Twilight's Dawn
Page 45
NINE
Daemon picked up the first letter from the thick stack on his desk and swore softly. The swearing became more vigorous and creative as he worked his way through the stack. By the time Rainier walked into the study to go over the week’s assignments, Daemon was one wrong word away from exploding.
“What in the name of Hell are these?” he roared, dropping the letters on the blackwood desk.
Rainier winced. “Ah. I was hoping to get here before you saw those.”
“And they are?”
“Just what they seem—offers from District Queens all around Dhemlan to become the new Queen of Halaway. And the same offer from a few young Queens from other Territories.”
“I know who rules in my Territory, Rainier. Some of these women rule towns or cities that are larger—and more profitable—than a small village, and others already rule a handful of villages. They’re going to give up that income to rule Halaway?”
Rainier looked uncomfortable. “You read the letters? Of course you did.”
“So I know that the letters addressed to the Province Queen, of which there are few, are sincere offers to add Halaway to the villages under the Ladies’ rule because every village needs to be held by someone. But most of these . . .”
He stopped. Even after more than a decade of marriage, he still felt the raw fury of a vulnerable man whose reputation could be compromised. But that was his state of mind, and he had no right to whip Rainier with that fury.
“Why did we get these at all?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t a committee from the village or the Province Queen sort through these and present me with a short list for final approval?”
“Normally it would be done that way,” Rainier said. “But, Prince, your reaction to these letters—and they are only letters—is exactly why no one else is willing to make a choice. No one wants to be held responsible for whatever Queen ends up living on your doorstep—especially if she proves to be too friendly a neighbor.”
Daemon took in a deep breath and blew it out.
“If I were you, I would put those aside,” Rainier said. “When I spoke with Sylvia’s First Circle yesterday, they said they had been talking to a particular Lady about becoming Halaway’s Queen and were hopeful that she would accept. She’s supposed to give them her answer today.”
“She’s one of these?” He pointed to the stack of letters.
“I don’t know, but judging by how much care they were taking in what they said, they want this particular Queen.”
“If they feel that strongly, I’ll certainly make an effort not to interfere, as long as the Lady doesn’t think ruling Halaway means having access to my bed,” Daemon said as the study door opened and Jaenelle walked in.
“That might be a problem,” she said cheerfully. “Rainier, the Prince and I need to talk.”
Rainier looked at her, then at Daemon, and limped out of the room as fast as he could, closing the door behind him.
Jaenelle settled in the visitor’s chair and smiled at Daemon. “Sit down, Prince.”
His stomach clenched, but he obeyed.
“Sylvia’s First Circle asked me to take her place as the Queen of Halaway,” Jaenelle said. “This morning I accepted and signed a five-year contract.”
Daemon’s jaw dropped. “But ... you don’t want to rule. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard you say that over the years.”
She looked embarrassed. “Apparently, what I say and what I do are not the same things, and I’ve been the only one who hasn’t noticed that.”
Oh, shit. Who was the fool who told her?
“Ladvarian says that Scelties and Queens are meant to herd. It is our nature, and denying our nature is foolish. When I ruled Kaeleer, that was a heavy burden, even with all the other Queens to help me. And after I was hurt, it took me a long time to heal, and my becoming well was the most important thing. And I had a mate, and it was also important that I spend a lot of time with him and play. But now it’s time for me to work again, and officially ruling the small village right next to my home won’t be much different from what I already do. Or so says the Sceltie.”
He couldn’t think of one thing he dared to say.
“As much as I’d like to kick his furry ass for what he said, Ladvarian was right. It’s time for me to have my own flock again.”
“A new court?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Sylvia’s First Circle doesn’t belong to me in the truest sense, but they’re good men who are committed to Halaway, and we’ll work well together to take care of the village and its people.” She hesitated. “And they’re willing to accommodate the things Sylvia and I want for Mikal and Beron.”
Ah. Now he was hearing a reason that made sense. Then he remembered something about Sylvia’s First Circle that made him brace involuntarily for pain. Jaenelle was a Queen—and no matter who their husbands might be, Queens had privileges.
“Consort?” he asked.
