“Well, she doesn’t have to worry about that.” He smiled. “Your hair looks lovely that way, but I think a couple of pins have come loose. Why don’t you go upstairs and freshen up? I expect Helton will be announcing dinner very soon.”
When she didn’t follow him to the door, he returned to where she stood staring at him. Apparently there was more.
“Uncle Daemon?”
“Yes?” He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and waited.
“Mother says you have a very good eye for women’s clothes.”
“I like to think so.”
“The thing is . . . I’m good with colors, but I don’t know . . . And some of the girls at the school have started wearing all this lace and so many ruffles . . . Who wants to wear rows of ruffles around their hips?”
“No one with taste,” he murmured, wondering what might be in Jaenelle Saetien’s closet at school.
“Exactly! I don’t want to look ridiculously girlie, but I don’t want to look like a little girl either. And neither does Zoey.” Expectant, hopeful stare.
It had been a long time since Surreal had felt comfortable receiving clothing of any kind from him. Maybe that would change when his sexual heat diminished with age, but that would take centuries. And Jaenelle Saetien didn’t want his help with anything right now.
He missed accompanying a woman to a dressmaker’s and playing with styles and fabrics to help her look her best. But here was his niece, asking for exactly that kind of help.
“When used correctly, ruffles and lace can be effective accents,” he said. He waged a tiny battle with himself before adding, “Seductive accents.”
“Really?”
Lucivar was going to kill him flatter than dead. Ah, well. Everything had a price.
“Really. If you like, I would be happy to escort you and Zoey to a dressmaker who created a lot of outfits for Lady Angelline. She didn’t like excessively girlie clothes either.”
Titian beamed at him.
He walked her to the study door, then handed her over to Helton . . . who had been hovering nearby. Which made Daemon wonder exactly what his staff knew that he didn’t.
Something to find out later. Right now . . .
He wrote a quick note to Lady Zhara, informing the Queen of Amdarh that he had no objection to this budding romance. He barely waited for the ink to dry before he folded the paper and secured it with red wax and his personal seal. Then he left the study to look for someone to deliver the message.
Helton once more hovered in the entrance hall.
Daemon held up the note. “I need to get this to Lady Zhara as quickly as possible.”
“As soon as you and Lady Titian are seated for dinner, I’ll take it myself,” Helton replied.
Before he could comment about that, someone knocked on the door. Vigorously.
Helton hurried to open it. Lord Weston strode in, then stopped when he saw Daemon.
“Do you object?” Weston asked brusquely.
“Are you asking for yourself or for Lady Zhara?” Daemon countered.
“Both.”
He held out the note. “I have no objections. There are discussions that need to be had tonight within the family, but I can meet with Lady Zhara in the morning if that’s convenient.”
Weston took Daemon’s note and held out the one he’d brought. “I believe that will suit the Lady.”
*Did you suspect anything?* Daemon asked on a psychic spear thread.
*Art and Titian have been part of Zoey’s conversation for decades, so her talking about either one wasn’t unusual,* Weston replied. *The only thing I’ve noticed is that Jaenelle Saetien is mentioned less since the three of them started school.* He shrugged. *Girls grow up, and some friendships fade for lack of common ground.*
Why was there no longer common ground? Or was it as simple as Zoey and Titian growing closer in a way that excluded others, at least for a while?
“What about you?” Daemon turned to Helton as soon as Weston left. “Did you suspect anything? Something that maybe you should have mentioned?”
Helton hesitated. Hesitated. “Lady Titian told the maid who looks after Lady Surreal’s clothes that she’d like to get a couple of new outfits and asked what material might suit her figure and Eyrien wings and which dressmaker made Lady Surreal’s clothes. And she asked about suggestions for new hairstyles. But young Ladies do those things, don’t they, even if there is no hint of romantic interest?”
Daemon suppressed a sigh. It seemed that not only did his staff have opinions; they all had a romantic streak. “If anything the children asked about might be a cause of concern . . .”
“I would tell you at once.”
“Thank you, Helton.” He had to be satisfied with that. “I’m going to have some things to deal with after dinner, so I’d like you to escort Titian back to the school.”
“With pleasure, Prince.”
As Daemon went upstairs to freshen up before dinner, he thought about how much Helton doted on the females in the family. Surreal had been the butler’s favorite for centuries, and she allowed Helton to fuss over her and pamper her in ways she didn’t tolerate from anyone else. Marian, too, received a large share of attention when she visited Amdarh.
Judging by the dishes that were presented at dinner that evening—all of them among Titian’s favorites—Daemon realized that, according to some measure by the town house’s staff, Lucivar’s quiet daughter had ascended to the level of care given to a woman rather than the permitted indulgences given to a girl.
Daemonar reviewed his evening as he knocked on the front door of the SaDiablo side of the town house. While he was closer to Mikal in age, he’d always liked Beron, who had settled into the role of older cousin after becoming Uncle Daemon’s legal ward. Tonight he discovered that he also liked Beron’s friends a lot more than most of the boys he’d met at the school. They were funny and opinionated and passionate about the theater, whether they worked in the theater or were training in some other profession. They were full of noisy enthusiasm, and at one point three of the young men stood and sang an impromptu song about the dishes the chef had made that evening.
It became clear that patrons of this particular dining house were used to being serenaded about the joys of a properly cooked steak or delicately spiced potatoes—or being entertained by a snippet from a play in rehearsal.
What made them stand out in comparison to the boys at the school was their interest in him. What was he studying? Had he ever seen the dragons who lived on the Fyreborn Islands? Beron used the Eyrien sparring stick he’d been given years ago as a way to exercise and stay fit for the more demanding and active roles. Several of them had also acquired sparring sticks and had learned the exercises, but that wasn’t the same as actually sparring with someone who had been doing it since he could stand on his own feet. Would he be willing to work with them when they all had a free day?
Some of those young men came from aristo families. Some did not. A couple of them wore darker Jewels. Most did not.
If there were bullies in the theater like there were at the school, they weren’t among Beron’s friends.
Daemonar smiled at Helton when the butler opened the door. “My uncle asked to see me when I got home.”
“He’s in his study.”
Of course he was. The town house was more Aunt Surreal’s residence, so Uncle Daemon tried to keep his presence contained to his study and his bedroom.
He walked into the study and spotted his uncle in one of the comfy reading chairs.