Kartane kicked a chair before dropping into another with his arms crossed and his legs sprawled forward, looking like a sulky child. “I have better ways to spend my afternoon,” he snarled.

Daemon turned, one eyebrow raised in question. Dorothea walked toward them, her eyes flashing with annoyance at Kartane’s behavior.

“Well, darling,” she purred, “we’ll do our best to amuse you.” She settled into the chair next to Kartane’s, and with a gracious gesture of her hand, indicated to Daemon that he should sit on her left.

Kartane sat up straighter, but kept a sulky look on his face. He flinched as the chairs behind him filled and female voices murmured as if they were in a theater waiting for the play to begin.

Dorothea clapped her hands, and the room became silent. Two massive, raw-looking guards bowed to Dorothea and left the room. They returned a moment later leading a slightly built man.

Daemon flicked a bored glance at the man being led to the posts, leaned away from Dorothea, and propped his chin in his hand.

Dorothea hissed quietly.

Daemon straightened in his chair, crossed his legs, and steepled his fingers. “Not that it matters,” he drawled, “but what did he do?”

Dorothea put her hand on his thigh. “Curious?” she purred.

Daemon shrugged, ignoring the fingers sliding up his thigh.

Dorothea removed her hand, annoyed by the bored expression on Daemon’s face. “He didn’t do anything. I just felt like having him shaved.” She smiled maliciously, nodded to the guards, and watched with great interest as they fastened their victim spread-eagle to the posts. “He’s a Warlord but a valet by profession. Comes from a family who specializes in personal service to darker-Jeweled Blood. But after today, I doubt there’ll be a male in all of Hayll who’ll want him around. What do you think?”

Daemon shrugged and once more propped his chin on his hand.

When the man was securely fastened to the posts, one of the guards pulled the cloth off the table. There were appreciative murmurs from the audience as whips, nutcrushers, and various other instruments of torture were presented for view. The last things the guard picked up were the shaving knives.

Kartane felt ill and yet hopeful. If all of those things were being presented, maybe…

*No,* Daemon said on a spear thread, male to male.*She’ll shave him.*

*You don’t know for sure.*

*You can’t have the entertainment end too quickly.*

Kartane swallowed hard. *You don’t know for sure.*

*You’ll see.*

Dorothea raised one hand. The guard went to the far end of the table and raised the first whip. “What shall it be today, Sisters?” Dorothea called out gaily. “Shall we whip him?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” a number of female voices yelled.

“Or…”

There was applause and laughter as the guard, looking more nervous, raised the nutcrusher for their viewing.

“Or…” Dorothea pointed, and the guard lifted the shaving knives.

Kartane studied the floor, trying not to shake, trying not to bolt for the door. He knew he wouldn’t be allowed to leave, and he wondered with a touch of bitterness how Daemon could sit there looking so bored. Maybe because Sadi didn’t have any use for those organs anyway.