The Queen's Price

SIXTY-ONE

Daemon studied the two letters, then opened Kieran’s first.

A careful report about Saetien’s activities. Puppy school. Playing with the foals. Making a friend her equivalent age.

Everything right and proper for an aristo girl visiting an aristo family, especially the family of the Warlord of Maghre. But not a word about Butler, which had to be a deliberate omission.

Sighing, Daemon set Kieran’s letter aside before opening Saetien’s letter.

He read it twice and still didn’t know what to think.

A quick knock on the study door before Surreal walked in. “Sadi, I’m heading back to the sanctuary.” She paused. “Is something wrong?”

“A letter from Saetien.”

“Has she learned anything about Wilhelmina Benedict?”

“I don’t know.” Daemon checked the back of the letter in case he’d missed something. He hadn’t. “She’s seriously pissed off at Butler for neglecting his gardens, which could be lovely if someone cared about them, and for being so indifferent about his gardening tools that he’s let them rust and rot.”

“Being demon-dead, I don’t imagine he spends much time in the garden,” Surreal said.

“That doesn’t seem to be a sufficient excuse.”

Surreal blew out a breath. “Well, she always was pretty fierce about that patch of garden that you and Tarl let her claim for her own.”

“And woe to any gardener in training who overlooked a weed growing anywhere near her patch.” Daemon folded the letter and vanished it.

“What are you going to do?”

He gave Surreal a dry smile. “Figure out how to answer her letter without getting Butler into more trouble.”