He hadn’t expected to be ambushed by a different kind of hopeful witch.

٭Play?٭ Morghann asked.

“I can’t, Morghann. I have to work.”

٭More work?٭ Big sigh.

“Why don’t you go out and play with Jaenelle Saetien and Khary? They’re playing in the snow. You would have fun.”

Head down. Tail down. ٭I might do a wrong thing. There might be blame.٭

You’re still fixated on that?

Daemon stifled a sigh and swallowed a hefty measure of guilt. He’d lost count of how many generations of Scelties he’d helped raise, educate, and train, but this was his first experience with an insecure Sceltie. Or was she an overly sensitive Sceltie? Whatever the reason, that one incident with the nutcake a few weeks ago had seriously damaged the friendship between Morghann and Jaenelle Saetien and had made the pup fearful of doing anything without his prior approval.

She was young—that’s what she was. She wouldn’t go through her Birthright Ceremony until spring, so maybe she felt vulnerable.

She felt betrayed—that’s what she felt. He knew it every time Morghann abandoned Jaenelle Saetien in favor of his company. He was the Prince, the power, the adult male who would teach her properly and wouldn’t tell her to do a wrong thing. He made sure his instructions were clear and within her current abilities—and any correction was carefully phrased to rebuild her confidence while still teaching her.

If Morghann had made this choice earlier, he would have let it play out differently, would have accepted Morghann as a friend and companion in the same way that Ladvarian had been a friend and companion—and so much more—to Jaenelle Angelline. But Morghann was clinging to him now because she didn’t trust his daughter, and he needed to help restore that friendship and at least some of that trust if he could.

He sank to his knees, sat back on his heels, and held out a hand. “Come here, little Sister.”

She rushed to him, climbing into his lap and into his arms, happy to be held by the person she trusted more than anyone else.

He petted and soothed until her psychic scent told him she was calm enough to listen.

“Learning to play is important,” he said quietly, continuing his soothing strokes. “That’s why you should go outside and play with Khary and Jaenelle Saetien while I take care of the work I need to do in my study.”

٭Ladvarian knew about human kinds of work,٭ she said timidly. ٭Ladvarian learned a lot of things when he lived with the Lady.٭

Ladvarian was a legend among the Scelties—the first among them to know Jaenelle Angelline, the first to serve in her court. And he was the Warlord who had gathered the kindred who had stubbornly, and against all odds, saved Witch and brought her back to the living.

Brought her back to him.

Was Morghann’s attachment to him just a sign of insecurity, or was she one of the Scelties who was inclined to learn about the human rules of business in order to help him with the school in Scelt that Jaenelle had created decades ago and he still oversaw?

She was young, but he could show her simple things—addition, subtraction—and see if she had any interest. Today, though, she needed a different kind of lesson.

“I would like you to go out and play,” he said. He felt the resistance in her body. “Khary knows how to play in snow. He knows games you can play with human children. You go outside and learn from Khary.”

٭Khary will not do a wrong thing.٭

“No, he won’t. And after you play, you can come back and keep me company while I work. I’ll show you one of the things Ladvarian learned from the Lady.”

Her confidence momentarily bolstered, Morghann trotted out of his bedroom.

Feeling the Gray presence in the next room, he wished the trouble with his wife could be fixed as easily. He knocked on the door between their rooms and waited for Surreal’s permission to enter—and wondered if he’d receive that permission. She finally used Craft to open the door in silent invitation.

“I have a meeting in Halaway,” Surreal said as she tossed a dress with its matching calf-length coat on the bed.

He almost said that a meeting wasn’t listed on the schedule of engagements that Holt kept for both of them, but he didn’t want her making up an excuse for why the meeting wasn’t listed or, worse, lying to him about whom she was meeting.

He didn’t understand what was happening with her. The woman who hadn’t hesitated to aim a crossbow at him a few months ago to make sure she had his undivided attention when they needed to talk was now unwilling to give him a straight answer about anything that touched on her thoughts or feelings. Her emotions were a maelstrom, especially in bed. She hid it well on the surface, but he’d always gone below the surface to gauge the mood of a lover, and she was anger coiled with lust. She didn’t want tenderness anymore, even when he wanted to give it, needed to receive it. She still wanted—still demanded—sex, but she didn’t want to make love.

“I hope the meeting isn’t too tedious.” He stepped close to her, bent his head to give her a light kiss on the lips—and felt her flinch.

٭Daemon!٭ Lucivar, reaching for him.

He raised his head and noted Surreal’s furious relief, but he focused on his brother.

٭Daemon!٭

He took a step back. Lucivar sounded upset. Frightened. Nothing could frighten the Ebon-gray except . . .

“Sadi?” Surreal said.

“I have to go to Ebon Rih.” He hurried to his bedroom, intending to grab some clothes, aware that Surreal had followed him to the doorway. Then . . .

٭High Lord. Please.٭

Daemon stopped. Let his brother’s fear and those words—those words—settle as a weight on his shoulders. Only one reason why Lucivar Yaslana, reaching out and afraid, would request the High Lord of Hell.

“Daemon, what’s wrong?” Surreal entered his bedroom and grabbed his arm. She studied his face, his eyes. “Marian?”

“I think so.”

“What can I do?”

At least in this they were still partners. “Have Jazen pack a couple of changes of clothes for me, and tell him to add additional clothing suitable for staying at the eyrie. And fetch Manny. Tell her she’s needed at Lucivar’s home.”

“There are Eyrien women who can handle the children.”

“I’m sure there are, but none of them will be able to handle Lucivar.”

Daemon rushed through the corridors. The servants who saw him must have alerted Beale and Holt, because both were waiting in the front hall.

“Prince?” Beale asked.