He’d been imprudent the last time he’d seen Jillian, caught off guard by her four-legged chaperons. He’d also been caught off guard by what Jillian had said. Public outings with chaperons? Visits to her home—or Yaslana’s home—as long as an adult was present? No sneaking around? No need for lies?

This was . . . courtship. This was a chance to show the most powerful men in the Realm that he knew how to be an escort, even if his training hadn’t been completed.

He shouldn’t have been dismissive of Jillian’s thoughts about books and other things. It had become a habit—or a need—to undermine an aristo bitch’s trust in her own opinions in order to keep her believing that he was superior. He’d stop doing that. And he’d start listening, really listening, as he would listen to a respected friend.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to have a friend like that.

Jillian might not even notice the difference. Not at first. But he would. And the first thing he needed to do was stop doing things that added smudges to his honor.

* * *

* * *

Pain was a faithful, predictable lover. Unlike the woman he had married, the woman who had given him a precious daughter. The woman he had trusted to be honest with him.

Daemon walked down the main street of Riada, pretending not to see how people scurried out of his way, their faces filled with a fear he’d like to carve into their skin so it would never be forgotten.

No. He didn’t want to do that. These people had done him no harm, had offered no challenge. Were not the reason for his pain.

He flicked a glance toward the other side of the street, where Lord Rothvar kept pace with him. Was the Eyrien so foolish—or arrogant—as to think he could survive the Sadist?

He spotted Lord Zaranar up ahead and expected Rothvar to cross the street and come up behind him. But, no, Rothvar remained on the other side, keeping Riada’s citizens away from him, giving him a clear path—the same as Zaranar was doing on this side of the street.

Lucivar’s orders, no doubt. Yaslana would know better than anyone the need to avoid any kind of challenge.

Crack.

He’d get out of this village, get away from this valley if he could. But he wasn’t steady enough to ride the Winds any distance. Getting down to the village had proved that much.

Surreal had seen the truth of who he was and called him a monster who tortured her. The rest of the Blood might see him as a monster, too, but he hadn’t tortured his wife. He’d respected her wishes, had understood he’d made a mistake the night she came to his bedroom, had done everything he could since then to keep the heat leashed so that it wouldn’t distress her. Had endured this unrelenting pain in his effort to keep the heat leashed. For her. But she was the one demanding sex every night they slept together.

Could he stand sleeping in the same bed with her anymore? Maybe . . .

Crack.

. . . she could live in the family town house in Amdarh. Or purchase a town house for herself if she preferred. Jaenelle Saetien could go to school . . .

The taste of sickness and blood filled the back of his throat—and cold rage pushed against the icy calm that provided the last illusion of control.

She wasn’t taking his girl. Surreal could leave, if that was what she needed to do, but she wasn’t taking his daughter. Monster or not, no one was going to take his girl away from him.

CRACK!

He felt Rothvar walking toward him. He turned his head and looked at the Green-Jeweled Eyrien Warlord—and smiled at the terror he saw in Rothvar’s eyes.

Yes.

Then something brushed against his senses. A ripple from one of his own spells. He focused on the female psychic scent and reached out until he located her.

Emotions in turmoil. That wasn’t right.

Cherish and protect.

Turning away from Rothvar, Daemon followed the psychic scent to a village garden between some shops.

Cherish and protect. Even the Sadist, in his own way, valued those words.

* * *

* * *

٭This isn’t the way to the library,٭ Khary protested as he trotted beside Jillian. ٭You told Marian we were going to the library. This is not the library.٭

“We are going to the library,” Jillian said. “But first we’re going to the shop over there to buy some cakes for Nurian.”

٭Cake? Scelties like cake.٭

No matter what Khary said, Jillian suspected that Sceltie tummies didn’t react well to cake, and she didn’t want to clean up the result. “This cake is for Nurian and Rothvar. It’s a present.”

٭Presents are good. We will go find cake for Nurian. Then we will go to the library, which is where we are supposed to be.٭ That settled, Khary fell a half step behind, and Jillian could feel him eyeing her calf, ready to give her an encouraging nip to pick up the pace.

As they approached the Sweet Tooth, Jillian looked in the window and saw an older, elegantly dressed woman kiss her male companion’s cheek before turning to leave. Jillian stopped so fast Khary ran into her leg. Without conscious choice, she put a sight shield around both of them.

٭Jillian . . . ٭

٭Hush.٭ She stepped closer to the big windows and felt something squeeze her heart. Dillon, there in the shop eating cakes with another woman. An older woman.

Too old, surely, to be a . . . lover? Maybe a woman from the family where he was staying? That made sense. He would want to do something to repay their hospitality.

She could drop the sight shield and go into the shop. After all, it wasn’t like she was spying on Dillon. She had a reason to be there. Maybe, after she bought the cakes for Nurian, Dillon would walk with her to the library. Khary was with her; he’d be enough of a chaperon. More than enough. Too much. Still, she and Dillon would be able to talk and spend a little time together. Now that they could meet openly, as long as there was a chaperon present, he seemed less eager to be with her, and that didn’t make sense.

She’d almost dropped the sight shield when she saw him pick up the plate with the four remaining cakes and bring it to the counter. He said something to the girl behind the counter—the beautiful girl who made Jillian feel like a grubby child. They both laughed when the girl licked her thumb and pressed it against the side of one cake, marring the frosting. Then the girl boxed up the four small cakes, hiding the damage on the one cake by placing that side in the center. She put the box in the glass case where new cakes were sold.

Disturbed by what she’d seen, Jillian hurried away, remembering to drop the sight shield after Khary got his teeth in her trousers to stop her from running into a Warlord who couldn’t see her.

٭You are upset! Why are you upset?٭ Khary asked.