewels to keep the buildings at a temperature that will match a girl’s idea of comfy.”
“Maintain your own place?”
“Mmm.”
Surreal waited until they were seated in the dining room and Beale had served the first course—a hot, hearty soup she suspected was part of the staff’s dinner since she didn’t remember seeing it on the menu that had been presented to her.
“Are you going to let Jaenelle Saetien go to school in Amdarh?”