Living at the Hall was different from living at the eyrie. Different in size, different in the way they lived. Sometimes Daemon wondered if Jaenelle Saetien would be better off living in Amdarh with Surreal, except Surreal traveled so much as his second-in-command, visiting the family estates as well as checking in with Dhemlan’s District Queens and Province Queens. He needed to stay at the Hall most of the time for everyone’s safety. That meant he took responsibility for Jaenelle Saetien’s education, whether it was overseeing what she was learning at the school in Halaway or giving her lessons in Craft and Protocol.
He suspected her lessons in Craft and Protocol were going to be a problem today.
Something had happened shortly before he and Jaenelle Saetien left Lucivar’s eyrie to return to the Hall, something she didn’t want to tell him about. Something more than the things they had discussed on the way home. But that something had been the source of her growing unhappiness last night and had turned into agitation this morning, so he’d given her time to think about it or work through it. Gave her every opportunity to talk to him about it.
Now that agitation was going to bump up against the rescheduled lesson time, and he couldn’t make further adjustments to the day. But how could he deny her the space to regain her emotional balance when he required the same thing? How could he say her feelings weren’t as important as scheduled lessons because her feelings wouldn’t put the Blood in danger if she lost control?
And what would he be teaching her if he buckled under her drama and emotions instead of insisting that she fulfill her tasks within the family, even if those tasks were simply showing up for her lessons?
As Jaenelle Saetien flung the door open and rushed into his study, Daemon looked at the clock on the corner of his desk and said mildly, “You’re late, witch-child.”
“Mikal’s here, and I really, really need to go out riding with him,” she said, sounding breathless.
“You really, really need to stay here so that we can do your Craft and Protocol lessons,” he countered.
“Papa! This is important.”
Daemon hesitated—and cursed himself for the hesitation.
After he’d been taken away from his father immediately after his Birthright Ceremony, nothing he’d wanted or needed had been important. Now everything in him wanted his daughter to have what was important to her. But giving her everything she believed was important at a particular moment was as bad for her as being given nothing—and he fought that inner battle almost daily because she was just a little older than he had been when Dorothea had put a Ring of Obedience on him and . . .
He shoved those thoughts away. He couldn’t allow memories of his life at that age color his decisions about Jaenelle Saetien’s life and what she needed rather than wanted.
“Why can’t you talk to Mikal for a few minutes here?” he asked. “Or ask him to come in after his ride and talk to you after your lessons?”
“Because I can’t.” Her voice turned wheedling. “We’ll just take a short ride, and I can have my lessons after that. Please, Papa.”
Knowing how long she could stretch out a short ride, he said, “Let’s see your schedule.”
“What?”
“Your schedule,” he repeated patiently. “That thing you and I work out each week so that we both know when your required appointments, which include lessons, are going to take place, as well as the social invitations you chose to accept and what you need to do in preparation for those invitations.”
“I don’t know where it is,” she mumbled.
Daemon doubted that was true, but he called in his copy of her schedule and turned it around so that she could read it. He pointed to the lessons that had been crossed out that morning and written in for the afternoon.
For now, actually.
Then he pointed to the outing she had arranged before she had gone to Ebon Rih. “You and your friends are supposed to see a play in the village this afternoon. It starts at a specific time. When we spoke this morning, you asked me to adjust your lesson time so that you would still be able to change clothes, meet your friends, and arrive at the theater before the play started.”
“I know, but talking to Mikal is important.”
“Important enough to give up going to the play?”
She stared at him. “I can get to the play on time!”
“Your lessons take two hours, witch-child. We do this three times a week. You know this. You’ll be home from the play in time for dinner. Mikal can join us, and you can talk to him then.”
“I need to talk to him now.”
She wasn’t going to listen to him, so he accepted that she was going to experience the emotional equivalent of skinned knees. “Very well. Your Craft lesson will start one hour from now. I will tell you when half the time for the ride is gone so that you know when to return. Your lessons will not be cut short. If you’re late, you won’t go to the play. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” she said, rushing out of the study.
Had she understood? Not likely. But she would.
He sighed and rubbed the ache that was building at his temples. A minute later, Beale tapped on the study door, walked in, and placed a large mug of specially blended tea on the desk.
“Trouble?” Beale asked as Holt tapped on the door and walked in.
Daemon looked at the two men who were his consultants when it came to dealing with children. They not only had the benefit of observing how Saetan had dealt with Jaenelle Angelline and the coven; they had nieces and nephews as examples of “normal” behavior.
“Maybe I expect too much,” he said. “She’s still a child with a slippery concept of time.”
“Yes, she’s a child, but would you care to bet on whether or not the young Lady knows exactly how long it will take her to change into her outfit and get down to the village in order to have time to chatter with her friends before taking their seats for the play?” Holt asked.
Phrased that way, it was a sucker’s bet, and he knew it. “How much?”
“Five gold marks.”
Daemon looked at Beale. “And you?”
“The same.”
Definitely a sucker’s bet. “Fine.”
Holt walked out, whistling.
Beale hesitated, then said quietly, “Under similar circumstances, if your father had already yielded once to accommodate a youngster’s request to reschedule lessons, he would not have given up one minute of lesson time, even if it meant a youngster had to forfeit going to a play and spending time with friends.”
“Thank you, Beale.” Now Daemon hesitated. “I can’t always be here for her.”
“That is true, Prince, but you can’t apologize for what you need to do for everyone’s sake, including hers, by giving in and letting the young Lady have her way.”
Another hard truth, Daemon thought as he drank the tea and read through some of the letters Holt had left on his desk that morning.
“Let’s ride to the pond,” Jaenelle Saetien said.
Mikal gave her a long look. “We could get back in time if we ride to the pond and turn right around.”
“In time?”
“For your lessons. I asked the Prince if you needed to be back at a specific time, and he told me you had lessons this afternoon before you go to the play with your friends.”
She gasped. “Why’d you ask him about that?”