“Did you ever doubt he was Lucivar’s son?” she asked.
“Never. And today he proved it.”
“Oh, dear.” She waited a beat. “Aren’t you going to tell me?”
He thought for a moment. “No.”
He could feel her sapphire-eyed stare focused on the back of his neck.
He rolled over slowly enough for her shadow to float to one side and settle next to him. When he was modestly covered up to his chest, he touched the candle-light on the table next to the bed, adjusting the illumination to softly light the room.
“Daemonar will tell you if he feels inclined,” Daemon said.
She stared at him.
“No. I’m not giving in. But if you want to be entertained, I can recite a very long nonsense poem that was written by a pack of Scelties.”
Witch blinked. “Why would you memorize something like that?”
“You say that like I had a choice.” He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Fingers hold a pencil better than paws, and I got cornered into being the scribe on my last visit to the Sceltie school. Are you sure you don’t want to hear it?”
“More than sure.”
The Black power he needed to drain from his Jewels in order to keep his mind and sanity intact, the sharp edge of temper, and the sexual heat were quietly absorbed by a power far darker and deeper than his own. Knowing he was loved and accepted by his Queen if by no one else, the Sadist extinguished the candle-light and slept.
TWENTY-TWO
Surreal rapped on the study door and walked in, her attention on the gloves she was pulling on. “Sadi, I’m heading out to . . .” She looked up and stopped talking, stopped moving—and wondered what had put that look of baffled concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”
He held up a note. “Titian needs to see me at my earliest convenience, which is apparently this evening. She’s already informed the school that she’ll be having dinner here with us.”
“With you,” Surreal corrected. “I’m heading out to check on the girl who gutted that prick-ass with her bare hands. I won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest since I’ll stop by a couple of the family’s estates.” And there were some other things she wanted to check out before voicing her suspicions to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—or whatever side of Daemon’s temper responded to what she said.
“You’re the one who is standing in for Lucivar when it comes to rules and decisions,” she added cheerfully—and then added silently, Thank the Darkness I’m not involved in that. Dealing with one adolescent girl is quite enough.
“Daemonar is having dinner with Beron and a handful of friends from the theater company, so he won’t be here either,” Daemon said.
“Maybe that’s why your earliest convenience is this evening. Titian must have dashed off that note and had it delivered as soon as she’d heard about her brother’s plans.”
Daemon stared at her, then muttered, “Sweet Darkness.”
Since his sexual heat was still down to a sensual warmth after his visit to the Keep, Surreal walked up to him and gave him a wifely kiss on the lips. “You can tell me all about it when I get back. Are you going to be here or at the Hall?”
He gave her a dry smile. “That will depend on Titian.”
A flutter of anticipation swept through the town house’s staff.
Since he’d let his awareness spread out beyond the town house to pick up the emotional currents and psychic scents of the people coming and going within the square where his family resided, Daemon knew the moment Titian paid the driver of the street-coach and walked up the steps to knock on the door. He tidied the papers on his desk, capped his pen, and tried to convince himself—again—that it couldn’t be that serious. Maybe some art supplies that weren’t within the budget she’d been given or . . . something else that was urgent for a girl her age but would seem trivial to an adult.
He’d come to expect moodiness from Jaenelle Saetien, but he hadn’t seen those swings in temper from Titian, so he didn’t know what to expect.
He didn’t like not knowing what to expect.
A quick knock on the study door before Helton opened it and Titian walked in.
“Hello, witchling.” Daemon came around the desk to accept the hands she held out to him and give her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re looking well.” He glanced at Helton. “Dinner in an hour?”
“Yes, Prince.”
The door closed, leaving him alone with his quiet, talented niece . . . who looked well, yes, but also looked a little different. She’d put up her hair, and her dress, while demure, had more style than what he was used to seeing on Titian. It wasn’t quite her style, but he was definitely looking at a girl growing into a woman.
“Should we . . . ?” he began, thinking they could sit in the social area of the room, where he visited with people or read for pleasure.
Titian perched on the edge of a chair in front of his desk and looked at him expectantly.
Whatever she wanted to talk about was more official than social. Damn.
Resigned, Daemon took the other seat. “What’s on your mind?”
She stared at him for much too long before blurting out, “Permission before action.”
Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.
It was going to happen. Of course it was going to happen. But why in the name of Hell did it have to happen on his watch?
“Who?” He was pleased that he sounded interested yet calm.
“Zoey.” Titian gave him a wobbly smile. “Lady Zoela.”
Daemon blinked. Not what he expected.
“Uncle Daemon . . .”
Realizing he had to say something before she took his silence as a negative answer, he delicately cleared his throat. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to tell me that since you both have breasts, it’s not like you’d be seeing anything you haven’t seen before.”
Although, since she had brothers, the same could be said for her knowing about the male body.
He leaned toward her and closed her trembling hands in his. “But, my darling, the same rules for the first stage of romance are going to apply. That means kissing and touching are permitted from collarbone to crown of head and from elbows to fingertips. If any other body parts start to connect, you and I are going to have trouble.” He released her hands and sat back. “However, since you and Zoey are responsible young women, I will extend the touching to include assistance with buttons and zippers and clothing that laces up or ties—as long as you’re careful about where you put your hands. Understood?”
“Understood.” Her eyes were tear-bright and her face seemed flooded with too much emotion. “Thank you, Uncle Daemon. Thank you!”
He was halfway out of the chair when she leaped on him with enough force to knock him back in the chair and lift the front legs off the floor. If he hadn’t used Craft to hold the chair upright, they would have gone over backward and landed in a heap.
After getting everything and everyone upright and the correct number of feet solidly on the floor, Daemon took a step back. “Why didn’t Zoey come with you to ask permission?” His father had always required both people’s presence when making a request of a sexual nature. Saetan had done it simply to be sure that both people were willing participants. So it bothered him that Zoey hadn’t been with Titian for such a significant moment.
“She’s talking to her grandparents and getting their permission,” Titian replied. “And . . .” She hesitated, then added in a rush, “And Zoey respects you so much and your opinion matters so much, it would have crushed her if you were upset or angry or disappointed in her. In us.”