“It’s paid.” He couldn’t sense her mood, and that frightened him. “Jaenelle—”

She held up her left hand, commanding silence. He felt sick relief when he saw she still wore her wedding ring.

“I am what I am,” he said.

Nodding, she turned to face him. “A Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince who grew up in a brutal training ground. That shaped what you are when you become a weapon. But that’s only one side of you. The other side is a warm, caring man with a sharp sense of humor and more tolerance for the foolishness of others than you’ll ever admit to having. I can accept the Sadist as well as Daemon Sadi. The question is, can you accept me?”

“I do.” He took a step toward her. “I always have.”

Jaenelle shook her head. “I’m no longer stronger than you. I no longer wear a Jewel that eclipses your power.”

“I know that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You lost—”

“Nothing. Until you can accept that, you’ll keep stumbling over this.” She tapped a finger against Twilight’s Dawn. Then she held out her hand. “There’s something you need to see.”

He slipped his hand into hers. One moment they were standing in their sitting room. The next moment, he was standing in a mist-filled place in the abyss. He’d been in the Misty Place twice before—and he wondered why Jaenelle had brought him here now.

The mist retreated, forming a circular boundary. Almost circular. Straight ahead of him there was clear ground.

*Jaenelle?*

No answer. Since there was something she wanted him to see, he moved forward cautiously until he came to the edge and could look down into a vast chasm.

But it was the huge, spiraling web filling the chasm that took his breath away. Anchored to the Misty Place, it curved until it touched the other side of the chasm, then curved again, gently spiraling, going so deep into the abyss he couldn’t see the end of it.

As he studied it, trying to understand, he felt a shiver of power far, far, far below him at the same moment he heard the quiet click of hoof on stone. Turning, he saw her step out of the mist. Here, her true nature wasn’t hidden beneath human flesh. Here, she looked like what she was—a living myth, dreams made flesh. The same face and a mostly human body, but a tiny spiral horn rose from her forehead, her fingers had retractable claws, and she stood on delicate hooves instead of human feet. Witch.

She watched him with those ancient sapphire eyes. And waited.