The Shadow Queen

CHAPTER 23

No sex tonight, Daemon thought as he took off his robe and slipped into bed. Propped up on one elbow, he studied Jaenelle’s face. She’d been broody and unhappy all the way home, and it didn’t look like her mood had changed.

“Well, things didn’t go too badly,” he said.

Jaenelle made a sound that was one part laugh and two parts disbelief. “What dinner party were you at tonight?”

“The point of the evening was to give Gray a foundation for interacting with a Kaeleer Queen, and in that, I think we did quite well.”

Her eyes widened. “I created an illusion spell to give Cassie more confidence about her looks and ended up scaring Gray out of half his wits, and also managed to stomp on Papa’s toes hard enough to have him angry with me twice, and you think we did well?”

Daemon raised a shoulder in a half shrug. “Gray got to ask about things that were bothering him, he now has a measuring stick for how to react the next time Cassidy does something that upsets him, and he learned that he doesn’t have to give up the things that are most important to him if he’s willing to yield about other things.” Gauging her mood—unchanged—he added, “And I learned that Lucivar’s idea of a romantic kiss is not drooling on the girl or chewing her face.”

Jaenelle popped up so fast she almost clobbered his chin.

“No,” she said. “You’re making that up. He is not that . . . that . . .”

“Eyrien?”

“Mother Night.” Jaenelle looked a little stunned, but when her sapphire eyes focused on him, he wished he had the width of the bed between them. And he was beginning to think that teasing her about Lucivar’s sexual skills hadn’t been the best idea. Especially since he knew Lucivar had said that for Gray’s benefit.

“You have to do something,” Jaenelle said.

“Like what?”

“No woman should have to put up with that. And certainly Marian shouldn’t have to put up with that. If that’s Lucivar’s idea of romance, you need to teach him how to kiss properly.”

“If a man is doing it right, there’s nothing proper about a romantic kiss,” Daemon murmured.

“Daemon.” She poked his chest with a finger. “Do something.”

So he did. He kissed her. And when he was done, one of her hands was fisted in his hair, encouraging him not to go too far away.

“I gave Gray some tips about romantic kissing,” he said as his lips drifted across her face, leaving a trail of delicate kisses.

“You did?” She sounded breathless, and her scent had shifted toward arousal enough to warm his blood very nicely.

“Hmm. I don’t think he had his mind on much else through the whole of dinner.”

“That explains why he was so cheerful,” Jaenelle murmured, tipping her head to one side so that he could nibble on his favorite part of her neck.

“Lucivar is a more difficult challenge.” He slipped one hand under her nightgown and his fingertips whispered up and down the insides of her thighs.

Nothing in her eyes now but desire. Nothing in her touch but love as she slipped a hand under the covers and stroked him.

“I should practice my technique,” he said as he licked the valley between her breasts.

“Daemon,” she gasped when his fingers found other interesting bits of her to play with. “How much practice do you need?”

He settled over her, enjoying, for the moment, the thin barrier of fabric between them. “I’ll let you know in the morning,” he purred.

Her reply was a moan of pleasure.

Theran walked into the parlor in the family wing and flopped on the sofa.

“Want some brandy?” Talon asked.

“Sure.”

He accepted the glass Talon poured for him, then slugged back half the liquor.

“How did it go tonight?” Talon asked, settling into a chair near the sofa.

“Well enough.”

“Is Gray all right?”

Theran made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Better than I am.”

“You hurt?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want Talon to be alarmed; he just didn’t know if he should repeat what he’d been told. Wasn’t sure he wanted Talon to agree with the High Lord’s assessment.

“Gray is like them,” he said, swirling the brandy so he wouldn’t have to look at Talon. “He fit in like he was just another piece of an intricate pattern. The way he talked with them, listened to them. If he decides to emigrate to Dharo, they’ll help him.”

“If he decides what?”

Theran winced. Of course Talon didn’t know about it. Gray hadn’t mentioned it until this morning.

“I didn’t know him tonight,” Theran said. “He had one of his . . . scares . . .”

“Damn,” Talon muttered.

“. . . and they handled it, Sadi and the High Lord. Soothing spells and power. They got him settled in minutes.”

