He watched girl and Sceltie, not as a doting father but as the Warlord Prince responsible for the well-being of all the Dhemlan people.

Jaenelle Saetien skipped ahead of him, the small brown and white dog trotting beside her. His girl’s delicately pointed ears were the visible proof of the Dea al Mon side of her heritage. The other things that were part of the Dea al Mon weren’t as obvious.

Surreal had been twelve years old the first time she killed a man with a knife. She’d been justified, but it was whispered by the other races in Kaeleer that the Children of the Wood were born knowing what to do with a knife. Surreal’s skill as an assassin was testimony to the truth of the saying.

Her skill had never bothered him. Hell’s fire, he’d taught her some of the nastier death spells. But the temperament and power they both had brought to the making of this child . . .

Everything had a price, including privilege. Perhaps, especially privilege.

He waited until they had crossed the wooden bridge that was the boundary that divided Halaway from the SaDiablo estate, and changed the public road into the Hall’s private drive. Then he snapped his fingers twice and held out his hand. “I’ll take that nutcake, Lady Morghann.”

٭But I am supposed to give it to Jaenelle Saetien when we get back to her room,٭ Morghann said.

Daemon stopped walking and looked at his daughter, who poked her lip out in another pout.

“You were told you could have one nutcake,” he said.

“But I wanted two!” she protested.

“Because you’re special,” he said too softly.

She started to agree, then must have realized the words were a warning. “Don’t you think I’m special?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes, I do, but that has nothing to do with the Jewel you wear. I think you’re special because you’re my daughter and I love you. I imagine every father feels that way about a daughter. I know your uncle Lucivar feels that way about Titian. But being special, regardless of the reason, doesn’t give you the right to misbehave or ignore your schoolwork—or convince a witch who is younger than you to do something that you know is wrong.”

٭I did a wrong thing?٭ Morghann asked, alarmed.

Daemon ignored the Sceltie and focused on the girl. “I’m disappointed in you, Jaenelle Saetien. You let Morghann believe it was all right to take a nutcake for you. You tried to cheat by letting someone else take something that you wanted—and take the blame if caught.”

٭Blame?٭ Morghann whined. ٭There is blame?٭

“Is that what you want your little Sister to learn from you? That it’s all right to cheat, to take without permission? As long as your hands don’t get dirty, it’s not your fault and you’ll stand back and let someone else take the blame—and the punishment?” The headache, which he’d managed to ignore while he was at Manny’s cottage, surged into sickening pain. He had to leave while he could still ride the Winds.

“It was just a stupid nutcake!” Jaenelle Saetien protested.

“Today it was a nutcake,” he snapped. “What will you ask Morghann to steal tomorrow?”

٭Steal? Scelties do not steal.٭ Morghann stared at Jaenelle Saetien and growled.

“Come on,” Daemon said. “I have an appointment, and you need to get home.”

He started walking, aware that his girl hadn’t moved, was in the throes of some mood that was dangerous for both of them right now.

“If that Lady in the Mist had wanted a second nutcake, I bet you would have given it to her,” Jaenelle Saetien said, her voice rising in a whiny challenge.

Rage whispered through him, savagely cold, burning him right to the marrow. He turned and walked back to his daughter—and whatever she saw in his face had her taking two steps back.

“If you ever again try to use the Lady as a hammer against me, there will be consequences—and they will hurt. She is my Queen, and no one uses her as a weapon. Especially you. Are we clear about that, Lady SaDiablo?”

“Papa . . .”

“Are. We. Clear?”

“Y-yes.”

He walked away. Had to walk away.

“Papa!” Jaenelle Saetien wailed as she ran to catch up to him. “I’m sorry, Papa.”

The tears were probably real, but the headache was a storm pounding his temples and consuming his control, so all he could do was hand her a handkerchief and keep moving until he got her to the Hall and could place her in Surreal’s care before he . . .

٭Surreal,٭ he called on a Gray psychic thread. ٭Surreal, you’re needed.٭

He knew she was at the Hall. He always knew where she and Jaenelle Saetien were, not only because he was so attuned to their psychic scents, but because Surreal was the only individual in the surrounding area who wore the Gray, and Jaenelle Saetien’s Jewel was unmistakable.

٭Sadi?٭ Surreal sounded wary. ٭Where are you?٭

٭We’ll be at the Hall in a few minutes.٭ He broke the link between them before she picked up on the pain. He wasn’t the only one who was attuned to his partner, and he didn’t want her asking questions that might give her cause to worry before he could provide reassuring answers—or at least some kind of answer.

Assuming she still felt enough for him beyond sex to worry.

Surreal wasn’t in the great hall when he walked in, but Beale was there. The Red-Jeweled Warlord who served as the Hall’s butler looked attentive, as if merely there to follow an order, but Daemon sensed the tight Red shield around the man. Red couldn’t survive a strike from the Black, but Beale being prepared for a strike told him his flash of cold anger hadn’t been as contained as he’d thought.

He wasn’t so steeped in pain that he couldn’t appreciate that Beale’s response to him was the same as Mikal’s had been to Jaenelle Saetien—and for much the same reason—but it made him wonder why Surreal wasn’t there, armed and waiting for him. Unless she thought, for whatever reason, that she, and not Jaenelle Saetien, was the reason for the anger?

“Look after Jaenelle Saetien until Lady Surreal is available,” Daemon told Beale. “And please convey my apologies to Mrs. Beale for not giving her more notice, but I have a meeting that won’t wait and I will not be back in time for dinner.”

Beale allowed himself a tiny frown of concern. “A meeting, Prince? Lord Holt didn’t mention anything on your calendar this evening.”

“It wasn’t on my calendar, but it can’t be delayed.” Daemon backed away from his butler, from his daughter, from the wife who hadn’t made an appearance yet. “I will be back tonight.”