She gave him a sharp look. Her voice was equally sharp. “The Warlord Prince of Dhemlan does not become the Consort of a District Queen and serve in her court—no matter who she is. Hopefully my husband will be willing to escort me to formal functions when required.”
“Which will leave an opening in the Queen’s Triangle.” There would be plenty of men who would come sniffing around once Jaenelle became Queen, for ambition’s sake if for nothing else.
She fluffed her hair. “I was thinking of asking Rainier to stand as First Escort to fill that side of the Triangle. I didn’t think you would object, since you already treat him as your stand-in when you can’t accompany me to an event.”
He felt his face heat even as he felt the ache around his heart ease. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”
She smiled. “I know. For all the strength and power of your caste, Warlord Princes have their weak spots. On occasion, because you love so deeply, you will feel insecure. That is as much a part of your nature as ruling is a part of mine. As long as you remember that I love you, we’ll be fine.”
He nodded and searched for a way to step back from discussing her new court. “What about Mikal and Beron?”
“Ah. Mikal is easy. We’re doing a little decorating of the guest bedroom in Tersa’s cottage so that it will be Mikal’s room.”
“And Tildee’s,” he added.
“And Tildee’s. In exchange for being allowed to live with Tersa, Mikal has promised to do his assigned chores and his schoolwork and not try to smudge the truth with Tersa the way he sometimes did with his mother, because doing that would upset Tersa’s hold on the mundane world. Since you are the patriarch of the family and he is now officially family, he answers to you, and any discipline that may be required comes from you.”
“Good to know,” he muttered. “And Beron?”
“That’s trickier,” she hedged.
“Why? He can live here with us. There is plenty of room.”
“He doesn’t want to live here with us.”
Daemon sat back, crossed his legs at the knees, steepled his fingers, and raised one eyebrow in polite query.
“I see,” Jaenelle said. “The nervous husband is gone, and the Prince is back.”
He waited.
“The Queen’s residence is Beron’s home. He doesn’t want to leave it. Not yet. And there are advantages to letting him stay there. For one, I won’t be living there—not most of the time, although I will have a suite of rooms and will stay overnight on occasion. With my husband.”
Daemon’s lips twitched.
“Having Beron stay there also means that I’ll be able to justify keeping on the whole staff, since there will be someone in residence.”
“A boy his age living alone? I don’t think so.”
“He’s not a boy. He’s an adolescent youth who is almost old enough to attend school on his own.”
“Almost old enough isn’t old enough.”
She narrowed those sapphire eyes.
He tapped a finger against his chest. “Patriarch of the family, remember?”
“He’ll be old enough in five years,” she said tightly.
Which explained the length of her contract.
“Jaenelle . . .”
“The next five years will be a proving ground. The three of us will work out the rules and restrictions. If Beron violates any of the big rules, he’ll be packed up and will have to live here with us and be held to a short leash. Since Surreal and Rainier live in the village half of the time, they can drop by and check on him, day or night.”
“Not to mention that the court will be working in the other half of the residence most days.” Daemon nodded.
“If he acts like a responsible young man, at the end of that five years, he’ll be allowed to go to Amdarh and train in the work of his choice.”
“Which is?”
She studied him, as if trying to judge how he would respond even before she said the words.
“He wants to be an actor. He wants to perform onstage. He’s had a passion for it since the first time he was given a part in a school play. He’s talked about this for as long as I’ve known him. It’s what he wants to do, Daemon. A life dream.”
That explained her fury when Jaenelle discovered how the Healer had damaged Beron, and why she had been so fierce about restoring his voice, hearing, and vision to exactly what they had been before the damage.
And it explained something else. “His grandfather disapproves?”
“It’s not a profession suitable for a Queen’s son. Beron should be training to serve in a court or apprentice for some other suitable occupation.”
“Which is nothing Beron wants.”
“No. That disapproval has caused a strain in the relationship between grandfather and grandson. While Sylvia was alive, she supported Beron’s choice, encouraging him to audition for the plays performed in the village. With her gone, there would have been no buffer, especially if he had gone to live with Sylvia’s father. Beron doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but he wouldn’t have backed down from what he wants. Eventually he would have rebelled and chosen a reckless path that would have done him irreparable harm.”
Daemon sat forward. She sounded too certain, which meant she’d seen something in a tangled web. “Couldn’t you have told me some of that when you asked me to deny Sylvia’s father custody of her sons?”
