Relaxed. At least, he had been until she’d walked into the room. She braced for the feel of his sexual heat washing over her, but the heat was banked to a sensual warmth, like it had been the day of Jaenelle Saetien’s Birthright Ceremony.
And the Black? Daemon’s power felt like it had when she’d been pregnant, after he’d carefully drained her Gray and Green Jewels to make her comfortable and protect the baby. He’d had to use his Black power to siphon off her Gray, and when it was done, they’d often cuddled for the whole evening, content to be in each other’s company.
Seeing him like this, feeling him like this, made her consider that maybe the overwhelming sexual heat had been a symptom of whatever had been causing his headaches.
“Daemon . . .” How to explain what he’d overheard that morning?
He looked away. “I’ve caused you significant distress over the past few months. I am sorry for that. Despite what you think, it wasn’t deliberate.”
“I didn’t know the headaches were causing you to—”
“The headaches were a symptom, not the cause. I learned today that a Warlord Prince’s sexual heat continues to gain . . . potency . . . until he’s fully in his prime. I had been trying to keep it leashed to what it had been instead of accommodating this final stage. It’s reached its peak now and will remain at this level.”
“For how long?”
“Centuries.”
Mother Night. How will I endure it?
“I’ve known that your visits to the family’s other estates weren’t about you fulfilling your duties as my second-in-command, that they were excuses to stay away from me,” Daemon continued quietly. “You were unhappy being around me, so I assisted in making whatever arrangements kept us apart. The truth, Surreal? It was a relief whenever you weren’t home, because I didn’t have to provide sex to a woman who wanted me and hated me at the same time.”
“I didn’t hate you.”
He gave her a bitter smile. “Yes, you did. Maybe you still do.”
Surreal shook her head. Why hadn’t she said something beyond demanding that he leash the heat?
“There is nothing I can do about the sexual heat that won’t threaten my sanity,” Daemon said. “That was another truth that was impressed on me today.”
The words shocked her. Terrified her. His sanity had been threatened?
“But there are things that I can do to protect you and keep you from being overwhelmed by it. To that end, I am making some changes.”
“What changes?” she whispered. “Are . . . Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I still love you, Surreal, and I would like to remain married to you. But if you want to end the marriage, if you need to do that, I won’t make it difficult for you.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
He seemed relieved, and she relaxed a little.
Then he said, “It will benefit both of us to have some time alone—a few days each month. That will give us a chance to rest from the pressures produced by the heat. Even when we’re both in residence, some . . . distance . . . at times will be required.”
“You want to live apart?” Would she and Jaenelle Saetien live in Amdarh most of the time, with Daemon staying at the town house a couple of days a week to see his daughter and have sex with his wife? Or would he and Jaenelle Saetien live here while she was the one who became the guest?
“Nothing so drastic, unless that is what you’d prefer. I’m taking over my father’s suite and will reside there part of the time. It’s far enough away from these rooms that, with the use of Black shields around the suite, the heat shouldn’t cause you discomfort.”
“Sadi . . .”
“My control over my temper and . . . other things . . . is not what it used to be. Will never be what it used to be. I will need solitude at times, and that’s when I’ll use the other suite.”
She struggled to find her voice. “And the rest of the time?”
He looked around the room. “Here. Or with you when you want company.”
“So I’m supposed to invite my husband to my bed every time I want him to provide me with sex?” Fool! Don’t challenge him!
“Yes,” he replied.
“No,” she snapped, embracing temper and itching to call in her crossbow. “I am perfectly capable of telling you if I’m not in the mood for a ride. I can take care of myself.”
“Except you didn’t.” His voice sharpened, grew colder. “You didn’t, Surreal. You felt tormented by your response to the sexual heat and said nothing. You felt tortured. Wasn’t that the word you used?”
She flinched.
“I can trust you to draw a line and defend Jaenelle Saetien. You’ve done that since the day she was born. But it’s painfully clear that I can’t trust you to stand up for yourself. Not against me. I thought I could—I thought you would—but you proved me wrong.”
“Don’t do this, Sadi,” she warned.
“Do what?”
“Play games with me. Break the promise you made when we married that you would be a husband in every way.”
She saw the change in his eyes, felt fear shiver through her. Remembered again where she was standing at that moment and what it meant when dealing with a Warlord Prince.
“No games, Lady,” the Sadist said. “Not with you. Never again with you. At least, not for fun. But if you try to play with me . . .” He smiled that cold, cruel smile.
Then he looked away for a moment, and the feel in the room changed—and Daemon looked back at her. “Whether I remain your husband is your choice. Whether I remain your lover is your choice.”
“But when you’re available to be a lover is your choice?”
“Yes. It has to be that way now. But I give you my word that I will not refuse your invitation without reason.”
Something had happened to him today after he left Lucivar’s eyrie. He didn’t quite feel like the man she’d known for the past few decades. His psychic scent was a bit . . . feral. But this wasn’t the Sadist. This was the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, in absolute control of himself, offering to provide his wife with sex out of duty to his marriage vows.
That was a knife in the belly.
Daemon studied her. “As I said, this change is nothing drastic.”
And that was twisting the knife.
Nothing drastic? Maybe he believed that. But he hadn’t taken one step toward her since this conversation began.
“It simply restores the distance that had previously been between us—the distance that kept you safe from dealing with the full measure of what I am,” Daemon continued.
٭Lady?٭ Beale said on a psychic thread. ٭Dinner is waiting for you.٭
“Dinner is served in the family room,” she said. “Unless you prefer to eat here.”
Now, finally, he moved toward her, but his smile was the same one he gave other women—a warning that he would remain friendly as long as they kept their distance. “In the family room is fine.” Then amusement warmed his gold eyes. “While we eat, you can tell me just how disgusted Daemonar is with having a bright blue shield around his arm.”
She put on a nightgown that he always admired.
At dinner, they had talked the way they used to—the way they hadn’t talked in weeks—sharing information and thoughts about family and books, and Jillian’s first love, and so many other things. His presence didn’t overwhelm her, and while the things he’d said worried her, she thought he would want to reestablish a feeling of physical closeness, and had made it clear that she would like his company that night.