After she left for the Hall yesterday morning, he’d summoned Marcus and had exhausted the energy and patience of his man of business by reviewing every possible business transaction that might come up in the next few weeks. If Surreal succeeded in finding out what was troubling Jaenelle, if she actually managed to fix the problem so that Jaenelle wanted his company again, he wasn’t going to allow anything to intrude on his time with his Lady.

But he needed to keep busy until he heard from her—or from Jaenelle. Maybe he’d contact Lucivar and invite him to dinner. Or go to the Keep and spend a few hours with his father. He’d been choking on his fear of losing Jaenelle but had said nothing to anyone except Surreal. Now . . . Maybe he should get another male’s opinion? But Lucivar would be too blunt and probably have the unfortunate effect of honing a temper that didn’t need honing. Saetan, however, might be able to offer an insight into Jaenelle’s emotional retreat . . . or even an assurance that it was a stage of healing and would pass. Maybe . . . Maybe even talking to Saetan about the nightmare that kept plaguing him might help, although lately, the erotic dreams were giving him more physical and emotional discomfort.

Shaking off those thoughts, he entered the bookshop and smiled at the owner—and wondered why the man’s eyes cooled at the sight of him and the usual smile of greeting looked forced.

“Prince Sadi.” The shopkeeper sounded like he’d swallowed glass. “You’ve come for the books I was holding for you?”

“Yes—and a few others,” Daemon replied, starting to turn away from the counter to browse the shelves. He’d give the love stories to Marian. She and Jaenelle often exchanged books, so he knew she’d enjoy them.

“Very well.”

The reluctance in the shopkeeper’s voice stopped Daemon and had him turning back to study the man.

He doesn’t want me here, Daemon thought, stung by the unexpected reaction to his presence.

Feeling a hint of ice brush the edge of his temper, he walked to a part of the shop where the shelves hid the shopkeeper from view. For the sake of past, and possibly future, courtesy, it was better to keep his distance until the desire to shred the shopkeeper’s skin passed. After all, the man could be upset about something that had nothing to do with him.

Dismissing the shopkeeper for the time being, he began perusing the shelves of fiction, skipping over the love stories and straightforward adventures, and finally stopping at a section that looked interesting.