“Did I need to?” Witch asked.
No. As wife or Queen, he was hers to command. “So I guess we’re all settled.”
“I guess we are.” Jaenelle stood up, walked around the desk, and gave him a kiss that narrowed his focus to just one thing: sex.
“I’m going to talk to Rainier and explain his new duties,” she said. “Why don’t you apply yourself to the paperwork so that we can take a long nap after the midday meal? You can warm up my feet.”
“I’ll warm up anything you want,” he purred.
Laughing, she eased back and picked up the stack of letters. “I’ll answer these for you. Just to save you some time.”
“You do that.”
When she closed the study door, he blew out a breath. “Get your mind out of your pants, boyo,” he muttered. Although his pants weren’t exactly where his mind was fixed right now. It was more on the things he wanted to taste. . . .
He shifted in his chair and pulled a stack of reports to the center of his desk. Before he’d read the first page, there was an enthusiastic scratching on the door.
*Daemon?*
*daemondaemondaemondaemondaemon.*
Sighing, he used Craft to open the door. Shuveen, Boyd, and Floyd rushed over to him. Shuveen was the first to jump into his lap, giving him time to put a shield over his crotch before Boyd and Floyd scrambled to join her. One Sceltie on his lap, he could handle. Three Scelties? Someone was going to plant a paw on his balls.
Easy enough to tell them he had to work and they needed to leave him alone—and he almost did. Then he thought about family. What would have happened to Mikal if Tildee hadn’t been with the boy, hadn’t received her training here at the Hall?
There was no black-haired, blue-eyed daughter to climb in his lap and ask for a story, but he and Jaenelle had raised quite a few kindred youngsters over the past few years, and now there were Beron and Mikal, who would need help and guidance and love.
He looked at the three Scelties, at the brown eyes filled with happy expectation. Whose lives would they change one day because of what he and Jaenelle taught them?
“One story,” he said. “Then I have to work.”
He waited for them to carefully turn around so they were all facing the desk. Then he put his arms around them, called in the storybook, and began reading Sceltie Saves the Day.
Daemon picked up the first letter from the thick stack on his desk and swore softly. The swearing became more vigorous and creative as he worked his way through the stack. By the time Rainier walked into the study to go over the week’s assignments, Daemon was one wrong word away from exploding.
“What in the name of Hell are these?” he roared, dropping the letters on the blackwood desk.
Rainier winced. “Ah. I was hoping to get here before you saw those.”
“And they are?”
“Just what they seem—offers from District Queens all around Dhemlan to become the new Queen of Halaway. And the same offer from a few young Queens from other Territories.”
“I know who rules in my Territory, Rainier. Some of these women rule towns or cities that are larger—and more profitable—than a small village, and others already rule a handful of villages. They’re going to give up that income to rule Halaway?”
Rainier looked uncomfortable. “You read the letters? Of course you did.”
“So I know that the letters addressed to the Province Queen, of which there are few, are sincere offers to add Halaway to the villages under the Ladies’ rule because every village needs to be held by someone. But most of these . . .”
He stopped. Even after more than a decade of marriage, he still felt the raw fury of a vulnerable man whose reputation could be compromised. But that was his state of mind, and he had no right to whip Rainier with that fury.
“Why did we get these at all?” he asked through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t a committee from the village or the Province Queen sort through these and present me with a short list for final approval?”
“Normally it would be done that way,” Rainier said. “But, Prince, your reaction to these letters—and they are only letters—is exactly why no one else is willing to make a choice. No one wants to be held responsible for whatever Queen ends up living on your doorstep—especially if she proves to be too friendly a neighbor.”
Daemon took in a deep breath and blew it out.
“If I were you, I would put those aside,” Rainier said. “When I spoke with Sylvia’s First Circle yesterday, they said they had been talking to a particular Lady about becoming Halaway’s Queen and were hopeful that she would accept. She’s supposed to give them her answer today.”
“She’s one of these?” He pointed to the stack of letters.
“I don’t know, but judging by how much care they were taking in what they said, they want this particular Queen.”
