The Queen's Price

THIRTY-THREE

Jillian followed Surreal into the sitting room on the SaDiablo side of the town house. After she met the Warlord whom Surreal had selected for the Virgin Night, it became clear that this was going to be beyond terrible, because there was no way to gauge how Lucivar and Daemon were going to react when they found out . . . Well, she hadn’t lied, exactly. She just hadn’t been forthcoming about one or two things that pertained to sex.

“If you’re having any doubts about the Warlord I chose being able to see you safely through your Virgin Night, or if he doesn’t appeal to you for any reason, I can interview a couple more men who also provide this service for aristo families,” Surreal said.

“He seems like a very nice man,” Jillian replied, wondering if her voice sounded thin and shaky to anyone else. “And he seems to know what he’s doing.”

“But . . . ?”

Jillian took a deep breath and let the words out like a flood breaking through a dam. “But I have some concerns, and I’d like to talk to Brenda about them.”

Surreal studied her. Jillian wasn’t sure if she was being studied by Surreal the wife of Daemon Sadi, Surreal the second-in-command to the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan, or Surreal the assassin.

Sweet Darkness, please don’t let it be the assassin.

“I do have some experience, sugar,” Surreal said. “You can talk to me.”

“I know I can, and about many other things I would, but I really need to talk to Brenda about this particular thing.”

“She’ll be coming to Amdarh for the party, but I could ask her to come to the city the morning of—”

“Before then,” Jillian interrupted. “I need to talk to her as soon as I can.”

“Very well.”

Judging by the tone of Surreal’s voice, “very well” meant “I’ll sharpen my knives.”

Since she couldn’t change anything now, Jillian went up to the bedroom she’d been assigned and hoped Brenda, who had been bewilderingly dismissive about something so important to every Blood female, could help her.

“Do you understand the phrase ‘fox in the henhouse?’ ” Brenda asked once the argument with the maid about who would unpack the trunk and put Brenda’s clothes in the proper bureau drawers had reached its conclusion and compromise—the maid unpacked the trunk and handed the clothes to Brenda to hang up or tuck into drawers. “I have the impression that you’ve stirred things up good and proper.”

The maid left the room, muttering about aristos who wouldn’t let her do her job.

“I don’t mind having someone else put cleaned clothes in the drawers once I have everything put away to my liking.” Brenda raised her voice enough for the maid to hear. “But I don’t want to have to open every drawer in order to find something because someone else thinks an item should be stored somewhere else.” She closed the door and smiled at Jillian. “You needed to see me, and I’m here now, with everything properly tucked away. I gather there was something about the Virgin Night that concerns you? Something you didn’t want to discuss with Lady SaDiablo?”

“I’m in trouble.” When Brenda’s eyes went to her belly, Jillian added, “Not that kind of trouble.”

“It wouldn’t be impossible if you were skin to skin with a man and the juice was flowing, so to speak. Not likely, but not impossible. Or so I’m told.”

Jillian stared. She had already lived centuries compared to Brenda’s twenty-some years, but she’d never met anyone who was this blunt. Well, Lucivar was, but even he wouldn’t talk to a daughter about this in that way.

“So what kind of trouble are you in?” Brenda asked.

“I need help figuring out how to tell Daemon and Lucivar that I’ve already had my Virgin Night and didn’t tell them.”

Now it was Brenda’s turn to stare. “Hell’s fire, girl, you really are in trouble.” She went to the window and looked out. “I haven’t been around either of them that long, but I’ve taken their measure. This will be hard for them to swallow, mostly because they didn’t have a chance to pound the male into pulp if anything had gone the least little bit wrong. I’m assuming nothing went wrong?”

“Everything went just fine, but Lucivar’s and Daemon’s probable reaction was exactly why I did it that way. I didn’t want a man torn into pieces and pulped because I broke a nail or got a paper cut while I was in the room with him! And do you really think ‘the juice is going to flow’ if either of them is in the same city, let alone the same building, as the man who is expected to perform?”

“Good points, and I don’t disagree with you. On the other hand, they’re going to be here in Amdarh and so are you, and you didn’t voice any objections.”

“Because the man Surreal selected wasn’t going to have to do anything! But they’ve all decided that I need to go through a Virgin Night because . . .” Jillian faltered.

