NINE
Daemon picked up the first letter from the thick
stack on his desk and swore softly. The swearing became more
vigorous and creative as he worked his way through the stack. By
the time Rainier walked into the study to go over the week’s
assignments, Daemon was one wrong word away from
exploding.
“What in the name of
Hell are these?” he roared, dropping the letters on the blackwood
desk.
Rainier winced. “Ah.
I was hoping to get here before you saw those.”
“And they
are?”
“Just what they
seem—offers from District Queens all around Dhemlan to become the
new Queen of Halaway. And the same offer from a few young Queens
from other Territories.”
“I know who rules in
my Territory, Rainier. Some of these women rule towns or cities
that are larger—and more profitable—than a small village, and
others already rule a handful of villages. They’re going to give up
that income to rule Halaway?”
Rainier looked
uncomfortable. “You read the letters? Of course you
did.”
“So I know that the
letters addressed to the Province Queen, of which there are few,
are sincere offers to add Halaway to the villages under the Ladies’
rule because every village needs to be held by someone. But most of
these . . .”
He stopped. Even
after more than a decade of marriage, he still felt the raw fury of
a vulnerable man whose reputation could be compromised. But that
was his state of mind, and he had no right to whip Rainier with
that fury.
“Why did we get these
at all?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t a committee
from the village or the Province Queen sort through these and
present me with a short list for final approval?”
“Normally it would be
done that way,” Rainier said. “But, Prince, your reaction to these
letters—and they are only letters—is
exactly why no one else is willing to make a choice. No one wants
to be held responsible for whatever Queen ends up living on your
doorstep—especially if she proves to be too friendly a
neighbor.”
Daemon took in a deep
breath and blew it out.
“If I were you, I
would put those aside,” Rainier said. “When I spoke with Sylvia’s
First Circle yesterday, they said they had been talking to a
particular Lady about becoming Halaway’s Queen and were hopeful
that she would accept. She’s supposed to give them her answer
today.”
“She’s one of these?”
He pointed to the stack of letters.
“I don’t know, but
judging by how much care they were taking in what they said, they
want this particular Queen.”
“If they feel that
strongly, I’ll certainly make an effort not to interfere, as long
as the Lady doesn’t think ruling Halaway means having access to my
bed,” Daemon said as the study door opened and Jaenelle walked
in.
“That might be a
problem,” she said cheerfully. “Rainier, the Prince and I need to
talk.”
Rainier looked at
her, then at Daemon, and limped out of the room as fast as he
could, closing the door behind him.
Jaenelle settled in
the visitor’s chair and smiled at Daemon. “Sit down,
Prince.”
His stomach clenched,
but he obeyed.
“Sylvia’s First
Circle asked me to take her place as the Queen of Halaway,”
Jaenelle said. “This morning I accepted and signed a five-year
contract.”
Daemon’s jaw dropped.
“But ... you don’t want to rule. I don’t know how many times I’ve
heard you say that over the years.”
She looked
embarrassed. “Apparently, what I say and what I do are not the same
things, and I’ve been the only one who hasn’t noticed
that.”
Oh, shit. Who was the fool who told
her?
“Ladvarian says that
Scelties and Queens are meant to herd. It is our nature, and
denying our nature is foolish. When I ruled Kaeleer, that was a
heavy burden, even with all the other Queens to help me. And after
I was hurt, it took me a long time to heal, and my becoming well
was the most important thing. And I had a mate, and it was also
important that I spend a lot of time with him and play. But now
it’s time for me to work again, and officially ruling the small
village right next to my home won’t be much different from what I
already do. Or so says the Sceltie.”
He couldn’t think of
one thing he dared to say.
“As much as I’d like
to kick his furry ass for what he said, Ladvarian was right. It’s
time for me to have my own flock again.”
“A new court?” he
asked.
She shook her head.
“Sylvia’s First Circle doesn’t belong to me in the truest sense,
but they’re good men who are committed to Halaway, and we’ll work
well together to take care of the village and its people.” She
hesitated. “And they’re willing to accommodate the things Sylvia
and I want for Mikal and Beron.”
Ah. Now he was
hearing a reason that made sense. Then he remembered something
about Sylvia’s First Circle that made him brace involuntarily for
pain. Jaenelle was a Queen—and no matter who their husbands might
be, Queens had privileges.
“Consort?” he
asked.
She gave him a sharp
look. Her voice was equally sharp. “The Warlord Prince of Dhemlan
does not become the Consort of a
District Queen and serve in her court—no matter who she is.
Hopefully my husband will be willing to
escort me to formal functions when required.”
“Which will leave an
opening in the Queen’s Triangle.” There would be plenty of men who
would come sniffing around once Jaenelle became Queen, for
ambition’s sake if for nothing else.
She fluffed her hair.
“I was thinking of asking Rainier to stand as First Escort to fill
that side of the Triangle. I didn’t think you would object, since
you already treat him as your stand-in when you can’t accompany me
to an event.”
He felt his face heat
even as he felt the ache around his heart ease. “It’s not that I
don’t trust you.”
She smiled. “I know.
For all the strength and power of your caste, Warlord Princes have
their weak spots. On occasion, because you love so deeply, you will
feel insecure. That is as much a part of your nature as ruling is a
part of mine. As long as you remember that I love you, we’ll be
fine.”
He nodded and
searched for a way to step back from discussing her new court.
“What about Mikal and Beron?”
“Ah. Mikal is easy.
We’re doing a little decorating of the guest bedroom in Tersa’s
cottage so that it will be Mikal’s room.”
“And Tildee’s,” he
added.
