“I don’t have that kind of fighting skill,” Daemon said dryly.
“You have your father’s skill for cold disapproval,” Beale pointed out. “That is just as effective, if more subtle.”
“There was intentional meanness in what Jaenelle Saetien said yesterday.” The words had wounded Surreal so deeply, he wasn’t sure she would fully recover. Now he wanted to know what the other men thought.
Beale and Holt exchanged a look before Beale said, “What the young Lady said about Lady Surreal’s former profession was driven by embarrassment coupled with a sense of drama. She had been mortified in front of friends and wanted to make a scene.”
“Or was encouraged to make a scene?” Daemon asked.
“Possibly,” Holt said after a moment.
“The young Lady is displaying an attitude of entitlement with the staff that wasn’t there before she began attending that school,” Beale said.
It kept coming back to that school, where many aristo families sent their children because it was supposed to have the finest education—and also provided those children with a way to meet their equals. When he’d considered the school as the place for the next stage of his daughter’s education, he’d seen no cause for concern. But Jaenelle Saetien’s presence at the school seemed to be cracking the veneer of polite behavior, giving him a whiff of some kind of rot underneath.
“I suggest assigning the more seasoned members of the staff to take care of any requests coming from Jaenelle Saetien,” Daemon said. “I’m sure they know how to respond to an attitude of entitlement.”
Beale’s eyes sparkled with sharp amusement and understanding. “Very well, Prince. I will adjust the assignments whenever the young Lady is at the Hall.”
Daemon handed the empty mug to Beale. “The eruptions that follow will be educational for the younger staff.”
“Indeed they will be.”
“What are you going to do about Jaenelle Saetien’s behavior?” Holt asked.
“That will depend on what I see when I escort my daughter back to the school.”
Jaenelle Saetien sat in the seat next to her father as he caught the Red Wind and guided the small Coach toward Amdarh. She wished he’d chosen to ride the Black, which would have gotten them to the city so much faster. As it was, they wouldn’t reach the school much before the first class.
She’d had plenty of time to think last night. She’d been horrified to learn her father had been a pleasure slave and didn’t want to think of him doing some of the things the men did in an erotic romance she’d recently borrowed from Borsala. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been forced into doing those things, at least until he became powerful enough to refuse. But that woman had chosen to sleep with who knew how many men—for money.
“I suppose you want me to apologize to her,” she said when the silence had dragged on so long she couldn’t stand another minute of it.
“It wouldn’t be sincere, and I’m sure you’d phrase it in a way that the words would add salt to an open wound,” he replied coolly. “So, no, I don’t want you to apologize. In fact, I don’t want you to say anything to my wife that isn’t courteous.”
“Your wife? How can you—”
“And to help you remember this warning, since I will not say it again, every time you are discourteous to Lady Surreal, whether by word or deed, you will forfeit half of your spending money for the next quarter of the year.”
Jaenelle Saetien stared at him. “You’d punish me for having opinions?”
“There is a difference between opinions and deliberate cruelty. You were cruel. You will not be again without paying a price.”
“And you’re never cruel?”
“I am. Often. I can rip the heart out of someone with a few well-chosen words. That’s why I know that sometimes wounds made by words never fully heal.” He finally looked at her. “That’s why I know you caused more damage than you realize, although I suspect it was exactly what you and your little friends intended. Now you have to live with the consequences.”
She swallowed hard. “What consequences?”
“That’s something we’ll all have to find out.”
They didn’t speak for the rest of the trip. Then Daemon dropped from the Winds and guided the Coach to . . .
“Father!” she yelled. “You can’t set a Coach down on the school green!”
Ignoring her, he did exactly that. It caused a commotion. Of course it did. Then, as he escorted her out of the Coach and onto the green, she felt something flow from him, undiluted and unrestrained. That woman had explained it was the sexual heat that was part of a Warlord Prince’s nature, but immediate family members—like the man’s children—had a little protection from that heat. But this was more than what she felt at home.
This was dangerous.
She saw her friends hurrying toward them. She saw Zoey and Titian head toward them before Daemonar grabbed them, turned them around, and shoved them in the opposite direction. Then she saw Daemonar and that instructor Prince Raine walking toward them—and everything about the way Daemonar moved screamed the need for caution.
When her friends were gathered in front of them, her father crooned, “Introduce me.” It wasn’t a request.
“This is my father, Prince Daemon Sadi,” Jaenelle Saetien said, trembling.
“You never told us he was so handsome,” Hespera cooed.
“Father, these are Ladies Amara, Borsala, Leena, Tacita, and Hespera. Lords Dhuran, Clayton, and Krellis. And this is Lady Delora.”
He smiled a cold, cruel smile and purred, “Dorothea.”
She took his arm, mortally embarrassed that he was about to have one of his funny turns in front of everyone. “No, Father. You must have misheard me. This is Delora.”
The smile didn’t change, but the look in his eyes when he focused on her . . .
*Daemonar,* she called as she released her father’s arm and took a step back. *Help me.*
“May the Darkness have mercy,” Daemonar muttered as he lengthened his stride. He knew what the Black felt like when Sadi went cold. And he knew what it felt like to be near the Sadist.
“What’s wrong?” Raine asked, matching his stride.
“You should get out of here.”
“I’m an instructor, and there is clearly a problem.”
“You notice no one else is rushing out to meet the problem?”
“You think this has something to do with the rumors that were sweeping the school yesterday?”
“Yeah.” More likely, the Sadist had come there today to find the source of those rumors.
“Good morning, sir,” Daemonar called when he was a few strides away from the group. Knowing he was about to dance on the knife’s edge, he took the last steps toward the man he always loved and sometimes feared.
Today was a day it was prudent to fear.
“May I be of service?” he asked.
Those gold eyes, glazed and sleepy, stared at Prince Raine for much too long before the Sadist said, “Who is this?”
“Prince Raine. My tutor. You met when I started classes.” He waited a moment. “Sir?”
“Escort Lady SaDiablo to her class.”
“It will be my pleasure.” Wrapping a hand around Jaenelle Saetien’s arm, he eased her away from the group—and the man—before escorting her across the green. He felt relieved when Raine hurried to join him.