Brenda glanced at Jillian before returning her gaze to whatever was outside the window. “Because you’ve met someone you want as a lover, and you don’t want him . . .”

“Stomped on and pulped and tossed in a vat to be cooked with the grapes for his wine. But if Stefan and I . . . before Lucivar knows about . . .”

Brenda nodded. “How long has it been since you had this secret Virgin Night?”

Jillian cringed. “A few months.” A beat of silence. “Or more. And it wasn’t so much a secret as it was private.”

Brenda turned away from the window. “Do you have any proof you can show them that doesn’t require a Healer?”

“A letter signed by the current Queen of Little Weeble and the former Queen, who serves as a consultant.” Jillian swallowed hard. Did Brenda know anything about Little Weeble and what it meant to have a letter from the current and former Queens?

“I can work with that.” Brenda walked out of the bedroom, her voice as brisk as her stride. “Come along now. We’ll request the men’s presence. The sooner this is done, the better. You show them that letter at the end of this. That might soothe them a bit.”

Hurrying after Brenda, Jillian said, “End of what?”

Daemon stood on the sidewalk outside the SaDiablo town house. First Surreal sent a message to the Hall saying Brenda’s presence was required at the town house now. Brenda was packed and gone within the hour, even though it was a couple of days ahead of when everyone was gathering for Jillian’s Virgin Night.

By the clock on his desk, less than an hour after Brenda arrived in Amdarh, Surreal sent a message to him on a Gray psychic thread saying he was required in Amdarh as soon as he could get there.

Maybe one request had nothing to do with the other. Maybe Brenda, being closer to Jillian’s equivalent age, was holding a friend’s hand—although Jillian never struck him as a nervous sort of girl. Still, her life as a strong witch was at risk, and something could go wrong. And Surreal thought he should be here because . . .

Daemon turned in a slow circle, letting the Black flow through the square where the town house was located.

Nothing unusual. Nothing anyone would summon him to deal with. The only turmoil he could sense was in Surreal’s side of their town house, but the one thing that would have confirmed that this was something about Jillian . . .

Daemon felt the Ebon-gray’s presence in the city moments before Lucivar dropped from the Winds and almost landed on top of him.

“You were summoned?” Lucivar asked.

“I was. You too?”

“Yeah. Any idea why?”

Daemon stared at the town house. “Surreal indicated there was something Jillian needed to discuss with us. My second-in-command sounded . . . odd.”

“Jillian’s still young. Maybe she’s not ready for this.” Lucivar sounded hopeful.

He sighed. “She’s ready, Prick. She’s feeling passionate about a vintner who works on your Dhemlan estate.”

“Shit.” Lucivar narrowed his eyes. “Has he . . . ?”

“He knows enough about you—about us—not to be that foolish.”

“Lust makes foolish things sound reasonable.”

He’d seen the truth of that too many times to disagree. “Well, let’s go in and find out. One way or the other, we’ll take care of it.”

“We will.” Lucivar started up the steps. “Good thing I honed my skinning knife this morning.”

Daemon didn’t bother to reply. If it came to that, Lucivar could work out some anger by skinning the fool. The Sadist, on the other hand, would seduce their enemy to the point that the fool’s cock would explode from the ecstasy.

Daemon considered himself flexible when it came to women’s attire, and he couldn’t fault anyone who chose to wear what amounted to a signature outfit. After all, he’d worn black jackets with black trousers and a white silk shirt for centuries and saw no reason to change his wardrobe. He just wasn’t sure what Brenda’s wardrobe said about her. Not the clothes she wore when she rode Shaye or worked around the stables or played some rough-and-tumble game with the Scelties. And not the dresses she wore for the evening meals. But her working outfit seemed to consist of brown or black or dark gray trousers with a matching—or contrasting—vest and a soft white shirt. Not that dissimilar to what Surreal as his second-in-command considered her working outfits, except Brenda’s vests were always decorated with embroidery, and she always had a gold pocket watch and chain. She seemed to consult the watch often, even when she was between lessons and had no particular place to go—and she often found something amusing about whatever the watch revealed.

He had no idea what to think about that—or why, when Brenda walked into the sitting room and consulted her watch, he felt uncharacteristically nervous.

