Lucivar’s lips twitched.

“A couple of days later. Another outing. When reminded that requests had to be submitted in writing, she dashed off the note—which Daemon returned with a gentle apology, saying that the note was too illegible for him to decipher and needed to be resubmitted.”

“She didn’t make it to that outing either, did she?”

“No. More weeping, more complaints, more slammed doors—and for every slammed door, Daemon added a week to the time when written requests would be required.”

Lucivar leaned forward. “That’s brat behavior and doesn’t sound like Jaenelle Saetien. Something wrong with the witchling?”

“Lately she has felt the need to test boundaries and rules.” Surreal sighed. “Her friends continue to be impressed by her Birthright Jewel—and her teachers tend to be indulgent, despite the chats they’ve had with her father about being indulgent. But no one at the Hall is impressed, because they saw the first Twilight’s Dawn, the darker one. And the person who is least impressed by the Jewel itself is Jaenelle Saetien’s papa. I salute Daemon for his patience. He let the girl slam against his will until she finally understood that he would not allow her to become a brat or a bitch, that he would draw the line and hold it as much out of love for her as out of duty to all the people of Dhemlan.”

“They’re okay?” Lucivar asked.

Surreal nodded. “She snapped out of her current brat mood, and they’re fine. They don’t need me as a buffer, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t wondering, but that’s good to know. So you’re here because . . .”

“You need a second opinion. I’m here because of you, Jillian, and the little prick who was feeling her up in public. I might like him for being so ballsy. It’s not quite like whipping out his cock and pissing on your boots, but it’s close.” She waited a beat. “I heard you choked the shit out of him.”

“Nah.” Lucivar dismissed that with a wave of his hand. Then he considered. “Did choke the piss out of him.”

She started to laugh, then realized he was serious. Shit shit shit. “Why did you do it?”

Lucivar shook his head. “You’ll be influenced by what I say and will no longer provide an impartial second opinion.”

Well, Hell’s fire, he was serious about that too. “You and Jillian. Was anything said that can’t be forgiven?”

He shook his head. Didn’t even hesitate. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“All right, then. I’m going to go talk to Jillian and arrange a time when she and I can meet with this young Warlord.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

Feeling wary, Jillian eyed Surreal SaDiablo. Not only was Surreal a Gray-Jeweled witch, but she was Daemon Sadi’s wife—and his second-in-command. She was also half Dea al Mon, which meant she was skilled with a knife.

“Why do you want to meet Dillon?” she asked.

“Do you like him?” Surreal asked in turn.

“Yes.”

“You want to spend time with him?”

Jillian nodded. She wasn’t sure Dillon would want to get anywhere near her again, but just the thought of him still filled her stomach with butterflies.

“Then I, as the intermediary, need to meet him so that I can form my own opinion.”

“What if you agree with Prince Yaslana?”

“Then you’re out of luck. But if I don’t agree with him . . .” Surreal leaned toward Jillian, and there was a wicked twinkle in her gold-green eyes. “Why him? What is it about him that makes this so important to you?”

“He’s so pretty!” Jillian felt her face heat. She hunched her shoulders. “You think that’s stupid.”

“I’m married to a man who is so beautiful, women stop on the street and stare at him, and if he were to give them even the mildest look of encouragement, they would follow him around like he was a juicy steak and they were starving puppies. So I can appreciate why a woman would be attracted to a man because he’s pretty.”

She called me a woman, Jillian thought. She understands. “It’s not just that.” She was testing an emotional cliff edge, not sure the ground would hold, not sure she would be able to get out of the way if the ground crumbled beneath her and started a rockslide. “He’s smart and has a proper education and he reads all these books and knows social etiquette and how to do more than country dances, and he makes me feel . . .”

No. She couldn’t talk about how he made her feel. Not yet.

“First kiss?” Surreal asked.

She shook her head. “Tamnar and I did a little kissing.” Kisses that had barely broken Lucivar’s rule.

“But Dillon is the first to give you a lover’s kiss?”

She nodded. Those kisses had definitely broken the rule. Not something she would say to anyone.

“You didn’t feel what you wanted to feel when Tamnar kissed you? And you feel that way when Dillon kisses you?”

“Yes.”

At least, she had felt that fluttery excitement until Dillon had thrust his tongue in her mouth as if letting him do it once a few days ago meant he could keep doing it anywhere and anytime. And yesterday, his hand on her breast had hurt, changing the pleasure of seeing him into uneasiness when he wouldn’t stop. But if her moontime had started an hour earlier, she wouldn’t have gone to the market and she wouldn’t have seen him while she was feeling so tender, and he wouldn’t have hurt her.

Surreal smiled. “Then this is what we’ll do. From what Marian told me, tomorrow is still a quiet home day for you, so write a note to Dillon and invite him to join us at the Sweet Tooth the day after tomorrow at three o’clock. Do you know the place? It’s a cake shop located in the aristo part of Riada and is supposed to have the very best treats.”

“That place is expensive.” Yaslana had taken her and Nurian there for her birthday last year. She’d been impressed by the pretty, delicate decor that was in keeping with the intricately decorated cakes. And while she hadn’t seen the actual bill that had been eased onto the table, she had seen the number of gold marks Yaslana had left on the table to pay for the outing.

“I imagine it’s the kind of place Lord Dillon visits all the time.” Surreal stood. “Now let’s see what you have in your wardrobe that would be appropriate for an afternoon outing.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

Lucivar stared at Surreal and wondered how he had allowed himself to be cornered this way. “You’ve arranged an outing with the prick-ass. Not just a meeting, an outing.”