Lucivar returned quickly.

"Once the guests are settled in their rooms, dinner will be served in the formal dining room," Beale said.

"Thank you, Beale," Lucivar replied a bit meekly.

"Are there any arrangements the household should be aware of?"

Lucivar made a "come-here" gesture to the young Warlord who had remained protectively close to the woman with the two young children. "This is Lord Endar, Lady Dorian's husband."

Endar stiffened under Beale's scrutiny.

Prince Aaron wrapped a hand around Surreal's arm and pulled her forward. "I'll escort Lady SaDiablo and Lady Benedict to their rooms."

"Lady SaDiablo?" Beale said, startled.

Aaron grinned.

Surreal hissed.

"I'm sure the High Lord will be pleased to welcome the Lady," Beale said, a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.

Before Surreal could stop him, Aaron brushed her hair back, revealing a delicately pointed ear. "So will Prince Chaosti."

Beale's lips twitched. Then he resumed his stoic demeanor and turned to the immigrants. "Those of you who are here as servants will follow Holt," he said, indicating the waiting footman. "The rest of you will follow me."

As soon as all the Eyriens except Prince Falonar had left the great hall, along with Manny, Jazen, and Andrew, Surreal turned to Lucivar. "Shouldn't you have told him to let the children stay with their parents? I doubt they're going to feel easy, being in a strange place."

Prince Aaron vigorously cleared his throat.

Lord Khardeen tipped his head back and studied the ceiling.

Lucivar just stared at her for a moment before saying slowly, "If you want to tell Beale or Helene how to run this place, you go right ahead and try. Just let me get out of the line of fire before you do."

"Come on, Lady Surreal," Aaron said. "Let's get you settled in before you start bringing the place down around us."

Lucivar waited until Aaron and Khardeen had escorted Surreal and Wilhelmina out of the hall before turning to Falonar. "What?"

Falonar squared his shoulders. "Why did you single out Endar?"

"As long as the household knows that Endar is Dorian's husband, no one will challenge his being in her bed. And believe me, there are males here who won't hesitate to tear him apart if they aren't made aware that he's in her bed by her choice." He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I'll explain the rules tomorrow. For tonight, just tell the men to keep their distance from all the women." He paused, and then added, "You'd better get settled in. We'll be here for a few days."

After Falonar left, Lucivar turned to Daemon. "Come on. Let's finish this so we can both get some food and rest."

Daemon followed Lucivar up the staircase in the informal receiving room and through the labyrinth of corridors. After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, "You named him Daemonar."

"It was the closest I could come and still keep the name Eyrien," Lucivar said quietly, his voice a little thick.

"I'm flattered."

Lucivar snorted. "Well, you would have been when he was an infant. Once he got his feet under him, he turned into a little beast." He raked a hand through his shoulder-length hair. "And it isnot all my fault. I didn't do this by myself. But nobody seems to remember that."

"I can't imagine why," Daemon said dryly, watching Lucivar swell with indignation.

"When he does something adorable, he's his mother's son. When he does something clever, he's the High Lord's grandson. But when he acts like a rotten little beast, he'smy son." Lucivar rubbed his chest. "Sometimes I swear he does things just to see if my heart will stop."

"Like tonight?"

Lucivar waved his hand dismissively. "No, that was just... just... shit. What can I tell you? He's a little beast."

They turned a corner and almost ran into a lovely Eyrien woman. She wore a long, practical nightgown and clutched a thick book.

"Your son," she said, spacing out the words, "is not a beast."

"Never mind that," Lucivar said, narrowing his eyes. "Marian, why aren't you in bed? You should be resting today."

Marian let out her breath in an exasperated huff. "I dozed for most of the morning. I played with Daemonar for a little while this afternoon, and then we both took a nap. I just got up to borrow a book. I'm going to get tucked back in before Beale brings up a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits."

Lucivar's eyes narrowed a little more. "Didn't you eat today?"

Daemon stared at Lucivar in amazement. Even an idiot—or an Eyrien male—should be able to tell that this woman was silently sputtering.

"Uncle Andulvar checked on me to make sure I had eaten a good breakfast. Prothvar brought me a midmorning snack. I ate lunch with Daemonar. Sure that I must be starving, Mephis brought me a midafternoon snack. And your father already inquired about what I ate for dinner. I've been fussed over enough today."

