Cook thought about this, nodded, sniffed, and rose briskly from the table. “You’ll be needing some breakfast, then.”

“I’ve eaten, thanks.” Daemon set his cup on the counter. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around, and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “You’re a sweetheart,” he said huskily. Then he was out the back door, heading for the stables.

Even this early in the morning, the stables were in an uproar. The stable lads scowled at him as he entered. Guinness stood in the center of the square, a bottle tucked in the crook of his arm, snarling orders and swearing under his breath. When he saw Daemon, his heavy eyebrows formed a fierce line over bleary eyes.

“And what would the high and mighty want at this hour of the morning?” Guinness snapped. He put the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow.

They knew, Daemon thought as he took the bottle from Guinness and helped himself. Whatever it was Jaenelle brought to this place was already fading, and they knew. Handing the bottle back to Guinness, he said quietly, “Saddle Dark Dancer.”

“Have ya been kicked in the head recently?” Guinness shouted, glaring at Daemon. “That one kicked down half his stall last night and tried to turn Andrew into pulp. You won’t get a brisk morning gallop out of him if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Daemon looked over his shoulder. Andrew leaned against the door of Dark Dancer’s stall, favoring one leg. “I’ll saddle him.” Daemon brushed past the stable lads, ignoring Guinness’s dark muttering.

When Daemon pulled the latch to open the top half of the door, Andrew thrust out a shaking hand to stop him. “He wants to kill something,” Andrew whispered.

Daemon looked at the sunken eyes in the pale, frightened face. “So do I.” He opened the door.

The stallion lunged toward the opening.

“Hush, Brother, hush,” Daemon said softly. “We must talk, you and I.” Daemon opened the bottom half of the door. The horse trembled. Daemon ran his hand along Dancer’s neck, regretting having washed Jaenelle’s scent from his skin when the horse turned its head toward him, looking for reassurance. Daemon kept his movements slow. When Dancer was saddled, Daemon led him into the square and mounted.

They went to the tree.

Daemon dismounted and leaned against the tree, staring in the direction of the house. The stallion jiggled the bit, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

“I wanted to say good-bye,” Daemon said quietly. For the first time, he truly saw the intelligence—and loneliness—in the horse’s eyes. After that, he couldn’t keep his voice from breaking as he tried to explain why Jaenelle was never going to come to the tree again, why there would be no more rides, no more caresses, no more talks. For a moment, something rippled in his mind. He had the odd sensation he was the one being talked to, explained to, and his words, echoing back, lacerated his heart. To be alone again. To never again see those arms held out in welcome. To never hear that voice say his name. To…