Most of those emotions felt like the usual mix of daily life. But at the other end of the green, back among the shadows, he detected malice and glee. Satisfaction. Then there was Jaenelle Saetien, who was close enough to realize her cousin was upset but didn’t come over to offer help. Embarrassment. That was what he picked up from her. It grieved him that she would choose these new friends over family. The girl she had been never would have done that.
Daemonar, on the other hand, hurried to reach them. “What’s wrong?” He gave a hard look at the group at the other end of the green.
“Someone broke Titian’s and Zoey’s pottery,” Lucivar replied.
Daemonar snarled and took one step.
Keeping his hand at his side, Lucivar snapped his fingers once, a command for the boy to stay put. His father had controlled a room full of Warlord Princes rising to the killing edge with a single snap of his fingers. And like the others in that room, Lucivar had stopped and waited for the next command from the dominant male in the Dark Court.
Titian called in a handkerchief and wiped her eyes and nose. “It wasn’t just our work. I don’t know how many things were broken, but I saw it wasn’t just our work.”
“You can make the pieces again,” he said.
“They won’t be the same,” Zoey said, a deep sorrow coming through the words. She looked at the group watching from the other end of the green.
“No, the next pieces will be better because you learned from the first.” If he was going to take this young Queen under his wing at least part of the time, she was going to learn the same control that he demanded of his own children—and that meant knowing when to obey without question. “Stay out of this, Zoey. This is no longer your fight.”
Her hands curled into fists as she turned to face him. “It damn well is my fight.”
Titian gasped at her friend’s show of defiance.
Daemonar said, “Zoey.” A clear warning for her to back off.
Lucivar looked into her eyes and knew she wouldn’t back off because she was a Queen in every way—and because she didn’t understand why she needed to back off. “Not your fight anymore. You focus on remaking whatever you had made for your mother.” He gave her that lazy, arrogant smile. “Witchling, I will tell you this only once. The only way you are going to defy me and get into this particular fight is by going through me—and you aren’t strong enough to go through me.”
Zoey bared her teeth. “You’d protect them?”
“Not them. You. I’m going to keep you from getting in between them and the storm that’s coming.”
Zoey’s eyes widened. She allowed herself a swift glance at the pottery shed before focusing on him again. “Should we report this to Lady Fharra?”
“Will any of the other girls report the destruction of their work?”
“Not likely,” Titian said, vanishing the handkerchief. “They’d be afraid to draw the coven of malice’s attention.”
Lucivar looked at Daemonar, who said, “Yeah. Them.”
Shit. Did that mean Jaenelle Saetien had had some part of that meanness?
Daemon walked out of the pottery shed.
“Stay with them,” Lucivar told his son.
“Yes, sir.”
He covered the short distance between him and his brother. “Did you find out who did this?”
“I did,” Daemon replied.
“What are we going to do about it?”
“You’re going to pay a visit to Lady Zhara and inform her that I would like Lord Weston and two of Zhara’s guards on duty here at the school to discourage any further mischief. They can make use of Daemonar’s room in the male dormitory for resting periods, although he’ll have to let them in since the room has shields and a Green lock on the door.” Daemon smiled a cold, cruel smile. “I’m going to the Keep. I need a little assistance on a project.” A pause. “This is a punishment, Prick, not an execution.”
This time. That was the part that didn’t need to be said. Not between them.
“I’ll stay at the town house tonight, but I’ll be heading back to Ebon Rih at first light. My men need to know there might be trouble ahead.”
“Can our young Brother keep Zoey contained?”
An acknowledgment that Daemonar was one side of the triangle ruled by Witch. “He’ll keep her contained.”
“Good.”
Their shoulders brushed as Daemon walked past him—and then faded away.
Lucivar returned to the children and looked at Daemonar. “You’re standing escort until Lord Weston and the guards arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” Daemonar replied.
“Weston wasn’t needed on school grounds,” Zoey protested.
“He wasn’t needed,” Lucivar agreed. “Now he is.”
“But . . .”
He turned to her, spreading his wings and curving them to separate Zoey from his children. Then he said quietly, “If Lord Weston isn’t willing to teach you how to use a knife, I will.”
She stared at him, then whispered, “It was just some broken pottery.”
“This time. What about next time?”
She swallowed hard. “Daemonar is here every day. Could he start teaching me the basics?”
“I’ll talk to him about that.” The girl was not a fool, and he could see why Daemon wanted to nurture her potential as a Queen. “I’ll inform the authority here about the broken pottery. You and Titian should get to your classes.”
“We had a free afternoon, but Daemonar is supposed to be at one of his tutorials soon. We’ll sit with him so he doesn’t miss out.”
That consideration confirmed that she had the potential to be a good Queen.
Folding his wings, he informed Daemonar and Titian of the new plans for the afternoon, then followed his son when the boy stepped away from the girls.
“Prince Sadi is taking care of this?” Daemonar tipped his head toward the pottery shed.
“He is. And may the Darkness have mercy on whoever was responsible.”
He just hoped that Jaenelle Saetien wasn’t going to be among the ones who needed that mercy.
Arriving at the Keep, Daemon made his formal requests through the Seneschal, alerting the two Black Widow Queens in residence that his need to see them came from duty. Then he began setting up his tools and supplies on a table in the sitting room across from the Queen’s suite. Wooden frame, spider silk . . . and seven pieces of broken pottery.
“Kiss kiss,” Karla said as she and Witch walked into the sitting room.
“I need your assistance in shaping a punishment.” He looked at Witch. “With your permission, Lady?”
She nodded.
He reached for both their minds, then opened his first inner barrier and showed them the images—and emotions—he had drawn from the pottery shed.
More than petty cruelty, although there had been enough of that laced with fear. There also had been a kind of malice that had a familiar feel. Harm for the pleasure of doing harm. An almost lustful glee in forcing others to rape their own honor because they weren’t strong enough to stand up for themselves—or were too afraid of what would happen if they did.
If he hadn’t been at the school that day, Lady Fharra could have dismissed the incident as malicious mischief and either searched for those responsible or pretended it wasn’t significant enough to bother with. But he had been there that day, and he’d drawn the images out of wood and stone.
Taking their age into account, he would give the girls a warning and lesson.
The room turned very cold. Since Witch had no physical body and Karla was demon-dead, he wondered if he was the only one who felt this manifestation of his rage.
He closed his inner barrier and waited as they approached the table and studied the pieces of pottery.