“Did you think to ask about the spell?” Talon asked. “Sounds like a handy thing to know. Hell’s fire, I’ve tried everything I know and couldn’t get him settled when he was having a bad night.”

“The High Lord took me aside after dinner and taught me the soothing spell he’d used. He considered it a basic spell and was surprised that it wasn’t part of our usual training.”

Talon studied him, then sat back in his chair. “You’re circling around something.”

“Theran’s blade,” Theran said quietly. “Gray and I used to joke about him being my great protector. But Jewels only measure one kind of power, don’t they? Two men can wear the same Jewel, even have the exact same depth of power, and one might be a dominant male, while the other is better as a follower. If Gray hadn’t been captured twelve years ago, if we’d both grown up as we should have, he would have been my defender. He would have stood in front of me. Overshadowed me. Because he’s a Warlord Prince like they are—like Sadi and Yaslana—or he would have been. I could almost see him changing, hour by hour, as he talked with them. The High Lord said that even with his emotional scars, Gray won’t have any trouble settling in Kaeleer if that’s what he decides to do.”

Theran drained his glass and poured himself another. “Gray remained a child all these years, so I had to become a man.”

“You would have become a man no matter what,” Talon said. He shifted in his chair, a restless movement that wasn’t like him. “So you don’t fit in with Sadi and Yaslana. There aren’t many who could.”

“Guess not.”

“Go to bed,” Talon said. “Things will look different after some sleep.”

Theran rose and lifted his glass in a salute. “I’ll do that.”

Talon waited until Theran left the room before he got up to pour and warm a glass of yarbarah.

. . . Jewels only measure one kind of power. . . . would have stood in front of me . . . Overshadowed me . . . he’s a Warlord Prince like they are....

Talon raised the glass and studied the blood wine. “Theran, my boy, I’ll never say this to your face, but you’re right about Gray. He would have overshadowed you. Not deliberately. He’d been taught from the cradle on up that he was your sword and your shield. Had been raised to believe it was his duty to protect and defend the Grayhaven line. Men have followed you because of your name, but being a leader is still an ill-fitting coat on you. For Gray, being the dominant Warlord Prince of Dena Nehele would have been as natural as breathing.”

He took a swallow of yarbarah. “You might have ended up hating him for being what everyone expected you to be. And as much as my heart aches to say it, and as much as I wish he’d never been harmed, maybe it’s just as well he’s waking up now when you’re old enough to hold your own.”

Talon drank the rest of the yarbarah and sighed. “Maybe it’s just as well.”

Gray leaned against the outside wall of the stone shed and studied the glow of witchlight coming from his window. Soft light, Daemon had said. Enough so nobody was stumbling around in the dark, but not so much to spotlight desire. It was easier to yield just a little more in the dark.

And wasn’t that a wonder? he thought as he waited for Cassie. Talking to Daemon was like having an older friend who not only knew things about women but was willing to tell you things.

Was willing to do more than tell.

“Put your hands on her waist. Like this. She’ll be so concerned with apologizing for that damn illusion spell, she won’t even notice your hands until the warmth seeps through her clothes. That moment when she becomes aware is when the romance needs to begin. She’s feeling vulnerable tonight. She’ll try to shy away. This is the moment when you offer just enough to make her want more. Let her lose a few hours’ sleep because you’ve given her a reason to think about you. To wonder about you. To dream about you.”

Then Daemon had shown him. . . .

“Gray?” Cassie called softly. “Gray, are you in there?”

“Back here,” he called.

Realizing a tactical error, he shifted so his back was against the shed. That way, once she was standing in front of him, it would be easy to shift so she was in the soft light and he was in the shadows.

She came around the corner, hesitated a moment, then hurried to reach him.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, sounding like she was braced for bad news.

“Why would something be wrong?”

“You’re outside.”

“It’s a soft night in early summer,” he replied, smiling. “The air is deliciously scented with all the things that are growing.” And I was waiting for you.

“Gray, I’m sorry about the illusion spell. I didn’t know it would upset you. I just wanted to look . . .” She pressed her lips together.

