“I will accept him,” Jaenelle said. She called in the gold band Banard had made. Even though he’d given it to her for this ceremony, Daemon stared at it as if he’d never seen it before.

His left hand trembled when she slipped the ring on his finger, adding, “I offer this token to let everyone know Daemon is now my mate.”

*Daemon,* the Priestess said, *the Lady is willing to have you as her mate. Do you promise to be her friend and . . .* She looked at Ladvarian, who, Daemon guessed, was helping the mare with human concepts. *. . . lover? Do you promise to protect her from enemies?*

“I promise,” Daemon replied. He called in the sapphire ring and slipped it on Jaenelle’s finger. “Let this token be a symbol of my commitment to honor, cherish, and protect, to be friend, lover, and husband.” He lifted her left hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “This I promise . . . with everything I am.”

When he drew her into his arms and kissed her, he forgot about standing in a meadow, forgot about who was watching, forgot everything but her . . .

... until a young voice close to his hip said, *Are they going to mate now?*

Since his libido was rising a little too eagerly, he started to step back—and got stabbed in the ass by a little unicorn’s horn.

“It could have been worse,” Jaenelle said as he led her back to the Coach and the picnic Ladvarian had procured from somewhere.

“How?” Daemon said, grateful he was just bruised, not punctured.

“You could have been facing the other way.”

Before he could decide if he wanted to be an intelligent husband or a snippy bastard, she kissed him, and when her tongue slipped into his mouth, he decided being an intelligent husband was the far better choice.

Wrapping his arms around her, he sank into the kiss, soaring on the feel of her body brushing against his.

She scraped her teeth over his chin. “Did you notice that Ladvarian chose the Coach that has a bed?”

“I noticed.”

She licked his throat. “Do you think you can perform your duties as a husband, or are you too wounded?”

Since she was pressed against him, the answer was rather evident, but he said, “Oh, I think I can manage.”

5

“I appreciate your having us to stay tonight,” Daemon said as Khary refilled the brandy snifters. In Scelt, the Blood still held with that quaint custom of the men and women separating after dinner for a while so that each group could chat with their own gender. So he and Khary had remained in the dining room while Jaenelle and Morghann had gone to the sitting room.

“Well, you could say we were expecting company,” Khary replied, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Especially since Ladvarian came pelting up to the house earlier today, saying he needed a picnic in a hurry and could we have you and Jaenelle to dinner and put you up for the night.”

Daemon tried not to wince. “We could have stayed at Jaenelle’s house.”

“Now, that you couldn’t. The staff put most of the furniture under dustcovers after Wilhelmina moved to her own cottage. This way, the house can be put to rights before your next visit.” Khary gave Daemon an expectant look.

He smiled. “I have some business in Amdarh that requires my immediate attention, so we’ll be going back to Dhemlan in the morning, but we’re planning to come back here after the wedding for at least part of the honeymoon. And now that Jaenelle is completely healed, I expect we’ll be dividing our time between here and the Hall.”

Khary rolled his snifter between his hands. “Wilhelmina said you settled a generous income on her.”

Daemon shrugged. “She’s Jaenelle’s sister. The family could afford it.”

“Ah.”

As they drank their brandy, the silence took on the weight of anticipation. Of course, there had been a feeling of anticipation since he and Jaenelle arrived at the home of the Queen of Scelt and the Warlord of Maghre. Morghann and Khary had greeted the news of their intended marriage with enthusiasm and hearty well-wishing, but as the evening wore on, Daemon couldn’t shake the feeling that Khary especially was waiting for something.

“Perhaps we should join the Ladies for coffee,” Daemon said, pushing away from the table.

“If you’re trying to keep it a secret, you should stop playing with the ring,” Khary said quietly.

He’d intended to pretend ignorance, which would have been a lie, but he looked into Khary’s eyes and realized they stood on a point of no return. Whatever conclusions Lord Khardeen had reached about what had happened last spring, and why, had been reason enough for him to offer a hand in friendship again. But if that offer of friendship was repaid with a lie, it would never be offered again—and Khardeen had enough weight with the rest of the boyos to bring him back into that circle of friendships . . . or leave him outside of it forever.

Daemon held out his left hand and dropped the sight shield he’d placed on the gold band to keep it hidden. “How did you know?”

Khary leaned forward to admire the ring. Then he grinned. “Did the same thing with mine when I first got it. Couldn’t quite believe it was really there.” He rose and gave Daemon’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “So that’s what you were doing in Sceval this afternoon.”

Feeling awkward, and not liking it, he shrugged. “We wanted to get married. But we are going to have the formal wedding.”

“Damn right you are.” Khary studied him. “Is there a reason for keeping this secret?”

Daemon felt himself going cold and fought against it. This wasn’t the time or place for that sweet, deadly rage. But soon. Soon. “There’s some . . . trouble . . . in Amdarh. It could shift to Jaenelle if our marriage became public knowledge.” He wasn’t sure when that realization had bloomed, but he trusted his instincts. “I’ll take care of it.”

“If you need help, you’ll let me know?” Khary asked.

He nodded.

“Well, then.” Khary rubbed his hands together. “Why don’t we join the Ladies?”

Jaenelle’s amused, guilty look when he and Khary entered the sitting room told him she’d had no better luck keeping their secret from Morghann than he’d had keeping it from Khardeen.

Khary looked at the two women and grinned. “So. Are we going to talk about the wedding that will take place or the one that did take place?” His eyes shifted to Daemon. “Because we were wondering why you were having so much trouble sitting through dinner.”

Jaenelle snorted.

Daemon sighed, and muttered, “I backed into a unicorn.”

Morghann burst out laughing. “Oh, we’ve got to hear the details.”

So Khary and Morghann heard the details, and the evening ended with laughter—and the warm sense that he was back among friends.

TEN

1

Daemon drove the Coach back to Dhemlan. He didn’t have much choice, since Ladvarian, who had driven the Coach to Sceval, had announced that he and Kaelas would meet them at the Hall. He usually didn’t mind driving, but he’d anticipated talking Jaenelle into tucking into bed for the journey. And they would have gotten some sleep.

Still, it was pleasant to have her with him in the driver’s compartment. Except for the time they spent in bed, it was rare for them to be together without the presence of kindred, court, or family.

But looking at her, he noticed the dark smudges beneath her eyes . . . and the way she shivered despite being wrapped up in her winter cape.

“Why don’t you stretch out on the bed and get some sleep?” he suggested.

“No, I’m fine.”

She might be completely healed, but she hadn’t regained her physical stamina. He could see the toll the past two days had taken on her.

Scooping her out of the other chair, he returned to his chair and settled her on his lap.

“You’re driving,” Jaenelle said. “You have to pay attention.”

“I’ll pay attention,” he promised, wrapping his arms around her. She was right. The psychic pathways through the Darkness made it possible for the Blood to travel faster than they could otherwise, but inattention while riding the Winds could be fatal, and guiding even a small Coach demanded extra care. “Just rest. We’ll be back at the Hall a little after midday.”

Jaenelle rested her head against his shoulder. “I thought we were going to Amdarh.”

He hesitated a little too long.

She raised her head and looked at him, too much knowledge in her eyes.

“I’ll take care of things in Amdarh,” he said.

“No.”

She’d been born a Queen. Even though she no longer ruled a court, she was still a Queen—and she was still his Queen. He couldn’t prevent the instinctive desire to yield when Jaenelle gave him a direct command, but living in Kaeleer for the past year had shown him that males could, and did, dig their heels in and oppose the Queen they served when a command might put her at risk.

“I won’t come to harm,” he began.

“You’ve already been harmed,” she snarled.