“If they feel that strongly, I’ll certainly make an effort not to interfere, as long as the Lady doesn’t think ruling Halaway means having access to my bed,” Daemon said as the study door opened and Jaenelle walked in.
“That might be a problem,” she said cheerfully. “Rainier, the Prince and I need to talk.”
Rainier looked at her, then at Daemon, and limped out of the room as fast as he could, closing the door behind him.
Jaenelle settled in the visitor’s chair and smiled at Daemon. “Sit down, Prince.”
His stomach clenched, but he obeyed.
“Sylvia’s First Circle asked me to take her place as the Queen of Halaway,” Jaenelle said. “This morning I accepted and signed a five-year contract.”
Daemon’s jaw dropped. “But ... you don’t want to rule. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard you say that over the years.”
She looked embarrassed. “Apparently, what I say and what I do are not the same things, and I’ve been the only one who hasn’t noticed that.”
Oh, shit. Who was the fool who told her?
“Ladvarian says that Scelties and Queens are meant to herd. It is our nature, and denying our nature is foolish. When I ruled Kaeleer, that was a heavy burden, even with all the other Queens to help me. And after I was hurt, it took me a long time to heal, and my becoming well was the most important thing. And I had a mate, and it was also important that I spend a lot of time with him and play. But now it’s time for me to work again, and officially ruling the small village right next to my home won’t be much different from what I already do. Or so says the Sceltie.”
He couldn’t think of one thing he dared to say.
“As much as I’d like to kick his furry ass for what he said, Ladvarian was right. It’s time for me to have my own flock again.”
“A new court?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Sylvia’s First Circle doesn’t belong to me in the truest sense, but they’re good men who are committed to Halaway, and we’ll work well together to take care of the village and its people.” She hesitated. “And they’re willing to accommodate the things Sylvia and I want for Mikal and Beron.”
Ah. Now he was hearing a reason that made sense. Then he remembered something about Sylvia’s First Circle that made him brace involuntarily for pain. Jaenelle was a Queen—and no matter who their husbands might be, Queens had privileges.
“Consort?” he asked.
She gave him a sharp look. Her voice was equally sharp. “The Warlord Prince of Dhemlan does not become the Consort of a District Queen and serve in her court—no matter who she is. Hopefully my husband will be willing to escort me to formal functions when required.”
“Which will leave an opening in the Queen’s Triangle.” There would be plenty of men who would come sniffing around once Jaenelle became Queen, for ambition’s sake if for nothing else.
She fluffed her hair. “I was thinking of asking Rainier to stand as First Escort to fill that side of the Triangle. I didn’t think you would object, since you already treat him as your stand-in when you can’t accompany me to an event.”
He felt his face heat even as he felt the ache around his heart ease. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.”
She smiled. “I know. For all the strength and power of your caste, Warlord Princes have their weak spots. On occasion, because you love so deeply, you will feel insecure. That is as much a part of your nature as ruling is a part of mine. As long as you remember that I love you, we’ll be fine.”
He nodded and searched for a way to step back from discussing her new court. “What about Mikal and Beron?”
“Ah. Mikal is easy. We’re doing a little decorating of the guest bedroom in Tersa’s cottage so that it will be Mikal’s room.”
“And Tildee’s,” he added.
“And Tildee’s. In exchange for being allowed to live with Tersa, Mikal has promised to do his assigned chores and his schoolwork and not try to smudge the truth with Tersa the way he sometimes did with his mother, because doing that would upset Tersa’s hold on the mundane world. Since you are the patriarch of the family and he is now officially family, he answers to you, and any discipline that may be required comes from you.”
“Good to know,” he muttered. “And Beron?”
“That’s trickier,” she hedged.
“Why? He can live here with us. There is plenty of room.”
“He doesn’t want to live here with us.”
Daemon sat back, crossed his legs at the knees, steepled his fingers, and raised one eyebrow in polite query.
“I see,” Jaenelle said. “The nervous husband is gone, and the Prince is back.”
He waited.
“The Queen’s residence is Beron’s home. He doesn’t want to leave it. Not yet. And there are advantages to letting him stay there. For one, I won’t be living there—not most of the time, although I will have a suite of rooms and will stay overnight on occasion. With my husband.”
Daemon’s lips twitched.
“Having Beron stay there also means that I’ll be able to justify keeping on the whole staff, since there will be someone in residence.”
