Queen of the Darkness

"He's beautiful," Jaenelle replied in her midnight voice.



Daemon slowly turned to face her.



She wore a long black dress. The front lacing ended just below her breasts, revealing enough fair skin to make a man's mouth water. Her golden hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Her ancient sapphire eyes didn't look as haunted as he remembered, but he had the painful suspicion that he was the reason for the sadness he saw in them.



As the silence between them lengthened, he couldn't move toward her any more than he could move away.



"Daemon..."



"Do you understand what he represents?" he asked quickly, tipping his head just enough to indicate the statue.



Jaenelle's lips curved into just a hint of a dry smile. "Oh, yes, Prince, I understand what he represents."



Daemon swallowed hard. "Then don't insult me by offering regrets. A male is expendable. A Queen is not—especially when she is Witch."



She made an odd sound. "Saetan said almost the same thing once."



"And he was right."



"Well, being a Warlord Prince made from the same mold, you would think that, wouldn't you?" She started to smile. Then her eyes narrowed. Her attention sharpened.



Daemon had the distinct impression there was something about him that didn't please her. When her intense focus ended a moment later, he realized that she had made some decision about him, just as she had done the first time he'd met her. And now, like then, he didn't know what she had decided.



The Consort's ring was a heavy weight on his finger, but, because of it, he could ask for one thing he desperately needed.



"May I hold you for a minute?"



He tried to tell himself that her hesitation came from surprise and not wariness, but he didn't believe it. That didn't stop him from closing his arms around her when she walked up to him. That didn't stop the tears from stinging his eyes when her arms cautiously circled his waist and she rested her head on his shoulder.



"You're taller than I remember," he said, brushing his cheek against her hair.



"I should hope so."



Her voice sounded a bit tart, but he could hear the smile in it.



Oh, how his hands wanted to caress and explore, but he was afraid she would pull away from him, so he kept them still. She was alive, and he was with her. That's all that mattered.



He could have stayed that way for the rest of the night, just holding her, feeling the easy rise and fall of her breathing, but after a few minutes she drew away from him.



"Come on, Daemon," she said, holding out her hand. "You need to get some rest, and my orders were to herd you back to your room so that you'd get some sleep before daylight."



His temper sharpened instantly. "Who would dare giveyou orders?" he snarled.



She gave him a look full of exasperated amusement. "Guess."



He almost said "Saetan," and then thought about it. "Lucivar," he said grimly.



"Lucivar," Jaenelle agreed as she took his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. "And trust me, boyo, having Lucivar haul you out of bed because you weren't on the practice field when he told you to be is not an experience you want to have."



"What's he going to do? Pour a bucket of water over me?" Daemon said as they reached the corridor and headed toward their suites.



"No, because soaking the bed would get Helene mad at him. But he wouldn't hesitate to shove you under a cold shower."



"He hasn't—"



She just looked at him.



His opinion was blunt and explicit. "Why do you put up with that?"



"He's bigger than me," she grumbled.



"Someone should remind him that he serves you."



Jaenelle laughed so hard she staggered into him. "He reminds me of that himself whenever it suits him. And when it doesn't, I end up dealing with my big brother. Either way, most of the time it's easier just to go along with him."



They had reached the door to Jaenelle's suite. He reluctantly let go of her hand.



"He hasn't changed at all, has he?" Daemon said, feeling a stab of anxiety as he remembered how volatile Lucivar had always been in a court.



When he looked at Jaenelle, there was an odd light inher eyes. "No," she said in her midnight voice, "he hasn’t changed at all. But then, he, too, understands what that statue represents."



Chapter Four



1 / Kaeleer



"Tell me again why I had to miss breakfast," Daemon said, breathing heavily as he wiped his sweaty face and neck with a towel.



"Because no one wants to dance around in it if you miss a block and get hit in the belly," Lucivar replied, sipping his coffee while he watched Palanar and Tamnar go through a warmup routine with the sticks. "And we're getting an earlier start this morning because I want the males finished before the women get here for their first lesson."



Daemon took a sip of Lucivar's coffee, then handed the mug back. "You're really going to teach the women how to use the sticks?"



"By the time I'm done with them, they'll be able to handle sticks, bow, and knife."



A sharp command by Hallevar had the youths stepping back and then going through a move again slowly.



