He stared over her shoulder. “Do you know the only thing more dangerous than a Warlord Prince? A married Warlord Prince who has someone playing games with his life that could threaten his marriage.”

Suddenly nothing was amusing. Provoked, Daemon was dangerous enough. Pushed to defend something, or someone, who truly mattered to him . . .

She shuddered. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“Let’s split up. Maybe we can learn something that will help end this.”

Lucivar shook his head. “Daemon may already have all the information he needs.”

Shit. She had a good idea what that meant. “I’m going to the ladies’ lounge and freshen up. I’ll meet you at the front door. I think I’d rather wait for the carriage outside.”

He headed back to the ballroom to talk to Rainier, and she headed for the lounge. It had struck her as odd that a private home would have a “lounge” until she discovered the owners often “loaned” out the downstairs rooms for a “monetary gift.” She didn’t know why they couldn’t just say they rented out their ballroom, but the lounge made sense, and right now, she was glad to have the privacy.

After taking care of personal needs, she sat down on a padded bench and closed her eyes.

“Are you feeling all right?”

Damn. She must be more tired than she thought. She hadn’t even heard the woman enter.

She opened her eyes and studied the woman who stood nearby, looking concerned. The face looked vaguely familiar, but she was certain she’d never met the other witch. She was also certain there was something about the woman that wasn’t quite . . . right. Something that put her on edge. Something that made her want to call in a knife.

She smiled and wrinkled her nose. “Just cramps,” she lied. “Sometimes they’re wicked mean.”

“I know the feeling. Let me get you something to drink.”

“No, that’s all right.” She shifted on the bench, prepared to get up and leave.

“It’s no trouble. Really.”

Suppressed excitement in the voice. A feverish glint in the eyes.

The witch opened the lounge door and whispered something to someone outside. Then she closed the door and leaned against it.

Bitch. Surreal felt fairly certain she’d just met the source of Daemon’s problems, but considering Daemon’s mood and Lucivar’s worry about Daemon’s mood, she’d prefer being absolutely certain before she said anything to either of them. And there was still the question of why anyone would be foolish enough to play with a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince.

It didn’t take long before someone knocked on the door. The witch opened it, and another Dhemlan witch Surreal didn’t recognize slipped into the room, carrying a glass.

Same suppressed excitement. Same feverish glint in the eyes.