He shifted away from the wall and put his hands on her waist, holding her lightly. “How did you want to look?”

“Pretty. Or as pretty as someone like me can look.”

He heard pain and bitterness in her voice, and he suspected someone had inflicted a deep wound at some time in her life, but he didn’t understand what that wound had to do with her using that stupid illusion spell. “Why do you want to be pretty when you’re already beautiful?”

So vulnerable.

She didn’t believe him. Couldn’t believe him.

She drew in a breath, probably to deny what he’d said. Instead, she looked at him, and he saw the moment she realized his hands were on her, realized how close they were standing, realized what the brush of her body was doing to his.

“Cassie,” Gray whispered.

He placed the first feather kiss at the corner of her mouth and worked his way along a cheekbone up to her temple. “Cassie.”

“She doesn’t understand yet how you see her, boyo,” Daemon had said, “so don’t waste your breath on words that will cause her to pay attention to the wrong things.”

He didn’t waste his breath. He diligently practiced the things he’d been taught that evening and felt her melt against him, caught the intoxicating scent of her arousal, both physical and psychic. When she pressed her lips to his and slipped her tongue in his mouth, he wrapped his arms around her and almost ignored the last instruction.

His self-preservation kicked in when he remembered who would demand an explanation if he ignored that last instruction.

He waited until she broke the kiss before he eased back—and added the footnote to the evening.

“Everything has a price, Lady,” Gray said, smiling. “You owe me a little something for that illusion spell.”

A jumble of emotions in her hazel eyes, wariness and arousal being dominant. “What do I owe you?”

“The answer to a question.”

She relaxed a little.

“Are the freckles only on your face?”

Her face colored. She swallowed hard and eventually said, “No, they’re not just on my face.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing the rest of them.” He stepped back, not sure if he wanted to snarl or whimper about that particular instruction. “Come on. It’s late. I’ll walk you back to the house.”

She looked a little dazed during the walk back to the house. She looked more than a little confused as he nudged her inside and closed the door.

And he thought the light would be burning in her bedroom for a while longer that night.

Returning to his little room in the shed, he stripped and got into bed. He wanted to write the letter to Lord Burle and ask about the plants, but he didn’t feel quite ballsy enough to write a polite letter to Burle when he was having these kinds of feelings about the man’s daughter—and wanting to do things with that daughter that were less than polite.

So he turned off the lamp and lay in the dark, thinking about the evening. He’d made friends tonight. He was damaged, and they didn’t dismiss that, but even though nothing had been said, the High Lord, Lucivar, and Daemon had made it plain that they expected him to live up to his potential. And if he asked, they would show him how.

“Daemon? Have you kissed men before?”

“I have.” Sadi’s mouth curved in a predatory smile. “Some even survived the experience.”

“Have you taught other boys to kiss the way you just taught me?”

The smile softened, and there was an odd expression in Daemon’s gold eyes. “I taught Jared. And Blaed.”

Saetan swirled the brandy in the snifter.

“If I’d known about this bitch, she wouldn’t still be among the living.”

He should have known about her. Daemon had said the witch wasn’t a girl, and it was hard to believe this incident was the first time she’d flirted that way with a married man—especially because the detail of taking a shirt as a trophy kept tugging at him, making him think the scenario he’d told Jaenelle wasn’t just a scenario. It was also hard to believe she waited decades between her victims, which meant she’d been playing this game while he’d actively ruled Dhemlan.

And no one had told him. Even if the Queens, for some inexplicable reason, had chosen to remain ignorant of the bitch’s activities, at least one Warlord Prince should have had balls enough to come to the Hall and inform him.

His conclusion? Some of her prey had helped cover her tracks and hide her games.

He wasn’t interested in the men. Not yet, anyway. But the witch who had dared try to tangle up his son in her petty little game . . .

A flicker of memory, there and gone. A man’s anguish. A child’s face.

Or what was left of the child’s face.

There and gone.

Taking the brandy with him, he went out to one of the courtyards.

“When I stepped away from the living Realms, and Dhemlan,” he told the night sky, “I thought I’d given Daemon a healthy Territory and a clean slate to begin his rule. But it looks like I have some unfinished business after all.”