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“My friends call me Zoey.” She looked at him, all innocent sincerity. “Aren’t we friends?”

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful. Zhara was going to kick his ass for not holding to a formal line—and rightly so. But . . . “Of course we’re friends. You’re helping me choose all these wonderful supplies, aren’t you? But, Zoey? Titian is learning on her own, so which of all these art supplies do you think I should give her first? Right now all she’s using is inexpensive paper and a couple of pencils.”

“No colors?”

Daemon shook his head. Then he used Craft to set the supplies on air and relieve his arm muscles.

“It’s not as much fun without colors.” Frowning, Zoey consulted her list again, then pointed out the supplies Titian absolutely had to have. Then . . . “Maybe she would like watercolors?”

“Maybe as a Winsol gift?” he countered.

She grinned.

The guard sighed.

“Since we’re friends, maybe you could do me a favor?” Daemon called in one set of the line drawings he’d acquired from Cambrya. “I’d like to know if someone would enjoy adding colors to an existing drawing.” He gave her half of the set and then vanished the rest. “See what you think about coloring in a picture when you don’t want to do your own drawings.”

She beamed at him. “Should I send you a report?”

Aahhh . . . “That would be appreciated.”

“Lady, I believe we have everything on your list,” the guard said. His tone came close to pleading. “At least for today.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Zoey replied. “And you’re getting tired.” She led the way to the counter at the front of the shop, where the shopkeepers had been smart enough to remain.

Daemon added a couple more sets of colored pencils and sharpeners to his stack of supplies, floating the whole lot in front of him while the guard continued to play pack mule.

“May the Darkness have mercy on me when she’s old enough to have her own court,” he said in a quiet voice.

“May the Darkness have mercy on me now,” the guard replied.

They looked at each other, then looked away, fighting not to laugh because then they would have to explain why they were laughing.

After paying for his purchases and saying good-bye to Zoey and her guard, Daemon caught the Black Wind and headed for Ebon Askavi. He looked forward to telling Witch about a young Dhemlan Queen who, in a few more centuries, was going to give him trouble of the best kind.

* * *

After informing Draca of his arrival, Daemon retreated to the Consort’s suite. While he waited for Witch to appear, he used Craft to heat the water in a mug before adding a tea ball filled with a blend of mint leaves. He didn’t need the healing brew Witch and Karla had created specifically for him—a sedative that was strong enough to relax him and smooth out the savage edges whenever he arrived at the Keep too close to losing control. He wouldn’t need to smooth out those edges if there was an enemy to fight. All that power and temper would have a target. Since it didn’t, he needed to be here, with his Queen. And sometimes he needed to be sedated for a few hours.

Outside of these rooms, he would have fought against being so vulnerable. Even at the Hall, he wouldn’t use anything that diminished his awareness of his surroundings and the presence of potential enemies. But here he was protected in all ways.

“Something changed,” Witch said, walking into his bedroom from her adjoining suite. She could have simply appeared in front of him—and sometimes did—but more often she walked into the room as if she were still flesh and not a shadow. “Considering how the Black rippled through the abyss a few hours ago, I didn’t expect you to arrive here this calm.”

“I wasn’t calm a few hours ago,” he admitted. Then he smiled because just hearing her voice lightened his heart. “But I ran into a young Dhemlan Queen who has a way of crushing edges of temper with happy enthusiasm. She reminded me of you.”

“Oh? And who is this edge crusher?”

“Zoela. Lady Zhara’s granddaughter.” Daemon laughed softly. “One moment I’m ready to kill the shopkeepers for the way they were looking at me, and the next I’m being buried under art supplies for Titian. Zoey, as she is known to her friends, of which I am now one, is taking drawing lessons and was on her own to buy the supplies on her list. Not by herself on her own, since she did have a guard with her—poor man—but she was there without any other adult supervision.”

“Sounds like neither of you had adult supervision.”

“Smart-ass.” He sipped his tea and called in all the art supplies, using Craft to spread them out and float them on air above his bed. He also called in the sets of line drawings and the artist’s primer. “I gave her half a set of these line drawings and asked her to let me know if children would enjoy coloring the pictures. She’s going to send me a report.”

The only way to describe the look on Witch’s face was horrified amusement. “Oh, Hell’s fire, Daemon. You really are still an innocent in some ways.”

Well, that was just insulting. “Am not.”

“You gave a young Queen permission to send you reports about things she feels are important enough that you should be aware of them.”

“One report. One. About these line drawings.”

Her smile turned the bones in his legs to jelly—and not in a good way.

“Zoey would show her reports to Zhara before sending them,” he said.

“Why would she if you didn’t specify that Zhara had to review the reports before sending them to you?”

“Because . . .” He recalled what he’d said in the shop. It wasn’t much. Zoey hadn’t given him a chance to say much. “I just assumed . . .”

“That a young Queen who reminded you of me wouldn’t happily grab the initiative now that she’s been invited to correspond directly with the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan?”

When she put it that way . . . “I did hold firm about the watercolors.”

She sat on air, braced her elbows on her knees, and rested her face in her hands—and looked like she anticipated being told a really good story. “How?”

“I suggested the watercolors should be kept for a Winsol gift.”

She sat up and said in a young voice, “‘But, Grandmother, it would be lovely to learn how to use watercolors. Prince Sadi is giving his niece a set of watercolors for Winsol, and she’s my age.’”

“I didn’t . . .” He set the mug on the serving tray before he dropped it.

Witch’s silvery, velvet-coated laugh filled the room. “Face it, boyo. You were outmaneuvered.”

“She’s a . . . child.”

“A child whose grandmother is a strong woman and a strong Queen. When it comes to teaching another Queen what it means to rule part of a Territory and the people who live under her hand, you couldn’t ask for a better role model than Zhara. And now you’ve had a taste of what it will be like to deal with the next generation of Queens. The good ones, at any rate.”

“I was thinking I should arrange an introduction between Jaenelle Saetien and Zoey. I don’t think they’ve crossed paths yet.”

“Mix up the activities,” Witch said. “If Zoey rides, take them for a ride in one of the parks the next time you’re all in Amdarh. The next day’s activity should be an art gallery or a bookshop—some quieter activity that matches Zoey’s other interests.”

Daemon nodded, but he watched his Queen. She wasn’t making an idle suggestion. “Because . . . ?”

“Because a Queen needs a court, and friendships make up the core of a strong First Circle. Whether the girls are just friendly or become close friends, whether Jaenelle Saetien has any interest in serving in a court, even for a little while, Zoey will need men and women in her First Circle who have similar interests and others who have distinct skills that can be brought into the mix.”