Shalador's Lady

hall was closed, Daemon thought as he pounded down the stairs. At least the little beast didn’t know how to make a pass through a solid object. At least he’d only be chasing a flying boy around a contained space.
    Which was when Holt opened the door—and Daemonar dove right at the footman’s head. Startled, Holt dove for the floor, and Daemonar flew past him into the great hall and let out a happy squeal.
    Damn! Did someone just open the front door? If Daemonar got outside, it might take hours to catch him.
    Leaping over Holt, Daemon skidded into the great hall.
    And there was Lucivar, with his arms full of happy boy.
    “Hello, boyo,” Lucivar said, giving his bundle of boy a smacking kiss on the cheek.
    “Papa! Papa!”
    Daemon braced one hand on the wall and sucked in air while he watched the reunion.
    “Were you a good boy?” Lucivar asked Daemonar. He gave Daemon what might have been a sheepish look—if it had been anyone else but Lucivar.
    “Guess what, Papa! Unka Daemon fell out of a tree!”
    Daemon’s face burned with embarrassment.
    Lucivar kept his eyes on his son. “What was Uncle Daemon doing in the tree?”
    Daemonar suddenly turned shy and began playing with the gold chain that held Lucivar’s Birthright Red Jewel.
    “What was Uncle Daemon doing in the tree?” Lucivar asked again.
    Daemonar hesitated. “Falling.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    *Is Marian pregnant?* Daemon asked on a Red psychic thread.
    *We won’t know for a few weeks,* Lucivar replied.
    You know, you prick, Daemon thought. And Lucivar not giving him a straight answer was an answer.
    Lucivar’s gold eyes brightened when Jaenelle stepped into the great hall.
    “Hey, boyo.” Jaenelle smiled at Daemonar. “Are you going home without reading one last story with me?”
    “No! Put me down, Papa!”
    When Lucivar didn’t respond fast enough, Daemonar rammed his feet into his father’s gut and launched himself at Jaenelle.
    Too fast, Daemon thought as the boy winged toward Jaenelle. But Daemonar backwinged an arm’s length from his beloved auntie. He dipped and wobbled, but he landed without slamming into Jaenelle.
    “Excellent backwinging.” Jaenelle held out her hand as she gave Daemon and Lucivar a warm, amused look. “Come on. We’ll sit in Uncle Daemon’s study and read a story while he and your papa have a little chat.”
    When boy and Queen disappeared into the study, Lucivar rubbed his belly. “Well, so much for my minute of being important.”
    Daemon didn’t reply. He just crossed the great hall and went into the formal receiving room.
    Thank you, Beale, he thought when he saw the tray that held a decanter of brandy and two glasses. Normally he wouldn’t consider a drink before the midday meal, but today . . .
    “You’re looking a bit rough, old son,” Lucivar said as he came into the room and closed the door.
    Daemon poured himself a hefty glass of brandy and took a generous gulp. “If you got Marian pregnant, you damn well better have a girl, because if you don’t, I will twist your cock off. I swear it.”
    When he didn’t get a smart-ass reply, he turned and looked at his brother—and the look on Lucivar’s face made his heart pound. “What’s wrong? Is Marian all right?”
    “She’s fine. She’s good. Father is at the eyrie now, pampering her.” Lucivar made a face. “When I do something, it’s fussing. When he does the same damn thing, it’s pampering.”
    “He has a way with women,” Daemon said. “Lucivar . . .”
    “Was it that hard?” Lucivar asked. “I know the boy is a handful. Hell’s fire, Bastard, I know he is.”
    “We did all right,” Daemon said sourly.
    Lucivar sighed. “Look, next time I’ll leave him with the Eyriens and—”
    “No, you will not.” Daemon’s voice chilled. “You and I were given a particular code of honor when we were very young—a code that isn’t known by many, if any, who come from Terreille. And that is the code of honor our family will live by. So when your boy needs to spend some days away from you, he comes here. Is that understood?”
    “Not all Eyriens view honor as something they can bend to suit themselves,” Lucivar said cautiously.
    Falonar. The name of Lucivar’s former second-in-command wasn’t spoken, but it hung in the air between them.
    Then the moment, and the tension, were gone.
    “Look,” Daemon said, setting the brandy aside. “I’m just pissing and moaning. I fell out of a damn tree. I’m entitled to piss and