The Queen's Price

FIFTEEN

Saetien studied her face in the mirror. Jillian had assured her the simple lines and color of the dress she’d chosen flattered her, but what about her hair? It was black and straight—typical of all the long-lived races. Should she pull up the sides to show her delicately pointed ears? Or would that be seen as a ploy to remind her father of his wife—and would that remind him of her conflict with Surreal and destroy any possible permission for what she wanted to do?

She’d leave her hair down to flow over her shoulders.

A knock on her door.

*Saeti? Where are we going?* Shelby asked, ready to go out and help the humans.

“You’re staying here to have your lessons with the other Scelties,” she replied. “I’m going to the estate with Lady Jillian to talk to my papa.”

*I can talk too.* Shelby wagged his tail. *He will pet me and be happy.*

Saetien crossed the room and opened the door as she said, “I’m sure he would be happy if he petted you, but I need to talk to my papa by myself.”

Shelby whined, a sound that always made her feel guilty, even when she knew she shouldn’t give in.

Jillian gave her a sympathetic smile. “Your father has arrived at the estate and is waiting for us.”

Jillian seemed a bit nervous about this meeting. Why would she be nervous?

“Come on, Shelby,” she said.

He followed her out of the room, looking woeful.

“Sometimes human females need to talk about private things,” Jillian said. “And it’s important to know when to give them private time.”

*Scelties learn this?*

“Yes, they do. Special friends need to learn this important lesson even more than other Scelties.”

*Then I will stay here and learn Sceltie lessons.* It was a declaration that had Shelby trotting ahead of them, eager to learn about this human female behavior.

“Thank you,” Saetien whispered.

They left Shelby with the other Scelties who lived at the sanctuary and drove to the estate in a simple pony cart.

“I have a couple of things to discuss with Prince Sadi when you’re done, so you’ll have to wait for me or ask someone from the estate to escort you back to the sanctuary,” Jillian said.

She was tempted to point out that she was old enough to walk through the village on her own, but girls who lived at the sanctuary were never on their own when they went into the village. They’d been broken and were rebuilding their lives—or were like Teresa, whose mind was shattered and who walked the roads of the Twisted Kingdom. If she went off on her own, it would be another way of reminding the rest of the girls that she wasn’t like them. Yes, she’d lost a lot of the power she’d once had, but she wasn’t broken and could regain some of that power when she reached her mature strength.

She didn’t know much about this estate except that it grew grapes and made wine. Jillian mentioned that part of the house was set aside for the SaDiablo family—or the Yaslana family, since Lucivar Yaslana owned this estate—and the rest was the residence of the estate manager. Should she have known this now that she was living in the same village?

When Saetien and Jillian arrived, Saetien was escorted to a sitting room. She was so used to dealing with her father in a study that it took her a moment to see the father instead of the man. Thick black hair silvered at the temples. Gold eyes and golden-brown skin. A well-toned body beneath a perfectly tailored black suit and white silk shirt. And a beautiful face that could melt a woman’s caution and self-preservation and let him do whatever he wanted to do with her. To her.

Saetien blinked and saw her father—and sucked in a breath. It was his sexual heat that was affecting her. During that fight at SaDiablo Hall when the coven of malice tried to hurt Zoey and the other girls, Daemon Sadi’s heat had flooded the Hall, and whatever protection a daughter had against a father’s heat had broken under that flood—and the cold rage that had been carried with it.

“Hello, Father.”

She saw him start to shape the word “witch-child” and then catch himself. His father had used that word with the Queen. Knowing how she detested any comparison to the Queen who ruled her father’s life, Daemon gave Saetien the courtesy of no longer using it with her.

She missed hearing it, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Couldn’t tell him that.

“Hello, Saetien,” Daemon said. “I received your request for a meeting. Your explanation was a bit sparse.”

A quick knock on the sitting room’s door before the housekeeper brought in a tray—wine for him, fruit punch for her, and sandwiches. Everything was set out on a table between two chairs. Then the woman was gone, closing the door behind her.

Daemon waited until Saetien took a seat before settling into the chair opposite hers.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

She sipped her punch and selected a couple of the small sandwiches. Stalling. Trying to figure out how to tell him this was important without admitting that she didn’t know why it was important. Saying her future depended on it sounded so dramatic, even if it was true.

She called in the drawing Teresa had made for her—of her. She also called in the response to the query sent to the Keep. She handed the pages to Daemon and waited.

He drank the wine—and said nothing.

“Teresa said I needed to find her,” Saetien finally said. “Or find out about her.”

“Why?” he asked too softly.

“Because I won’t understand myself until I know about her.” Part of her wanted to bubble up and argue that she deserved to find out and she shouldn’t have to explain why. Part of her was tempted to tell him she would go to Scelt with or without his permission. But those were feelings born of impatience. The rational part of her mind recognized that challenging him would spur him into refusing her request.

“Why?” he asked again.

Saetien looked him in the eyes and had a feeling she wasn’t talking to her father anymore. “Because she is sadness and truth.”

He used Craft to float the pages back to her. “I’ll consider it. However, if I do permit you to go to Scelt, there will be conditions, and if you defy me, I will make sure that the answers you seek will no longer be within your reach. Is that clear, Lady Saetien?”