Brenda smiled at him. He smiled at her. She smiled at Lucivar, who bared his teeth.

Jillian and Surreal walked into the sitting room. Jillian took the chair positioned next to the sofa, while Surreal and Brenda sat on opposite ends of the sofa, Brenda being closer to Jillian.

Daemon eyed Surreal, who shrugged.

*No idea, sugar,* she said on a psychic thread.

He turned to Jillian, aware of Lucivar standing behind him and to the side. Fighting position. “You wanted to talk to us?” Nothing challenging in the question, and he kept his voice pitched to sound encouraging.

Jillian sent a pleading look to Brenda.

Brenda’s smile brightened. “Here’s the way of it, then. Jillian, being a bright young woman and knowing how protective the men in her family can be when it comes to . . . everything . . . realized her Virgin Night would cause some excitement within the male breasts.”

“Is that where male excitement is lodged?” Daemon asked dryly.

Brenda ignored him, but her smile got a wee bit brighter—and sharper. “When she felt it was time for her to take that step toward protecting her power, Jillian consulted with the Queens in Little Weeble, who assisted in making the arrangements for Jillian to have a private Virgin Night with as little fuss as possible.”

“What?” Lucivar roared.

“It was all done right and proper,” Brenda said as if she were soothing Lucivar after he’d skinned his knee. Then she added with some heat, “And what’s wrong with wanting an important ceremony to be private the first time? When Prince Sadi married Jaenelle Angelline, their first wedding was so private, no one knew about it except the unicorns in Sceval who stood as witness, the unicorn priestess who officiated, and, if the stories are accurate, the Sceltie who helped make the arrangements and convinced my ancestors to provide the wedding meal with no questions asked. Later on, Prince Sadi and Lady Angelline had an official wedding so that everyone who needed to know about their marriage knew about it. So what’s wrong with Jillian doing the same, especially when the whole thing, if done properly, shouldn’t be much fuss or bother?”

Daemon couldn’t tell if Surreal was appalled, delighted, or just stunned by Brenda’s reasoning. And he couldn’t reconcile Brenda’s calling the Virgin Night an important ceremony and then saying that it shouldn’t be much fuss or bother. But if this conversation continued, he was going to have to peel Lucivar off the ceiling.

“A wedding and a Virgin Night aren’t the same thing,” Lucivar snarled.

“And thank the Darkness for that,” Brenda replied. “But here’s what I’m wondering.”

Go away. Daemon saw the mischievous look in Brenda’s eyes and felt the solid ground of this discussion crumbling beneath him. Stop wondering about whatever you’re wondering about and go away.

“Why are we the only ones who have a Virgin Night?” Brenda asked. “Why don’t you?”

Daemon stared at her. “What?”

“Why don’t males have a Virgin Night? After all, you’re a virgin and then not a virgin, same as us.”

“We don’t have a hymen,” Daemon said too sweetly.

Surreal pressed her head to her knees. Her shoulders shook.

Ignoring his comment—and the warning tone of his voice—Brenda raised her hands. The fingers of one hand made a circle. Two fingers of the other hand were straight—and heading for the circle as she said, “After all, your part goes into—” She paused as if thinking. “Well, not your part, because everyone knows you’re very exclusive about where it goes.”

Surreal made a choking sound.

“But the boy part goes into the girl part, and if all goes well, the power she was born with and the power that will be hers when she makes the Offering to the Darkness are safe. But why doesn’t the boy have to worry about where he puts himself for that twenty minutes?” Brenda paused. “Maybe ten minutes.” Another pause. “Might be less. Especially the first time.”

Surreal rolled off the sofa and began crawling toward the door.

“Surreal?” Daemon’s voice might have held a hint of hysteria. Not that anyone would dare point that out.

“I have to pee.” Her voice came out high and breathy.

Swearing, Lucivar used Craft to open the sitting room door before grabbing the back of Surreal’s trousers and the back of her shirt and striding into the entryway.

“Get her to the nearest toilet,” Lucivar told Helton as he set her down. “And get a bucket in case she can’t make it that far.”

As he returned to the sitting room and swung the door shut, they all heard Surreal say, “Prick.”

