Shalador's Lady

a warning chill in his voice.
    “And I’m your father,” Saetan replied, “as well as the High Lord of Hell. I’ll have an honest answer this time, Prince.”
    They stared at each other, assessing, measuring. Then Daemon leashed the Warlord Prince in order to be a son again.
    “I don’t like knowing there are places where I’m fragile,” Daemon said. “I don’t like admitting I can be vulnerable.”
    “No man does. But very few men, if any, could have survived having their mind shattered twice and come back from it. Everything has a price, Daemon. Knowing there are some things you can’t do seems like a small price to pay for getting your life back.” Saetan studied his son. “There’s something else. What is it?”
    “I’ll be going into rut sometime in the next few weeks,” Daemon said.
    “And that worries you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Does it worry Jaenelle?”
    “No.” Daemon shifted his shoulders. “Could you talk to her? Make sure she’s willing after . . .”
    . . . after the attack.
    Daemon took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I need to get back. Jaenelle was sure she and Holt could deal with the boy for a few hours, but I don’t want to be away too long.”
    “I’ll talk to her,” Saetan said. “Soon.”
    Daemon nodded. “If Lucivar gets Marian pregnant again . . .”
    They both sighed.
    “If that happens, we’ll all deal with it,” he said. And hope for a girl.
    “I don’t think Eyriens created the hunting camps just to train boys to become warriors,” Daemon said thoughtfully. “I think they created them to send young males away from home because that was the only way Eyrien males would have siblings other than older sisters.”
    Saetan’s lips twitched. “You could be right. Yes, I think you could be right.”

    “Hello, witch-child.” Saetan pushed the books aside and turned to lean on the blackwood table. He’d been expecting her. That was why he hadn’t retired to his suite to rest during the harsher midday hours that were so draining for a Guardian.
    “Hello, Papa,” Jaenelle replied.
    She didn’t come to him for a hug. She didn’t look away. In fact, the fingers twining around and around one another was the only sign of nerves.
    The living myth. Dreams made flesh. The daughter of his soul. They had almost lost her when she purged the Realms of the Blood who were tainted by Dorothea and Hekatah. Now she was whole and healthy again, if still a bit too thin in his opinion. The golden hair, cut short while she was healing, looked shaggy now. He couldn’t tell if that was a deliberate style or the result of letting it grow.
    But it was the sapphire eyes that held him now as they had held him the first time he met her.
    “What is said between father and son is private, and I appreciate that,” Jaenelle said. “But I need to know if Daemon is all right.”
    “Are you asking about his back?”
    “I know about his back, Saetan.”
    And there it was—that hint of caverns and midnight in her voice that told him he was no longer talking to his daughter; he was talking to his Queen. To Witch.
    “Daemon Sadi is the most powerful male in Kaeleer,” Witch said. “He’s a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince with a temper that cannot be dismissed or taken lightly. He’s your equal.”
    “Actually, he’s dominant,” Saetan said quietly. “His power is a little darker than mine. Which makes him the most powerful male in the history of the Blood. I’m aware of that, Lady. What is your point?”
    “He slunk out of the bedroom this morning. He slunk out, Saetan. I need to know why.”
    “He was embarrassed because he had fallen asleep before making love to you last night. He thought there must be something wrong with him.”
    Jaenelle’s mouth fell open. She stared at him. Finally she said, “Well . . . Hell’s fire. He’s been chasing after Daemonar for two days. Why was he surprised that he fell asleep?”
    “Because, like his brother, he hasn’t taken into account that having the stamina to run other grown men into the ground is not the same thing as trying to keep up with a small, bright boy who leaps into exploring the world with all the arrogance of his race—to say nothing of having inherited Lucivar’s confidence in being able to meet any challenge the world foolishly chooses to toss at him.”
    “Oh.”
    “Were you disappointed that you didn’t make love last night?”
    She gave him a dry smile. “Frankly, I’m not sure either one of us