She smiled at her friends. “Yes. A new gown to signal a new chapter in my life.”
“Actually,” Hespera said, “you’ll need two gowns.”
“And you’ll have to buy them soon,” Delora added. “The dance is only a few days away.”
“Lord Beron was here last evening,” Helton said as he helped Surreal remove her coat.
“Was he?” Daemon said mildly. “I trust he left a crumb or two in the pantry?”
Helton looked a trifle defensive. “We are always ready to receive the family or their guests, Prince. But Lord Beron is rehearsing for a new play and is working very hard. That doesn’t give him time to prepare proper meals.”
Surreal swallowed a laugh and didn’t dare look at Daemon. Helton and the rest of the town house’s staff doted on Beron.
“You provided him with enough meals to sustain him until his next visit?” Daemon asked.
“Just some leftovers.”
Daemon laughed. “I hope you gave him more than that, but we’ll invite Beron to join us for dinner while we’re in town. You should tell Cora to overestimate the amount of food needed for that meal to assure that there will be leftovers.” He winked at Helton, who dropped his professional demeanor long enough to smile in return.
Surreal felt Daemon’s hand lightly touch her back as he escorted her into the sitting room. His sexual heat swirled around her, a seductive blanket that wrapped around a woman tightly enough to ensnare.
She kept reminding herself that it wasn’t his fault. He kept the heat leashed as much as he could, but being around him for more than a day or two felt like being imprisoned by sexual need.
Unfortunately, the heat didn’t influence his interest in sex—or lack of interest. Would he sleep with her tonight, or was his current preoccupation going to consume his desire to be a lover?
“Sadi, you’re as bad as a Sceltie with a single sheep,” she said as she picked up the mail that had been left for her review.
“I’m not that bad,” he replied. “Besides, I have two sheep.”
She laughed. “Well, one of your sheep sent you a letter.”
“Which one?”
Not the daughter. She held out the envelope.
He opened the envelope, unfolded the paper, and let out a whoop of laughter. Then he handed the paper to her.
“Oh, Hell’s fire. He’s not even at the school.” She laughed with him.
Titian’s drawing showed two fluffy sheep on the school’s green. One had Titian’s face; the other had Zoey’s. And the Sceltie busily trying to herd them . . .
“Titian captured Daemonar’s likeness very well,” she said.
“Hmm.”
Suddenly he turned toward the door, an alert predator. A moment later, she picked up the psychic scent of her daughter. Agitated.
“What’s she doing here?” Surreal said, feeling a pang of concern.
Jaenelle Saetien rushed into the sitting room, barely giving Helton time to open the door. Then she stopped so fast, she almost lost her balance.
“You’re here.” The girl sounded surprised—and not pleased—to see her father.
“We’re often here,” Daemon replied.
I am, Surreal thought. You’re not. Was the girl in some kind of trouble that would provoke a lethal response from Daemon and end with some idiot being executed? Was that why Jaenelle Saetien had hoped to find her alone?
Since Daemon seemed willing to wait for hours for an explanation, Surreal didn’t break the silence. Lately, she and Jaenelle Saetien couldn’t seem to agree on the sky being blue, let alone anything else, so the girl had to be desperate if she was coming here for help.
“There’s going to be an important dance at the school, and I need a new gown,” Jaenelle Saetien said in a rush.
Feeling a little weak with relief, Surreal nodded. A new gown for a special dance made sense. She just wished the girl had shown more sense and control after realizing that Daemon was in residence. Being happily excited was one thing; rushing in like the city was under siege usually meant a Warlord Prince needed to sort out the problem in some bloody and permanent way. “All right, we can—”
“I don’t want some fusty old thing from your dressmaker.”
The room chilled at the discourteous tone. Surreal didn’t think Jaenelle Saetien even noticed.
Foolish girl.
“The young Ladies at the school have some preferred dressmakers?” Surreal said. Then to Daemon on a psychic thread, *You agreed to this, Sadi.*
“Very well,” Daemon said, sounding cool. “One dress made by the dressmaker of your choice, whatever the cost.”
Hell’s fire. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to agree that much.
“However,” he continued, “your mother has to approve the dress before I pay for it.”
“But . . . ,” Jaenelle Saetien began.
“My wallet, my terms.”
“But . . .”
*Sugar, if you really want this dress, stop arguing with him,* Surreal said on a psychic thread. *His temper is sharp enough right now.*
“Very well.” The words weren’t graciously said, but they were said. “We can go to the shops tomorrow morning—”
“You have classes in the morning,” Daemon said, “and you’re not going to ignore your education in order to buy a dress when you can shop in the afternoon.”
“But this is so important!”
Daemon said nothing.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow after your classes,” Surreal said. “Will Titian and Zoey be coming with us? I imagine they’ll want new dresses too.”
“How should I know?”
The room went bone-chilling cold, finally knocking the girl out of her self-absorption.
*Sadi, leave the room. Please. Let me handle this.*
His eyes were glazed when he looked at her, but he said, “If you will excuse me?”
“Of course.”
He walked out of the sitting room.
Surreal let out a shaky breath and looked at the girl, who had already shrugged off her father’s displeasure. “You cannot win a pissing contest with him.”
“Don’t be vulgar, Mother.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Daughter. I don’t do favors for bitches. Ever. Remember?”
Jaenelle Saetien looked surprised, then a bit uneasy, as if she’d been testing how far she could push and hadn’t expected this reaction. And that made no sense.
“You are standing on dangerous ground with him,” Surreal warned.
Jaenelle Saetien tossed her head in a practiced move. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”
Thinking of when she’d been a brash, foolish girl who had broken Daemon Sadi’s trust, she looked her daughter in the eyes and said, “Don’t count on it.”
Daemon studied the drawing Surreal had left on his desk and didn’t turn around when she walked into his study after taking Jaenelle Saetien back to the school.
“Maybe this drawing is more telling than I thought,” he said. “For years, it was the three girls whenever they could get together here in Amdarh. Now there are two of them and no sign of the third.” He looked at Surreal. “Jaenelle Saetien hasn’t been at that school for a full month yet, and she doesn’t know if her cousin and a girl who has been a friend since they were children are going to this important dance?”
“It’s easy to become dazzled by something new. New place, new friends.”
“Maybe.” He set the drawing on his desk. “Did you get things settled?”
“Dress and dressmaker of her choice, and I won’t approve of anything that will have you bouncing off the ceiling.”