The stiletto was in her hand and through his ribs before he realized she’d moved. His eyes widened.

Surreal bared her teeth in a smile. “I earned more as an assassin than I ever made as a whore.” She rammed the stiletto into him up to the hilt, piercing his heart.

He hit the floor with a hard thud.

Surreal yanked the blade out of him, cleaned it on his shirt, then vanished it. Her “housekeeping” completed, she studied him.

“I think it takes a few hours to make the transition to demon-dead, but it would be best to make sure you don’t wander off before we have a little chat,” she told him. Not that he could hear her. Yet.

Calling in her Gray Jewels, she broke his Sapphire shield and lock, replaced them with Gray, and left the bedroom to see if she could find the tool she needed.

2

*Daemon.*

Daemon stirred, then snuggled closer to Jaenelle.

*Come on, Bastard. Wake up.*

Lucivar. Hell’s fire. Just because the man was usually up before the sun didn’t mean everyone wanted to be.

But he got out of bed, pulled on a robe, and slipped into the hallway. “What is it?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep. Then he noticed that Lucivar looked furious and exhausted. That woke up all his fighting instincts. “What is it?”

Lucivar raked his fingers through his hair. “Surreal is missing.”

The three of them sat at one end of the dining table, the remains of a small, hastily made breakfast in front of them.

“If she was drugged, we’ll find her as soon as she wakes,” Jaenelle said after Lucivar related his search—and his failure to find Surreal.

“If they didn’t kill her,” Lucivar snarled.

“Then we’d better start looking.”

“No,” Daemon said. He poured them all more coffee. “I want you to go back to the Hall.”

A feral anger that excited and chilled him came into Jaenelle’s eyes.

“She’s my family, too,” Jaenelle said in a voice that warned him he was close to crossing a line he might never be able to cross back over.

He laid a hand over hers, needing her to understand. “I know she is, but they’ve already tried to hurt you, and if they’re confident they’re strong enough to take on a Gray-Jeweled witch, they aren’t going to hesitate to go after you.”

“They?” Jaenelle asked too softly.

“I know who’s behind this. I’ll take care of it.”

“Alone.”

“Yes. Alone. This began with an obsession with me, so it’s mine to deal with. But I need to know you’re safe. I need that, Jaenelle. Please.”

She stared at him a long time. Then she drew her hand away from his and pushed her chair back. “Very well, Prince. I’ll go back to the Hall, and you do what you have to do. But once that’s done, you and I will talk.” She walked away from the table.

“Jaenelle.” He waited until she turned to face him. “This has nothing to do with the Jewels you wear.”

“If I still wore Ebony, would you ask me to go back to the Hall?”

“Yes. Because this is mine to do.”

“We’ll talk, Prince,” she said after giving him a long, thoughtful look. Then she left the dining room.

Lucivar winced. “She’s never cheerful in the morning. You know that.”

“I know.” He also knew that this “talk” would determine whether or not he still wore a wedding ring.

Lucivar cleared his throat. “So. When were you going to tell me that you and Jaenelle were already married?”

He suddenly felt awkward, and that surprised him. So he kept his eyes on his cup. “We just wanted to get married.”

“I understand that. The celebration coming is more for everyone else than the two of you.” Lucivar paused. “But if you’d asked, I would have been there.”

“For Jaenelle,” Daemon said.

“For Jaenelle,” Lucivar agreed. “And for you.”

Daemon looked up and met Lucivar’s eyes—and saw things he hadn’t been sure he’d ever see again. Love. Understanding. Acceptance.

And for you. Those three words healed the last of the rift between them.

“Thank you,” Daemon said, his voice husky.

Lucivar reached across the table. Daemon locked hands with his brother. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to.

Finally, reluctantly, Daemon eased back. “I’d like you to take Jaenelle to the Hall. I’ll ask Father to come to the Hall to free you up in case there’s more than one battlefield. I don’t think it will come to that, but . . .”

Lucivar nodded. “I’ll contact Marian and ask her to come to the Hall to keep Jaenelle company.” He waited a beat. “What about Surreal?”

“I’ll find Surreal.”

Lucivar pushed away from the table. “In that case, let’s get this done.”

3

Daemon waited until Lucivar and Jaenelle were on their way to the Hall before trying to contact Surreal. The staff had cleaned off the dining room table and brought him a fresh cup and another pot of coffee.

Pouring a cup, he sent a call on a Gray psychic thread, aimed toward a mind he knew well. *Surreal?*

*What?*

The surly tone relieved him enough to make him smile. *Are you all right?*

*I’m . . . fine.*

*Where are you?*

*Country house. Don’t think it’s that far away from Amdarh. *

*Are you sure you’re all right? You sound breathless.*

*Damn . . . ax . . . is dull.*

Daemon raised an eyebrow. *Do I want to know what you’re doing with an ax?*

*Have you had breakfast?*

*I’ve eaten.*

*Then you don’t want to know.*

He sipped his coffee while he considered how to respond to that.

*In a few hours, I might have some information for you,* Surreal said.

*I know who’s behind the rumors.*

*Well . . . shit.* A pause. *Guess I’ll finish this anyway.*

*Do you need help?*

*Do you?*

*No.*

*Then I’ll take care of my business, and you take care of yours. I’ll be back in Amdarh late tonight.*

Taking a last sip of coffee, Daemon left the dining room. Since Surreal didn’t need his help, he’d take care of the next errand.

4

After he and Saetan had settled in comfortable chairs in one of the Keep’s smaller sitting rooms, Daemon got to the point.

“I have business to take care of in Amdarh. Until it’s done, I would appreciate it if you would stay at the Hall—at least for part of the time.”

“To protect Jaenelle?” Saetan asked softly.

Daemon nodded.

“What about Lucivar?”

“He’ll be there. So will Kaelas and Ladvarian. But . . .”

“But?”

Daemon looked into his father’s golden eyes. “But they aren’t you.”

Saetan inclined his head. “Understood.”

No questions about his business, no comment about why an Arcerian cat and an Eyrien Warlord Prince wouldn’t be sufficient protection. There was no need. He was, after all, his father’s mirror.

“Anything else?”

Daemon hesitated. Who else could he ask? “I—There was something I wanted to say to Jaenelle . . . in the Old Tongue. But it didn’t come out as I intended.”

Saetan raised an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

Daemon hesitated, then said the words.

“ ‘I eat cow brains’?” Saetan burst out laughing.

Since there was nothing else he could do, he sat back to wait out his father’s amusement. So he waited. And waited. And waited.