“Yes, they’re honed. Would you like me to test one on you to prove it?”

He just stared.

Surreal sighed. Since he was Eyrien, a Warlord Prince, and a relative, getting pissy with Lucivar about weapons was pointless. She decided to change the subject. “What’s wrong with Daemon and Jaenelle? They were snuggly in the carriage on the way to this party, and now . . .” She frowned. “Now Daemon has this look on his face—”

“His court mask.”

The sudden tension in Lucivar’s body and the wariness in his voice made her uneasy. “His what?”

“That’s the way he always looked in the Terreillean courts when he was a pleasure slave. Cold. Bored. His face was a mask that revealed nothing of what he was really thinking. It was a look that said, ‘You can touch my body, but you’ll never touch me.’ ”

That distracted her. “He actually let the bitches touch him—and they lived?”

“I didn’t say they lived,” Lucivar replied grimly.

Surreal shivered and went on to the second part. “Then there’s Jaenelle. One moment everything is fine, and the next it’s like she almost believes the rumors.”

“Hell’s fire,” Lucivar said. “This is the game. Daemon told me they were going to try to flush out whoever was behind the rumors. This is how they’re doing it.”

She thought it over, and her stomach churned at the possibility. The last time she’d been involved in one of Daemon’s “games,” the Sadist had scared the shit out of everyone in that Hayllian camp.

“It’s a game,” Lucivar repeated. “He knows his role— Mother Night, he’s played it enough times over the centuries.”

“And Jaenelle is pretending to waver between refusing to believe the rumors and wondering if there’s some truth to them?”

“That’s my guess.” He sighed. “Come on. We’d better find them.”

“I prefer watching the Sadist’s games from a distance.”

But when Lucivar threaded his way through the crowd to reach the ballroom, she swore under her breath and followed him.

Lektra pulled her cousin Tavey into a small alcove where she could keep an eye on the ballroom and still talk with relative privacy. Watching Daemon fawn over Jaenelle was beyond intolerable, and if he continued playing the ardent lover so publicly, all her efforts to free him would be ruined. So she had to do something now. It was unfortunate that she didn’t have time to find a male who could make the lie believable, but she had to hope that the shock of the claim would make Daemon react without thinking.

“This is what I want you to do,” she said. Tavey’s eyes widened as she told him.

“But he’s a Warlord Prince,” Tavey said, his voice rising until she shushed him.

“Exactly. By Protocol, if he’s told to walk away, he has to walk away.”