“A boy his age living alone? I don’t think so.”
“He’s not a boy. He’s an adolescent youth who is almost old enough to attend school on his own.”
“Almost old enough isn’t old enough.”
She narrowed those sapphire eyes.
He tapped a finger against his chest. “Patriarch of the family, remember?”
“He’ll be old enough in five years,” she said tightly.
Which explained the length of her contract.
“Jaenelle . . .”
“The next five years will be a proving ground. The three of us will work out the rules and restrictions. If Beron violates any of the big rules, he’ll be packed up and will have to live here with us and be held to a short leash. Since Surreal and Rainier live in the village half of the time, they can drop by and check on him, day or night.”
“Not to mention that the court will be working in the other half of the residence most days.” Daemon nodded.
“If he acts like a responsible young man, at the end of that five years, he’ll be allowed to go to Amdarh and train in the work of his choice.”
“Which is?”
She studied him, as if trying to judge how he would respond even before she said the words.
“He wants to be an actor. He wants to perform onstage. He’s had a passion for it since the first time he was given a part in a school play. He’s talked about this for as long as I’ve known him. It’s what he wants to do, Daemon. A life dream.”
That explained her fury when Jaenelle discovered how the Healer had damaged Beron, and why she had been so fierce about restoring his voice, hearing, and vision to exactly what they had been before the damage.
And it explained something else. “His grandfather disapproves?”
“It’s not a profession suitable for a Queen’s son. Beron should be training to serve in a court or apprentice for some other suitable occupation.”
“Which is nothing Beron wants.”
“No. That disapproval has caused a strain in the relationship between grandfather and grandson. While Sylvia was alive, she supported Beron’s choice, encouraging him to audition for the plays performed in the village. With her gone, there would have been no buffer, especially if he had gone to live with Sylvia’s father. Beron doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but he wouldn’t have backed down from what he wants. Eventually he would have rebelled and chosen a reckless path that would have done him irreparable harm.”
Daemon sat forward. She sounded too certain, which meant she’d seen something in a tangled web. “Couldn’t you have told me some of that when you asked me to deny Sylvia’s father custody of her sons?”
“Did I need to?” Witch asked.
No. As wife or Queen, he was hers to command. “So I guess we’re all settled.”
“I guess we are.” Jaenelle stood up, walked around the desk, and gave him a kiss that narrowed his focus to just one thing: sex.
“I’m going to talk to Rainier and explain his new duties,” she said. “Why don’t you apply yourself to the paperwork so that we can take a long nap after the midday meal? You can warm up my feet.”
“I’ll warm up anything you want,” he purred.
Laughing, she eased back and picked up the stack of letters. “I’ll answer these for you. Just to save you some time.”
“You do that.”
When she closed the study door, he blew out a breath. “Get your mind out of your pants, boyo,” he muttered. Although his pants weren’t exactly where his mind was fixed right now. It was more on the things he wanted to taste. . . .
He shifted in his chair and pulled a stack of reports to the center of his desk. Before he’d read the first page, there was an enthusiastic scratching on the door.
*Daemon?*
*daemondaemondaemondaemondaemon.*
Sighing, he used Craft to open the door. Shuveen, Boyd, and Floyd rushed over to him. Shuveen was the first to jump into his lap, giving him time to put a shield over his crotch before Boyd and Floyd scrambled to join her. One Sceltie on his lap, he could handle. Three Scelties? Someone was going to plant a paw on his balls.
Easy enough to tell them he had to work and they needed to leave him alone—and he almost did. Then he thought about family. What would have happened to Mikal if Tildee hadn’t been with the boy, hadn’t received her training here at the Hall?
There was no black-haired, blue-eyed daughter to climb in his lap and ask for a story, but he and Jaenelle had raised quite a few kindred youngsters over the past few years, and now there were Beron and Mikal, who would need help and guidance and love.
He looked at the three Scelties, at the brown eyes filled with happy expectation. Whose lives would they change one day because of what he and Jaenelle taught them?
“One story,” he said. “Then I have to work.”
He waited for them to carefully turn around so they were all facing the desk. Then he put his arms around them, called in the storybook, and began reading Sceltie Saves the Day.
