Finally alone, Surreal looked at the baby girl sleeping in her arms and sighed. “Your birthing day turned out to be a lot more exciting than I’d intended. I figure your papa and uncle will start forgetting about that around the time we’re planning your wedding. Of course, getting your papa to agree to let a boy have that first kiss could be a problem, but I’ll work on it. I promise I will.”
As soon as the rest of the family was out of sight, Lucivar wrapped his arms around Marian.
“Is Daemon really hurt that bad?” she asked.
“Yeah, he’s hurt that bad,” Lucivar replied. “He was bleeding all that time and hid it.”
“To protect the baby.”
“And so that Surreal wouldn’t know, wouldn’t feel the weight of blame for something done when she wasn’t thinking clearly.” He sighed. “But he will be all right.”
“Did he tell you the baby’s name?”
He nodded. “And that Surreal chose it.”
“Lucivar?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think either of them has realized yet that Jaenelle Saetien has the same birthday as Jaenelle Angelline?”
Later that evening, Surreal looked up from watching the baby sleep to find Daemon standing in the doorway.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He moved slowly, stiffly, as he approached the bed and came around to the side that held the baby basket.
“Hell’s fire, Sadi, you look like shit.”
“You flatter me, as always.”
“I’m not playing,” she said sharply, then lowered her voice when the baby stirred. “Sit down before you fall down.” How much blood had he lost? And why had the fool allowed himself to keep bleeding like that?
Because he wouldn’t leave the baby. And she wouldn’t have calmed down if he’d left the room with the baby. So he’d stayed, hiding the wounds and the blood soaking into his clothes.
They were going to have a little chat about him taking care of himself so that he’d be able to take care of the child. On the other hand, she appreciated his restraint in not hurting her today.
“Daemon, sit down.”
He used Craft to move a chair next to the bed. When that didn’t give him a good view of his daughter, he sat on the edge of the bed, wincing as he shifted position. One finger touched a tiny hand.
He’s already in love with her, Surreal thought as she watched him watch Jaenelle. The baby had a fuzz of black hair, gold eyes, and light brown skin. The delicately pointed ears were the only sign that she wasn’t purely from the long-lived races.
“Are you disappointed that she’s not a Queen?” Surreal asked.
The Healer had said it might take a few days for a psychic scent to become strong enough to identify a caste, but the words had been said to ease possible disappointment. Surreal had known within minutes of holding her baby that Jaenelle Saetien wasn’t a Queen. Lucivar had known just by being in the same room with the girl, so she figured Daemon also knew.
Daemon looked at her, surprised. “Disappointed? No.” His eyes went back to the baby. “Queens are the Blood’s moral center and the heart of the land. Their will is the law, and every single person who lives in their territory is held by their whims. But for all that, their lives are set from the day they’re born, and their lives are never truly their own. We need the Queens, but I’m relieved that my daughter will be spared the weight of those duties. She can become whatever she chooses to be.”
“I’ll remind of you of that when she announces a new course of study that’s so outrageous just hearing about it makes you snort coffee out your nose.”
He let out a startled laugh. Then his breath caught from the pain.
Surreal sighed. “Daemon, we both need to get some sleep before she wakes up and wants another meal.”
He nodded, clearly unhappy.
This should have been a wonderful day for both of them, and he shouldn’t have been exhausted from pain and blood loss because of her.
She snugged the baby basket up against her. “Come on, Sadi. Stretch out here and get some sleep.”
He studied her, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“There’s not much room,” he finally said.
And if she called in a knife, his throat would be in easy reach.
“There’s enough.” She thought for a moment. “But it would be smart to put a light shield along the sides so neither of us accidentally rolls off the bed.”
He stretched out on his left side, the head of the baby basket brushing his chest, and put up the shields as she requested. It hurt her heart to see him moving so carefully because of the wounds and the pain. When the Healer came back tomorrow to check on her, she would make sure she knew what he was supposed to do to heal fully—and she would make sure he did it.
She looked at him, intending to ask if he’d taken the healing brew he was supposed to before bedtime. But Daemon was already sound asleep, his body curved protectively around the basket holding his daughter.
TEN
Daemon looked up when the study door opened, and watched Surreal walk toward the blackwood desk. Judging by that particular expression on her face, he knew he was in trouble. He just didn’t know why.
“You’re the parent on duty this morning,” he pointed out.
“I’m aware of that, Sadi.” Surreal pressed her hands on the desk and leaned toward him. “Before I decide if you deserve to have your ass kicked, I want to know one thing: Did you give Jaenelle permission to ride the horsie all by herself?”
Why was she pissed off about that? “The wheeled toy horse in the playroom?”
“No, the big live one outside.”
He blinked. Sat back. “What, exactly, are we talking about?” Because she couldn’t mean what she said. Jaenelle was much too young to mount a horse and ride alone.
“A black horse showed up this morning. When Jaenelle went outside to play, they made friends. Now they’re cantering around the backyard, having a grand time.”
“A groom put her up in front of him?” He couldn’t approve of that, since the man hadn’t asked permission from him or Surreal first, but Jaenelle loved the horses and she could be a persuasive little witchling. Of course, a groom being present didn’t fit with Jaenelle being “all by herself.”
“There’s no groom,” Surreal said. “There’s no saddle or bridle. And he’s not from our stables. His name is Nightwind, he comes from the Isle of Scelt, and he’s an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince.”
Daemon shot to his feet. Seeing the look in Surreal’s eyes, he sank back down. She hadn’t called in a weapon—yet—but he knew better than to push her when she was in a riled-mother frame of mind.
“She’s riding an unfamiliar horse—,” he began.
“Who is an Opal-Jeweled Warlord Prince,” she added.
“—bareback?”
“Yes. The grooms tried to approach him, but every time they got close, he took off—with her. The humans have retreated because they’re afraid he’ll bolt or try to jump something in his path. No one is sure how she’s keeping her seat, although the stable master assures me that she’s riding as if she’d been born knowing how to ride. Fhinn and Sorca are watching her, since the horse doesn’t mind Scelties running along with him. So Jaenelle is fine for the moment, which is why we have time to discuss this.”
He shot to his feet again. “Hell’s fire, Surreal! Why haven’t you done something?”
“Like I said, I wanted to make sure you hadn’t given her permission.”
“Why would you think I would give my permission?”
“Because you have a firm no and a soft no, and I had the feeling that Jaenelle heard whatever you said about the horsie as a soft no.”