"I'll bet the warriors weren't pleased when you told them," Daemon said, watching the moves.



"They bitched about it. Most of the women didn't look happy about it either. I don't expect them to become warriors, but they'll be able to defend themselves long enough for a warrior to reach them."



Daemon eyed Lucivar thoughtfully. "Is that why you taught Marian?"



Lucivar nodded. "She kept resisting because Eyrien females traditionally didn't touch a warrior's weapons. I told her if a male hurt her because she was too stubborn to learn how to defend herself, I'd beat the shit out of her. And she told me if I ever raised a hand to her, she'd gut me. I figured we were making progress."



Daemon laughed. The laughter backed up into his lungs when he saw Jaenelle striding over the lawn, heading toward them. His senses sharpened to a razor's edge, the heat of desire washed through him, and the smell of other males became a declaration of rivalry.



'Rein it in, old son," Lucivar murmured, glancing over his shoulder and then at Daemon.



Palanar and Tamnar finished their routine, and Hallevar and Kohlvar stepped into the practice circle.



Palanar shifted his mouth into a sneer. "Here comes a chirpy, trying to grow some balls."



Daemon whipped around, his eyes filmed with the red haze of fury.



Hallevar pivoted and smacked Palanar on the buttocks with his stick hard enough to make the boy jump.



"That's my sister, boyo," Lucivar said too quietly.



Palanar looked sick. Someone else muttered a vicious curse.



"Now, I'm going to forget you said that," Lucivar continued just as quietly, "as long as I never hear it again. But if I do, there will come a morning when you step into the practice circle, and I'll be waiting for you."



"Y-yes, sir," Palanar stammered. "I'm sorry, sir."



Hallevar cuffed the boy on the back of the head. "Go get something to eat," he growled. "Maybe with some food in you, you'll use more of your head than just your mouth."



Palanar slunk away, Tamnar trailing behind him.



Hallevar eyed the distance between them and Jaenelle, figured she was close enough to have heard, and swore softly. "I taught him better than that."



Lucivar rolled a shoulder. "He's old enough to want his cock admired. That makes him stupid." He looked at the older Warlord. "He can't afford to be stupid. What the Queens in this court may be willing to overlook from a youngster, the males in the court won't—at least, not a second time."



"I'll blister his ears to make sure he gets the message," Hallevar promised. "Might as well blister Tamnar's while I'm at it." He went back to the circle and began the warmup routine with Kohlvar.



Daemon turned toward Jaenelle, Palanar already forgotten. When he saw the feral look in her eyes, his smile died before it formed.



Lucivar simply raised his left arm.



With one wild-shy glance at him and a murmured greeting he could barely hear, Jaenelle ducked under Lucivar's arm.



Lucivar lowered his arm, and the hand that settled at her waist tucked her tight against his side. Her right arm rested against his back, her hand curled over his bare shoulder.



They stand that way often,Daemon thought as he fought to rein in his jealousy—and the hurt—because she had barely spared him a glance.



But he suspected that Lucivar was better prepared to deal with the feral look in her eyes than he was. That hurt, too.



"Do you want the introductions now?" Lucivar asked quietly.



Jaenelle shook her head. "I want to warm up first."



"When you're ready, I'll go a round with you."



She glanced at Lucivar's bare chest. "I would have thought you'd already done your workout."



"I've gone through two of them. Haven't worked up a sweat yet."



"Ah."



Lucivar paused. "Your sister's here."



"I know." She flicked a glance at the empty women's practice circle. "I'm surprised you haven't dragged her out here."



"She's got another thirty minutes to arrive on her own before she gets dragged." Lucivar grinned wickedly. "I promise I'll go easy."



"Uh-huh."



That, Daemon thought sourly, he would like to see.



"We also have company," Lucivar said.



Her eyes iced over. "I know," she said in her midnight voice.



Daemon took a step toward her. He didn't know what he could say or do, but he was certain he—or someone— had to shift the mood she was in.



*Lucivar...* he began.



*Just keep things soft and easy, Bastard,* Lucivar replied. *The workout will take the edge off her.*



Daemon took another step toward her. Her expression changed to something close to panic—and he realized that, last night when she had let him hold her, the Queen had been doing her duty for one of the males in her First Circle, but thewoman didn't want to get anywhere near him.