"I'm not fussing," Lucivar growled—and then added under his breath, "I haven't had a chance to fuss."

Marian looked pointedly at Daemon. "Shouldn't you be looking after your guests?"

"He's not a guest. He's my brother."

Smiling warmly, Marian held out her hand. "You must be Daemon. Oh, I'm so glad you've finally come. Now I have another brother."

Brother? Taking her hand, Daemon gave Lucivar a quizzical look.

Running a possessive hand down Marian's waist-length hair, Lucivar said warmly, "Marian does me the honor of being my wife."

And Daemonar's mother.The floor dropped out from under Daemon and then came up again fast and hard.

Marian squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with concern. Lucivar's gaze was sharper.

Emotions collided in him, banging against his fragile sanity. Unable to offer them any reassurances, he took a step back and began, again, the exhausting effort of regaining control of his feelings.

Perhaps sensing that he needed time, Lucivar tugged at the book Marian held, trying to see the title.

She clutched it harder and stepped away from him.

"Is that a sniffle book?" Lucivar asked suspiciously.

Marian opened and closed her wings with a snap. "A what?"

"You know. One of those books that women like to read and get all weepy over. The last time you read one of those, you got upset when I came in to find out what was wrong. You threw the book at me."

Marian's sputtering was no longer silent. "I didn't get upset because of thebook. You came storming into the room with weapons drawn and you scared me."

"You were crying. I thought you were hurt. Look, I just want to know ahead of time if you're going to get weepy over it."

"When Jaenelle read it, I'll bet you didn't barge in on her when she got weepy."

Lucivar eyed the book as if it had just grown fangs. "Oh.That book." He curled an arm protectively over his belly. "Actually, I did barge in on her. Her aim was better than yours."

Marian's growl turned into a laugh. "Poor Lucivar. You try so hard to protect the women in the family, and we don't show our appreciation, do we?"

Lucivar grinned. "Well, if there are any interesting love scenes in that story, mark the pages and you can appreciate me in a few days."

Marian glanced at Daemon and blushed.

Lucivar gently kissed her, then stepped aside to let her pass. "Get into bed now."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Daemon," Marian said a little shyly.

"Good night, Lady Marian," Daemon said. It was all he could manage.

They watched her until she went into her and Lucivar's suite, then Lucivar reached out. Daemon stiffened, rejecting the touch.

Dropping his hand, Lucivar said, "The High Lord's suite is just down this corridor. He'll want to see you."

Daemon couldn't move. "I thought you married Jaenelle."

"Why would you think I married Jaenelle?"

The surprise in Lucivar's voice woke Daemon's temper. "You were here," he snarled. "Why wouldn't you want to marry her?"

Lucivar didn't say anything for a long minute. Then, quietly, "That was always your dream, Daemon. Not mine." Turning, he walked down the corridor. "Come On."

Daemon followed slowly. When Lucivar stopped and knocked on a door, he kept walking, drawn to the strong, dark, feminine psychic scent'coming from a room on the opposite side of the corridor.

"Daemon?"

Lucivar's voice faded, muted by a powerful tide of emotions.

Daemon opened a door and walked into a sitting room. One wall had built-in bookshelves above a row of closed, waist-high wooden cabinets. A couch, two triangular side tables, and two chairs formed a bracket of furniture around a long, low table. A pair of sinuous, patinaed lamps sat on the side tables. Next to one chair was a large basket full of skeins of wool and silk and a partially completed piece of needlework. A desk sat in front of the glass doors that led out to the balcony. A tiered stand filled with plants occupied one corner.

The psychic scent washed over him, through him. Oh, he remembered that dark scent. But there was something different about it now, something delicately, deliriously musky.

His body tightened, then swelled with male interest before his mind understood the significance of that difference. Then he noticed the sapphire slippers near one chair. A woman's slippers.

Against all reason, despite all desire, even when he had thought that Lucivar had married her, he hadn't fully absorbed the fact that she was no longer the child he had known. She had grown up.

The walls of the room faded to gray, then darkened and began to close in, forming a tunnel around him.

"Daemon."

He remembered that deep voice, too. He had heard it amused. He had heard it full of rage and fierce power. He had heard it hoarse and exhausted. He had heard it plead with him to reach up, to accept the help and strength being offered.