“A loving man—and breakfast.”
Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “In that case, Prince, come in.”
He was so glad to see her, he didn’t try to fight a smile. There were shadows under her eyes, testimony of a sleepless night, and her hair was sticking up every which way, making her look like a scruffy waif . . . who was wearing snug trousers and one of his silk shirts.
Screw breakfast, he thought as he set the box on the table. I’ll just nibble on her for an hour or two.
Then Jaenelle peered into the box and her stomach growled so loudly, he figured it was prudent to change his priorities.
“Where did you get this?” Jaenelle asked.
“I stopped at The Tavern after seeing Lucivar home. There’s a steak pie, a vegetable casserole, and some fruit.”
“The Tavern isn’t usually open this early.”
Daemon hesitated, then wondered why he bothered. She would have been aware of the mood of the Blood in Riada. “They were just closing when I got there.” Merry and Briggs had stayed open because so many had been sleepless and uneasy last night, and a gathering place offered comfort.
He reached into the box for the steak pie. “The food needs to be warmed a bit.”
Her hands settled over his, stopping him.
“Daemon, why don’t you say what you need to say? The food will settle better on an easy stomach—and an easy heart.”
He removed his hands from the box and slipped them into his trouser pockets. He wanted to hold her, but he chose to keep the table between them.
“I am my father’s son,” he said.
She tipped her head. “That shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, Prince. You’re more than his son. You are your father’s mirror.”
“Yes, I am. But despite all the things I’ve done, that wasn’t as clear to me before as it was last night.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He and Lucivar had taken shifts, one standing watch while the other rested, and during one of those vigils, as he replayed that dance with Saetan, he’d acknowledged a difficult truth.
“Last night I saw the man who had destroyed an entire race, and I understood something about myself. That kind of rage is in me, Jaenelle, in a way it’s not in Lucivar. I am capable of doing what Saetan did to Zuulaman, and unlike my father, I wouldn’t need to be drowning in grief or insane rage before I made that choice. Given the right provocation, I could do what he did.”
“I know.”
That stopped him, had him rocking back on his heels. When he’d first met her, those sapphire eyes had looked through him and she had made some decision about him, passed some judgment. Had she known then, at twelve, the depth of his temper, his potential for violence?
Probably.
“And yet you love me,” he said, “despite what I am.”
Jaenelle walked around the table and took his face in her hands. “No, Daemon. I love you because of what you are. Because of all that you are. Right now, you’re feeling raw, which is understandable, and you’re shining a light on one truth about a complex man and not seeing the rest. So I’ll see the whole of who you are and not let you shine a light on one part for too long.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “Do you know how much I love you? How much I need you?”
Her arms twined around his neck. “Why don’t you show me—”
His stomach growled.
“—after breakfast?” she finished, laughing.
They ate, they slept, they made love. When they were heating up the remainder of the food for a midday meal, Daemon said, “Your strategy was quite brilliant. In case you were wondering.”
“Strategy?” Jaenelle said, setting two plates on the counter in anticipation of simply dividing the food.
“Having Lucivar draw that particular line.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “I told Lucivar to give Saetan a nudge that would remind him of his family as it is, here and now. You would be able to get him to the border, but that reminder is what Saetan would need to take those last steps out of the Twisted Kingdom.”
Daemon laughed. “Well, it was a damn good bluff, threatening to toss Daemonar into the library unsupervised and let him at the books.”
Jaenelle dropped the silverware. “What? Lucivar said what?”
Daemon turned away from the stove and studied Jaenelle’s pale face.
“That was your bluff, wasn’t it?” Daemon asked, feeling the blood draining out of his head.
“I would never threaten Papa that way.”
“Hell’s fire.”
“Daemon? Daemon!”
One moment he was standing by the stove. The next moment he was sitting on the floor with Jaenelle kneeling beside him.
“That wasn’t your idea?” he asked weakly.
She shook her head.
“Lucivar is Eyrien.”
“I know,” she said.
“He wears Ebon-gray.”
“I know.”
“He doesn’t bluff.”
She plopped on the floor beside him. They sat there for several minutes before she said, “Did Saetan think it was a bluff?”
“I’m sure he did—at least after he woke up and thought, as I did, that you had told Lucivar to say that.”
“Oh.”
They pondered that for a few more minutes while their meal got cold.
“So,” Jaenelle finally said, “how long do you want to wait before we explain this to Papa?”
No point having children who could match a man’s temper if they weren’t going to be a pain in the ass on occasion.
“Let’s give him a couple of days,” he said. “By then he won’t be expecting anything.”
“That’s mean,” Jaenelle said. “I like it.”
Picturing the look on Saetan’s face when he discovered the library threat had been Lucivar’s idea, Daemon wrapped his arms around Jaenelle, lay back on the kitchen floor—and laughed.
CHAPTER 30
Shira walked into the Steward’s office and shook her head in response to the men’s unspoken question. “She wouldn’t answer the door, and Vae says Cassidy still doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Why not?” Gray said, hugging himself. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“She was in a fight, Gray,” Theran said. “That’s bound to unsettle anyone, and it would be more unsettling for a Queen.”
A hard look from Ranon and an equally hard look from Talon, who had delayed going to his room when the sun rose in order to hear the morning report.
Since they’d come back from town three days ago, Cassidy hadn’t left her suite, claiming to be unsettled by the fight—a fight Theran could have ended before it began.
Should have ended.
Talon had made that abundantly clear when he’d heard their account of what had happened.
And Gray . . . Since the two young Warlords were working on the estate to pay off their debt of ten days’ labor, Gray had turned into a merciless taskmaster, and Ranon’s job wasn’t supervising the Warlords so much as holding Gray back and providing some balance.
Theran didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do. Cassidy hadn’t been hurt, hadn’t been harmed. Not really. Shaken up, sure, but not harmed.
Except she hadn’t left her suite since it happened, hadn’t talked to any of them.
Not even Gray.
What in the name of Hell was she thinking?
Cassidy brushed her fingers over the cover of each journal, as if touch could be a conduit, and wisdom would seep into her fingers from the leather.
She had been hiding in her room for the past three days. It was time to stop hiding. Time to do the right thing.