There were too many undercurrents in this family, too many secrets. Alexandra balanced on a political knife’s edge, trying to remain the ruling power of Chaillot while Robert’s position in the male council that opposed her constantly undermined the trust she needed from the other Chaillot Queens. The rivalry between Robert and Philip was an open secret among the aristo Blood in Beldon Mor, and Alexandra’s inability to control her own family was causing doubts about her ability to rule the Territory. Add to that the social embarrassment of having a granddaughter who had been going in and out of a hospital for emotionally disturbed children since she was five years old.

And add to that having that same child admit that the High Lord of Hell, the Prince of the Darkness, the most powerful and dangerous Warlord Prince in the history of the Blood, was teaching her Craft.

Even if they thought it was just another story, they would lock her away for good to keep her from telling anyone who might listen. But if, for once, they did believe her, what else might they do to her to end the High Lord’s interest in her and keep themselves safe? And Daemon felt sure that there were things going on in Beldon Mor that Saetan wouldn’t be willing to overlook or forgive.

Daemon looked up and breathed a sigh of relief.

Jaenelle stood in the doorway wearing riding clothes. Her golden hair was braided and a riding hat perched on top of her head at a rakish angle. “I’m going riding. Want to come?”

“Oh, yes!” Wilhelmina said happily. “I’m done practicing.”

As he watched Wilhelmina dash out of the room, there was a bitter taste in Daemon’s mouth. The ashes of dreams. After all, he was Hayll’s Whore, a pleasure slave, an amusement for the ladies no matter what their age, a way to pass the time. He closed the music and made a pretense of straightening the stack. Why should he hope Jaenelle felt anything for him? Why should he hurt now like a child who’s not picked for a game?

Daemon turned. Jaenelle stood by the piano, studying him, a puzzled frown wrinkling her forehead.

“Don’t you ride, Prince?”

“Yes, I ride.”

“Oh.” She considered this. “Don’t you want to come?”

Daemon blinked. He looked at her beautiful, clear sapphire eyes. It had never occurred to her to exclude him. He smiled at her and gave her braid a gentle, playful tug. “Yes, I would like to come.”

She studied him again. “Don’t you have any other clothes?”

Daemon choked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re always dressed like that.”

Daemon looked at his perfectly tailored black suit and white silk shirt, completely taken aback. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

“Nothing. But if you wear those clothes, you’re going to get wrinkled.”

Daemon started coughing and thumped his chest to give himself time to swallow the laughter. “I have some riding clothes,” he wheezed.

“Oh, good.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement.