“You were a girl during that time, but you weren’t a young child,” Daemon said. “While time may have softened some of those memories and details because you haven’t thought about those days until now, you probably remember far more than you realize. You and your sister were among those who fled from the witches who had their claws in Terreille. Nurian signed a contract with Lucivar during the last fair.” He sat back. “No matter how faithfully that author recounts what it was like to come to Kaeleer, he can’t remember, can’t reproduce how it felt the way you can. Those feelings are in your heart and your blood and your bones. History to him. Personal memory for you.”

Such an obvious thing, but it hadn’t occurred to her.

“May I make an observation?” Daemon asked.

“Yes.”

“There is no easy comparison between the long-lived and short-lived races when it comes to age equivalents. We have spurts of development followed by long plateaus. Lord Dillon is a Rihlander who has reached his majority and is considered an adult. If you were a Rihlander, you would be about fourteen or fifteen, and when you turned twenty and reached your majority, Dillon would be in his late twenties. But you’re Eyrien, and it will be decades before your age of majority is within sight.”

“What are you saying? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“He’s your first romantic love, and that’s special,” Daemon said gently. “But it’s not forever, even if you’d like it to be.”

She almost snapped at him, almost asked him how he would know. Then she realized he did know. He had married Jaenelle Angelline, and even after decades of being married, her death almost destroyed him.

But he was talking to her, really talking to her, instead of telling her what she could and couldn’t do.

“Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

“Yes.”

“If two people really love each other and want to be together, you know, physically, intimately, and one of them hadn’t reached the age of majority . . . what would happen?”

“That would depend,” Daemon replied. “If the man recognized his responsibilities when seeing a young woman through her Virgin Night, there might be disapproval but no other consequences. However, if she was damaged in any way, if he became intent on his own excitement and pleasure, which can happen with a young man, and as a consequence broke the girl, stripping her of her Birthright Jewel and destroying the potential power she might have had at maturity; if she becomes pregnant, especially if she is broken that night and can never have another child . . . The debt he would owe would not be tempered with much, if any, mercy.”

“But if she really loved him . . .”

Daemon slid out of his chair, went down on one knee, and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles—a gesture so like the way Dillon held her hand.

“Darling, you’re forgetting the other half of that statement. If she really loved him and he wanted sex, yes, she might be tempted to give in to please him because he desperately needs her, and her giving in, despite the risks, is the only way he’ll believe she loves him. But if he really loved her, he would acknowledge that she was too young for more than some romance and kisses. If he really loved her, he would respect her decision when she refused to do something he wanted; he wouldn’t keep pushing until he got his way. When that happens, it’s been my experience that the man doesn’t really love the girl for herself; he only loves what he can get from her.”

Jillian stared at that beautiful face, listened to the voice that wrapped around her—and felt as if she’d walked out of a hot, stuffy room and breathed in crisp, clean air.

“What if she’s already given him some things?”

“Are we talking about material things or her body?”

“Material things.”

“If the loss causes some discomfort but no long-term consequences, then it’s a mistake that bruises but doesn’t destroy, and the person will recognize the signs and not step into the snare the next time.” Daemon looked toward the eyrie. “I think it’s time to go in for breakfast.”

“Hell’s fire.” Jillian leaped to her feet, almost knocking Daemon over. Fortunately, he got out of the way, although she wasn’t sure how he’d managed it. She vanished her stack of books, turned toward the glass doors, then hesitated when she saw Prince Yaslana watching her. Watching them.

Yaslana stepped aside to let her pass.

Glancing back before she went into the kitchen to help with breakfast while Marian fed baby Andulvar, she saw Prince Sadi step into the front room. He smiled at her as he and Yaslana headed deeper into the eyrie instead of coming into the kitchen.

For a moment, Jillian stared at nothing. Daemon Sadi was more beautiful than Dillon and was the patriarch of the most powerful aristo family in the whole of Kaeleer. If Sadi talked to her as if she was intelligent and interesting, why did Dillon leave her with the feeling that she had to prove she was worthy of his attention?

* * *

* * *

Lucivar followed Daemon into the study and closed the door. Then Daemon turned, wrapped a hand around the back of Lucivar’s neck, and drew him close.

Glazed, sleepy gold eyes. A sweet, murderous smile. Lucivar knew the warning signs, knew what would happen if he made the wrong move, said the wrong thing.

The Sadist’s black-tinted nails were honed as sharp as a knife and could slice a wrist or nick a jugular vein deeply enough for a man to bleed out in less than a minute—and then have his Jewels shattered in the last moments he struggled to survive.

He felt his brother’s breath on his skin before the Sadist said too softly, “That little bastard has been using a seduction spell on your girl.”

Fury blazed through him, creating a fire beneath his skin. His hands closed into fists. But Daemon’s hand was still on his neck, warning him to keep still.

“I won’t insult you by asking if you’re sure,” he growled.

Daemon’s eyes were still glazed but no longer sleepy. His smile now held an edge that was no longer murderous but definitely cruel. “Good.” Moving his hand, he stepped back—and Lucivar sprang to the other side of the room, needing to move.

“I should have ripped the little prick’s arms off when I caught him touching her.” Lucivar turned toward the door, but Daemon sidestepped, getting between him and the easy way out of the room.

“You can’t do that now for the same reason you didn’t do it then,” Daemon said with a mildness that ripped away a little more of Lucivar’s control. “If you squash him, Jillian will always believe he was a wonderful boy and you were the cruel surrogate father who killed her true love.”