She definitely wasn’t talking to her father. “Yes, sir.”

“Then I’ll be back in a few days with my answer.”

She wanted to ask why he needed that long to decide, but she held her tongue. Problem was, she couldn’t think of anything to say to him now. Small talk about her classes? About the food at the sanctuary? About Shelby? She could probably talk about the Sceltie, but she felt awkward and uneasy and really wanted to get out of the room.

“Jillian is waiting to talk to you,” she said.

“Is she?” Some dark amusement in his voice that she didn’t understand.

When he stood, she leaped out of her chair, then hesitated. Should she hug him? Kiss his cheek? Would he expect it and feel insulted if she didn’t? She didn’t know what to do with him anymore.

“Why don’t you tell Jillian to come in?” he suggested gently.

“Yes, sir.” She practically ran to the door, then stopped and forced herself to turn back to him. “Thank you for considering my request.”

“You’re welcome. I will give it serious consideration.”

She nodded and left. The housekeeper led her to another small room, where she sat quietly and wiped away tears—and wondered how many other things would crack in the wake of her previous bad choices.

Jillian walked into the room, followed by the housekeeper, who removed the glass of fruit punch and the plate of uneaten sandwiches, then added clean plates and three wineglasses to the remaining dishes on the table and retreated, leaving the door open.

“Prince Sadi,” Jillian said, taking the seat opposite him.

“Lady Jillian.”

They watched as a young Prince, a vintner at the estate, walked into the room carrying a case of wine bottles.

“Stefan has created a new blend of wine from the grapes grown in the vineyards here,” Jillian said, sounding a little breathless.

“The master vintner only recently gave his approval to make it available in the village, but I thought you might like to try a glass,” Stefan said.

“I’d be delighted.” Daemon set aside the glass of wine he’d already been given while Stefan drew the cork from a bottle and poured wine for the three of them.

Daemon took his time tasting the wine before making a quiet sound of approval. “Is that case for me to take back to the Hall?”

“Yes, sir, if you like it.”

“I do.” He savored another swallow of wine.

If the man kept drinking wine and delaying this necessary discussion, she was going to burst out of her skin—or slug him.

Daemon’s gold eyes warmed with amusement as he looked at her. Then he smiled at Stefan. “So, you’re the reason our Jillian has decided it’s time to have her Virgin Night.”

Jillian and Stefan looked at each other, then at him.

Knowing who and what he was, she couldn’t tell Daemon she’d already taken care of her Virgin Night, not while Stefan was in the room and would be such an easy target if Sadi’s temper snapped the leash.

“Yes,” Jillian said. “We’re ready to . . .” She hesitated.

“Have a full romantic, intimate relationship?” Daemon suggested.

“Yes.”

“We haven’t known each other long, but our feelings are strong enough to make this choice,” Stefan said. He breathed in, breathed out. “I’ve been careful, Prince. I’m not without some experience, but there is no tarnish on my reputation or honor.”

She and Stefan had talked about acknowledging that he’d had lovers. For men, there was a delicate balance between too little experience and too much.

“I’ll explain things to Lucivar,” Daemon said. “Now, Prince Stefan, I believe I have something else to discuss with Lady Jillian.”

Stefan bowed to Daemon, smiled at Jillian, and left the room.

“Are you concerned about Saetien wanting to go to Scelt?” Jillian asked.

“Yes, but we’re here to discuss your Virgin Night.”

“Why? Lady Surreal is making the arrangements.”

“I’m delighted to hear that. However, Lucivar and I will be at the town house in Amdarh that night. This is too important to him for Lucivar to keep his distance—just as it’s important to you to have it done safely.”

She should tell him now, before the arrangements went any further. Sadi wouldn’t bounce off the ceiling like Lucivar would. He would . . . quietly shred whoever had helped her do it without informing the High Lord and Demon Prince.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

“But . . . Lucivar will get so exercised while it’s happening that he’ll scare every man in the city into impotence.” She waited—and, when Sadi didn’t disagree with her, felt a weird vindication about her decision to withhold information.

Daemon looked uncomfortable. “Before he became Marian’s husband, Lucivar saw a witch through her Virgin Night. Would it help if you talked to her? Not about the sexual details, of course, but maybe it would help you understand why this is so important to him?”

Hearing Daemon Sadi stumble over any discussion about sex was like watching a mountain fall down. Hell’s fire, when she’d asked him to explain oral sex a few years ago, he hadn’t even blinked before calmly describing that particular act from both sides of the give-and-take. But he was stumbling now?

“Yes,” Jillian breathed. “That would help.” If nothing else, the woman wouldn’t be family and, maybe, could offer advice about how to explain her decision—because Daemon and Lucivar had to be told before she had this second Virgin Night.

“Then I’ll ask her to drop by your cottage one evening very soon.”

He abruptly changed the subject—another sign of nerves—and asked about the cottage and how she was settling in. After reassuring him that she wasn’t doing without anything she truly needed, he made his farewells, returned to the Coach, and caught the Winds, explaining that he had some business in Amdarh.