“And Tildee’s. In
exchange for being allowed to live with Tersa, Mikal has promised
to do his assigned chores and his schoolwork and not try to smudge
the truth with Tersa the way he sometimes did with his mother,
because doing that would upset Tersa’s hold on the mundane world.
Since you are the patriarch of the family and he is now officially
family, he answers to you, and any discipline that may be required
comes from you.”
“Good to know,” he
muttered. “And Beron?”
“That’s trickier,”
she hedged.
“Why? He can live
here with us. There is plenty of room.”
“He doesn’t want to
live here with us.”
Daemon sat back,
crossed his legs at the knees, steepled his fingers, and raised one
eyebrow in polite query.
“I see,” Jaenelle
said. “The nervous husband is gone, and the Prince is
back.”
He
waited.
“The Queen’s
residence is Beron’s home. He doesn’t want to leave it. Not yet.
And there are advantages to letting him stay there. For one, I
won’t be living there—not most of the time, although I will have a
suite of rooms and will stay overnight on occasion. With my
husband.”
Daemon’s lips
twitched.
“Having Beron stay
there also means that I’ll be able to justify keeping on the whole
staff, since there will be someone in residence.”
“A boy his age living
alone? I don’t think so.”
“He’s not a boy. He’s
an adolescent youth who is almost old enough to attend school on
his own.”
“Almost old enough
isn’t old enough.”
She narrowed those
sapphire eyes.
He tapped a finger
against his chest. “Patriarch of the family,
remember?”
“He’ll be old enough
in five years,” she said tightly.
Which explained the
length of her contract.
“Jaenelle . .
.”
“The next five years
will be a proving ground. The three of us will work out the rules
and restrictions. If Beron violates any of the big rules, he’ll be
packed up and will have to live here with us and be held to a short
leash. Since Surreal and Rainier live in the village half of the
time, they can drop by and check on him, day or
night.”
“Not to mention that
the court will be working in the other half of the residence most
days.” Daemon nodded.
“If he acts like a
responsible young man, at the end of that five years, he’ll be
allowed to go to Amdarh and train in the work of his
choice.”
“Which
is?”
She studied him, as
if trying to judge how he would respond even before she said the
words.
“He wants to be an
actor. He wants to perform onstage. He’s had a passion for it since
the first time he was given a part in a school play. He’s talked
about this for as long as I’ve known him. It’s what he wants to do,
Daemon. A life dream.”
That explained her
fury when Jaenelle discovered how the Healer had damaged Beron, and
why she had been so fierce about restoring his voice, hearing, and
vision to exactly what they had been before the
damage.
And it explained
something else. “His grandfather disapproves?”
“It’s not a
profession suitable for a Queen’s son. Beron should be training to
serve in a court or apprentice for some other suitable
occupation.”
“Which is nothing
Beron wants.”
“No. That disapproval
has caused a strain in the relationship between grandfather and
grandson. While Sylvia was alive, she supported Beron’s choice,
encouraging him to audition for the plays performed in the village.
With her gone, there would have been no buffer, especially if he
had gone to live with Sylvia’s father. Beron doesn’t want to hurt
anyone’s feelings, but he wouldn’t have backed down from what he
wants. Eventually he would have rebelled and chosen a reckless path
that would have done him irreparable harm.”
Daemon sat forward.
She sounded too certain, which meant she’d seen something in a
tangled web. “Couldn’t you have told me some of that when you asked
me to deny Sylvia’s father custody of her sons?”
“Did I need to?”
Witch asked.
No. As wife or Queen, he was hers to command. “So I
guess we’re all settled.”
“I guess we are.”
Jaenelle stood up, walked around the desk, and gave him a kiss that
narrowed his focus to just one thing: sex.
“I’m going to talk to
Rainier and explain his new duties,” she said. “Why don’t you apply
yourself to the paperwork so that we can take a long nap after the
midday meal? You can warm up my feet.”
“I’ll warm up
anything you want,” he purred.
Laughing, she eased
back and picked up the stack of letters. “I’ll answer these for
you. Just to save you some time.”
“You do
that.”
When she closed the
study door, he blew out a breath. “Get your mind out of your pants,
boyo,” he muttered. Although his pants weren’t exactly where his
mind was fixed right now. It was more on the things he wanted to
taste. . . .
He shifted in his
chair and pulled a stack of reports to the center of his desk.
Before he’d read the first page, there was an enthusiastic
scratching on the door.
*Daemon?*
*daemondaemondaemondaemondaemon.*
Sighing, he used
Craft to open the door. Shuveen, Boyd, and Floyd rushed over to
him. Shuveen was the first to jump into his lap, giving him time to
put a shield over his crotch before Boyd and Floyd scrambled to
join her. One Sceltie on his lap, he could handle. Three Scelties?
Someone was going to plant a paw on his balls.
Easy enough to tell
them he had to work and they needed to leave him alone—and he
almost did. Then he thought about family. What would have happened
to Mikal if Tildee hadn’t been with the boy, hadn’t received her
training here at the Hall?
There was no
black-haired, blue-eyed daughter to climb in his lap and ask for a
story, but he and Jaenelle had raised quite a few kindred
youngsters over the past few years, and now there were Beron and
Mikal, who would need help and guidance and love.
He looked at the
three Scelties, at the brown eyes filled with happy expectation.
Whose lives would they change one day because of what he and
Jaenelle taught them?
“One story,” he said.
“Then I have to work.”
He waited for them to
carefully turn around so they were all facing the desk. Then he put
his arms around them, called in the storybook, and began reading
Sceltie Saves the Day.