“Prick, I know you better than to think what I was thinking. For that, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If Titian had hit me with that bit of information before I was awake, I would have landed on your doorstep wondering the same thing. The only difference is I would have pinned your ass to the wall before we started talking.”
He meant it. All of it.
Lucivar picked up one of the plates and held it out. “You want this?”
“Yes, I do.” Taking his plate and mug to the kitchen table, he sat down.
Lucivar tossed him a fork, then joined him.
“Tell me about these rules,” Daemon said.
“I kept it simple.” Lucivar spread jam on his toast. “Look equals tell. Touch equals tell. Permission before action. No exceptions.”
“Is that supposed to make sense?”
“The long version of the rules is, if any male tries to show them his stuff or tries to talk them into showing him their bodies, the first thing they do is shield. The second thing they do is holler for you or me, and we will decide what needs to be done. If anyone tries to touch them or tries to make them touch body parts—”
“They shield and holler for one of us.”
Lucivar nodded. “If they want to spend private time with a friend, male or female, they get our permission first. I won’t refuse any reasonable request and will set whatever boundaries I feel are necessary, but permission comes before action.”
“And the consequences of disobeying your rules?”
Lucivar looked him in the eyes. “I’ll destroy the enemy, regardless of gender or age. And unless there is permission beforehand, I will regard any person who tries to sneak off with one of my children as an enemy.”
Daemon sat back. “There might be mitigating circumstances.”
“Not if I find out about it afterward instead of beforehand.”
“That’s a hard line.” One he knew Lucivar would hold. “Do these rules apply to Daemonar too?”
“Yes. And Jillian.”
Daemon stiffened. “Has someone been bothering Jillian?”
Lucivar shook his head. “No—and I intend to keep it that way.” He paused. “Look, Bastard, you may think those rules are harsh, and maybe you want to soften them for Jaenelle Saetien. But when it comes to my children, when they stay with you, I expect you to hold that line.”
He polished off the eggs. “I don’t have any trouble with your rules or holding that line for any of the children—including Mikal.”
“And Beron?”
Daemon shook his head. “Beron has his own residence and is apprenticing in his chosen profession, so he’s old enough to choose his own company.” But it wouldn’t hurt to remind the young Warlord that being given that much independence didn’t mean the family patriarch wasn’t aware of all of his activities.
“The theater group he belongs to is performing a play in Riada next month. We’re looking forward to seeing him.”
And Uncle Lucivar will keep an eye on him while Beron is in Ebon Rih, Daemon thought, working to hide a smile.
“You want more coffee?” Lucivar asked. “I’ll make another pot.”
“Sure. Where is Marian?”
“Sleeping in.”
Something in the tone, in the way Lucivar moved around the kitchen. “Is she all right?”
“Just slow coming back from this birthing. It’s taking longer for her to regain her strength and energy. She’ll be fine.”
“But . . . ?” Daemon asked gently.
Lucivar filled the coffeepot and put it on the stove to heat before replying. “Nurian is an excellent Healer, and I trust what she says. But I wish Jaenelle Angelline was still here to tell me Marian will be fine. I’d feel a lot easier if she was still here to tell me that.”
Daemon walked into his study and found Surreal waiting for him, comfortably settled on the long leather sofa. She had a book in her lap and a crossbow aimed at his groin.
“Is that necessary?” he asked politely.
“You tell me.” Her tone was a few steps short of polite.
He slipped his hands in his trousers pockets and waited. When Surreal began a discussion by pointing a weapon at a man, it was wise to yield as much as possible.
“I upset Jaenelle.” The crossbow didn’t waver, so he considered the other half of his offense. “And I left you to deal with it without giving you any idea of what you were facing.”
“Which is something you won’t do again. Agreed?”
Was there a choice? “Agreed.”
Surreal vanished the crossbow, then shifted so that he could sit beside her.
“Jaenelle Saetien is very sorry that she forgot to tell you about Uncle Lucivar’s new rules—which you will explain to me in detail by the end of the day,” she said. “A new friend showed up early this morning, and she needed to tell you about him before she totally broke the rules instead of just bending the rules by waiting for you to wake up before she told you about her new friend, since he was in her room, but you didn’t wake up, which is why she woke you, but then she mentioned the boy parts, which Uncle Lucivar had also told her to tell you about, and before she could explain, you cat-puffed, kicked her out of the room, and left to yell at Lucivar.”
“I what? Cat-puffed? What in the name of Hell is that?”
“I’m guessing it’s what a pissed-off feline does.”
“Well, that makes me sound scary.”
“No, it makes you sound like a rolly ball of fur. Regardless ...” Surreal grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. “I’ll give you a choice. You can go up there and settle things with your daughter and her new friends, or you can take the second part of the discussion about why boy parts wiggle.”
He felt all the blood drain out of his head. “Why would there be a second part if the two of you already discussed this?”
“Because with Jaenelle Saetien, there is always a second part to a discussion.”
That was a frightening truth. “All right. I’ll meet these new friends.”
“One of them is in her room. The other is in the stables.”
“I take it these new friends have boy parts?”
Surreal released his shirt and leaned back. “Trust me, Sadi. Their boy parts are the least of your problems.”
Once Daemon was on his way to meet his daughter’s new friends, Surreal breathed out a shuddery sigh. No sign or scent of blood or wounds, so it wasn’t likely that he and Lucivar had done more than yell at each other.
If it had been anyone other than Lucivar, even if the man’s actions had been innocent or unintentional . . .
Sadi hadn’t looked like a man who had shattered the family by maiming or killing his brother. No, her sense of him when he’d walked into the study was that of a man who knew it would take some work to clean up the emotional mess he’d left behind when he’d thundered out of the Hall.
She called in her favorite stiletto and studied its edge.
She’d been twelve when she was raped, but the man hadn’t been strong enough to take more than her virginity. She’d come away from that bed with her Birthright Green Jewels and her power still intact.
Jaenelle Angelline had been twelve when she was raped. No one could have taken away Witch’s power—she stood too deep in the abyss for anyone to do that—but she had abandoned her body for almost two years, traveling roads in the Twisted Kingdom, and maybe even the Darkness itself, that no one else could walk. And what had been done to her in Briarwood had left emotional scars that had haunted her all her life.
Daemon had married two women who had been scarred by rape, and he wasn’t without scars himself—not with what she guessed had been done to him as a child and what he’d endured as a pleasure slave. So any hint that his daughter might be at risk of having the same kind of scars was enough to have his temper turn cold and brutal and committed to slaughter.