Potency and power. The darker the Jewel worn by a Warlord Prince, the more potent the sexual heat. Sweet Darkness, he was potent!

She frowned. It was more than that. If you put aside the sexual heat, because only Warlord Princes had that as part of their nature, Prince Sadi was still exciting because he was sophisticated and educated and . . . other stuff that Eyrien males didn’t care about at all but that seemed desperately important all of a sudden.

Even if he wasn’t married and unavailable, it would take a strong, sophisticated, educated woman to be his lover. And she was too young to be anyone’s lover. But . . .

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be courted by a Warlord who was like Prince Sadi in most ways?

* * *

* * *

Lucivar led the way back to his study. “What brings you to Ebon Rih so early?”

Daemon’s psychic scent felt jagged, and that was a worry. Sadi’s mind had been shattered, and repaired, twice, and any sign that he might be slipping toward the border of the Twisted Kingdom was cause for concern. Daemon was Saetan’s true heir and, as Saetan had before him, ruled the Dark Realm as the High Lord of Hell—and he was more dangerous and lethal than their father had ever dreamed of being. Since Saetan had once committed genocide, destroying a place called Zuulaman and everyone from that race, anything that threatened Daemon’s control of his temper or power needed to be stopped before it went too far.

“I wanted to check the supplies at the cabin,” Daemon replied easily. “I’ll spend a day or two there once Surreal is back at the Hall and available to be the parent on duty.”

Lucivar settled in one of the visitor’s chairs instead of the chair behind his desk. “Where is she now?”

Daemon took the other seat. “Checking up on the other estates.”

Lucivar studied his brother. Daemon had been different since Jaenelle Saetien’s Birthright Ceremony. Happier. Warmer. Closer to the way he’d been when he’d been married to Jaenelle Angelline. Now Daemon felt jagged—and there were shadows in the depths of those gold eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

Daemon shrugged, a dismissive move. “Have a bit of a headache.”

“What’s the witchling done now?”

Daemon laughed. “She has been pestering to have a special-occasion cake made. She made a sufficient nuisance of herself that Mrs. Beale came to my study to discuss it.”

“Did Mrs. Beale bring her meat cleaver?”

“Of course she did.” Daemon crossed his legs at the knees. “Since I have my own kitchen in the family wing, which is still a sore spot as far as Mrs. Beale is concerned, I offered to help Jaenelle Saetien make the cake if she wanted one so badly.”

“Sounds fair.” His children often made the biscuits while he prepared another part of the meal on Marian’s resting nights. The biscuits were edible most of the time.

“I thought so. Despite my explaining how much of each ingredient had to be added, she was a bit . . . slapdash . . . about it, because measuring took time and stirring took time.” Daemon smiled. “Then she announced that there was something she had to do and that she would be back in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that excuse. It’s your own fault—and mine—for having bright, clever children.”

“Hmmm. Well, my clever child bounced into the kitchen about thirty minutes later to find her papa reading a book and the cake ingredients looking exactly the way she’d left them. When she started to express her disappointment, I reminded her that I had offered to help her make it, not do the work, and since she didn’t want the cake enough to put any effort into making it, there would be no further pestering of Mrs. Beale or me or anyone else, because further pestering would result in a loss of privileges.”

“Would the cake have been edible?”

“Not likely. But that, too, would have been a lesson.” Daemon seemed to weigh something before finally asking, “Did your two behave differently after receiving their Birthright Jewel? I don’t remember them being different, but I didn’t see them every day.”

“Titian shied away from doing any kind of Craft for about a month because, once she had her Summer-sky Jewel, doing even basic Craft was important and maybe she’d been doing it wrong. So Marian and I ended up teaching her the same things she’d been doing, because she wasn’t a child anymore; she was a girl. She was certain she would be held to a higher standard because she wore a Jewel.”

“She wasn’t wrong,” Daemon said.

“No, she wasn’t wrong.” Lucivar huffed out a laugh. “The boy, on the other hand, acted like he’d finally learned some manners when he received his Green Jewel. That lasted less than a week. In the years since then, he seems committed to being more and more of a pain in my ass. He’s on the cusp of leaving boyhood behind and embracing the changes that come from being a youth. I figure the pissing contests will start in earnest when he’s fully into adolescence.” He considered Daemon’s question and his mood. “You worried about the witchling?”

Daemon didn’t reply. Then, “I’m starting to appreciate how much thought and care Saetan took when he began training a young witch who wore extraordinary Jewels, how firmly he had to draw the lines. Being special is its own kind of burden.”

“Maybe it’s like the sexual heat,” Lucivar said. “The people around you have to adjust to its presence. And then the people who mean the most to you get used to it and you’re accepted for who you are.”

“What if you’re not accepted for who you are?” Daemon asked softly.

Why did Surreal really leave to check on the estates? Being Eyrien and wearing the Ebon-gray, he didn’t think twice about making blunt observations or asking questions no one else would dare ask. But the jagged feel of Daemon’s psychic scent warned him not to push for answers. Not yet. Instead, he said, “Well, old son, if you ever need reminding of how much you’re accepted, just come here and I’ll knock you on your ass a couple of times. That should help you remember.”

Daemon laughed, as Lucivar hoped he would.

No sign of Jillian when he walked Daemon to the front door. No sign of Marian or Titian either, but Daemonar rushed out to say good-bye to his uncle and convey the news.

“Baby Andulvar made a big fart and sprayed poop all over before Mother got a clean diaper on him,” Daemonar announced.

“Don’t sound so excited, boyo,” Lucivar said. “You and I are going to help clean up the room.”

“But, Papa. It stinks in there.”

Lucivar gave Daemon a lazy, arrogant smile. “Sure you need to go?”