She’d already drained the Gray? How?

“Surreal.” He took a step toward her, then stopped when she instantly snapped to attention, her right hand curling as if holding a sight-shielded weapon. Which was quite possible. “What’s wrong?”

“What could be wrong?” she countered.

That evasion instead of giving him a straight answer confirmed that there was something wrong, because Surreal didn’t evade. Something wrong with her? Was she hiding a secret from him for the same reason he was hiding the severity of his headaches from her? Because neither of them wanted to add another problem to a marriage that was turning sour?

“You’re running away. That’s not like you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to get in the middle of this ongoing pissing contest you’re having with Jaenelle Saetien over nutcakes,” she snapped.

“It’s not about nutcakes. It’s about an attitude she’s trying on that can’t be allowed to continue.”

“Whatever it’s about, I don’t want to deal with it. Is that clear enough?”

“Very.” His voice cooled, his temper responding to hers. “My apologies for disturbing you. Have a pleasant journey.”

She picked up a stack of underclothes and threw them into the trunk. Then she wrapped a hand around the bedpost, as if she needed help staying on her feet.

Daemon crossed the room and had her in his arms before she drew another breath. They sat on the side of the bed, silent, while Surreal shuddered with the effort to regain control.

“I’m all right.” She pushed at him, but he didn’t let her go. “Sadi, I’m all right.”

“Would you like to try a more believable lie?”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Since when?”

She laughed, but it was a reluctant sound. “I just need some time on my own. That’s all.”

“You would tell me if this was something more?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

She should have known better than to lie to him when he was holding her, when he was so attuned to her body and her emotions.

He kissed her cheek and left her bedroom, then went down to his study to review paperwork and write a brief note to Beron, warning him that Manny and Mrs. Beale would be expecting him to bring his appetite when he came to visit. He seldom worried about the young Warlord, who had resided in Amdarh ever since Beron had been deemed old enough to live on his own and study to be an actor. Understanding how fast the leash could be tightened if he didn’t keep in touch with the patriarch of the family, Beron had always been a good correspondent. And while he had his own lodgings, he took advantage of the SaDiablo town house, staying over at least one night a week, which guaranteed he would be well fed for one evening meal and the next day’s breakfast. It also guaranteed that Daemon would hear any significant gossip or concerns about Beron, since Helton, the town house’s butler, would report any activity or association that might endanger the young man’s well-being.

Daemon hesitated. Should he ask Beron to spend a few extra days at the family’s town house when it was most likely that Surreal would be staying there? Helton would defend Surreal with everything in him, but it would be easier on everyone who had to deal with a Black-Jeweled temper if there was a male member of the family in residence during Surreal’s moontime.

He felt the absence of the Gray and knew the moment when his wife and second-in-command stepped on the stone landing web in front of the Hall and caught one of the Winds to ride to whichever estate was her first destination. Still, he waited for Beale to enter his study and inform him that Lady Surreal had left.

“Jaenelle Saetien has gone to school?” he asked.

“She has.” Beale waited a beat before adding, “The young Lady was keenly disappointed in the lack of breakfast pastries this morning, which I’m sure you’ll notice when you come in for your own breakfast.”

Daemon set his pen in its holder and sat back. “Is this lack of pastries because of my instructions not to provide dessert or treats, or did Jaenelle Saetien do something to piss off Mrs. Beale?”

“The young Lady made one or two imprudent remarks.”

Hell’s fire. Maybe Surreal had the right idea when it came to abandoning this particular field of battle. Except he couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

He also wasn’t foolish enough to ignore Beale’s warning that the staff had noticed what he was—and wasn’t—eating and soon would come to their own conclusions about his lack of appetite.

Pushing back his chair, he said, “I’m sure I won’t notice a lack of pastries while I’m tucking in to whatever dishes Mrs. Beale has prepared this morning.”

As he followed Beale to the dining room, he noticed Morghann and Khary trotting out the front door.

“They didn’t accompany Jaenelle Saetien to school?” he asked.

“They did not,” Beale replied.

That troubled him, because Scelties didn’t hold on to grudges. Not when they loved the person who had made the mistake.

“Beale.” Daemon stopped outside the dining room door. “Was I too harsh? I hadn’t intended to cause a schism between Jaenelle Saetien and the Scelties over a nutcake.”

“I would not presume to have an opinion about how you raise your daughter, Prince,” the butler replied.

“If my father had asked you that question, would you have offered an opinion?”

Beale looked him in the eyes—a reminder that no matter what Beale did for a living, he was a Red-Jeweled Warlord.

“Like your father, you understand the need to draw lines when behavior is inappropriate,” Beale finally said. “In my opinion, you were not too harsh with the young Lady.”

Relief washed through Daemon. At least he had one ally. But . . . “With Morghann?”

“Whatever you said to Morghann is not the problem.” Beale sighed. “Trust betrayed is harder to forgive than a shared mistake.”

Yes. “Thank you, Beale.”

Opening the dining room door, Beale said quietly, “You can thank me by appreciating the breakfast Mrs. Beale prepared for you.”

He felt a little fragile this morning, but the headache wasn’t threatening to return in full force, so he found his appetite and appreciated the breakfast sufficiently to please his staff.

Before he returned to his study to deal with more paperwork, Daemon wandered the Hall, checking on the shields that were woven into the building’s stones—protection for everyone living there against anyone foolish enough to launch an attack.