“So, why is that?” Brenda said, as if there hadn’t been any interruption.

Sweet Darkness, did she never let go once she latched onto something? She was as bad as a Sceltie! Maybe worse.

It provoked him into giving her a reckless answer. “I don’t know. According to the ancient stories, when the last Queen of the Dragons shed her scales and bestowed the power that made the Blood who and what they are, only females were gifted with that power. It took several generations of strong, intelligent males mating with those females before the first male had any power that could be recognized as the Blood. Maybe that disparity of power in our creation is the reason for the disparity of who is at risk now. If you’d really like to know, you could always go to Ebon Askavi and ask the Seneschal. After all, Draca was the Queen of the Dragons who created the Blood.”

Brenda blinked. The smile that followed was filled with delight—and completely terrifying. “Really? We could go there and ask her?”

“No.”

“Then why would you be offering it and getting our hopes up? And why is it only the human females who are troubled by needing a ceremony for what amounts to a poke and a pop?”

“Stop.” Daemon raised a hand. “Just . . . stop.”

He had to put an end to this before she backed him into a corner and wore him down to the point that he would take her to the Keep so that someone else would have to answer the question. Questions.

Hell’s fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful, it was like being around Jaenelle and the coven again. And having Brenda go to the Keep and meet Jaenelle and Karla? No, no, no. He had enough trouble dealing with those two.

“If Lucivar and I agree that there was merit in Jillian having her Virgin Night in private, will you agree to drop the subject?”

“Jillian will still need to show up at the establishment and stay in the room for twenty minutes—”

“An hour,” Lucivar snarled. “If you want anyone to believe she had an actual Virgin Night, she stays in the room with that cock and balls for an hour. Every aristo in the city knows if he took less time than that with my daughter, I’d skin him alive.”

“An hour, then,” Brenda agreed. “Maybe Lady Surreal could arrange to have drinks and nibbles slipped into the room so they’ll have something to do that won’t involve an activity that will require Lucivar skinning someone afterward?”

“I’ll talk to Surreal,” Daemon said.

“And we’ll still have the party? Really, that’s the best part of it all.”

The Hall was a big place. Among all the wings and rooms there had to be a secret hidey-hole where he could escape from females with questions and opinions.

“We’ll have the party.” Daemon used Craft to open the sitting room door. “Now go away.”

Jillian had been sitting through all this in open-mouthed shock. Now Brenda tapped her hand and said, “You have something for Prince Sadi?”

Jillian stood. She called in a letter and held it out for Daemon.

Not seeing a good choice, he took the letter.

Brenda sprang to her feet and looked at Jillian. “Come along, then. There are still things to be done.” She strode out of the sitting room with Jillian trailing behind.

Daemon put a Black lock on the door and closed his eyes. “Not. One. Word.”

Lucivar paced, swearing under his breath. He prowled, his wings opening and closing as a sign of agitation. “Someone must have asked the question at some point.”

“I mean it, Prick. Not. One. Word.”

“And now that it has been asked, it will spread through the Hall and beyond. . . .”

“Shut up, Lucivar. One more word and I will pull out your tongue and tie it around your cock!”

Lucivar stared at him before smiling that smile that always meant trouble. But he didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

Remembering the letter in his hand, Daemon looked at the seal and groaned—a weeble pressed into bright blue wax. He swallowed a whimper as he opened the letter.

“Lady Perzha’s written assurance that Jillian’s Virgin Night was performed discreetly and safely and properly.” He held out the letter. “It’s signed by Perzha and the current Queen of Little Weeble.” Which amounted to a Sceltie paw print on the paper.

Lucivar sighed. “It could have been worse.”

Daemon just looked at him and said, “How?”

Jillian stood outside the sitting room door, unable to move. Then she noticed the way Brenda calmly pulled out the pocket watch and studied the hands.

“That went well,” Brenda said cheerfully. “And I have to give them credit. They held out twice as long as my father and brothers when I asked them that question before my own Virgin Night.”

“You asked your father?”

“Well, sure, I did.” She tucked the watch into the pocket in her vest. “None of you have wondered about this before now? Really?”

“Really.”

“Then you’ll have something to ponder while you’re having your official Virgin Night without the sex.”