“Let it go,” Lucivar said. He deliberately looked at the bedroom door. “This is more important than avenging an old memory.”

The fury in Saetan’s eyes didn’t diminish, but he stepped back, walked down the hallway, and entered a room a few doors down from the one Lucivar stood in front of.

Knowing he’d managed to walk away from one battlefield, Lucivar took a deep breath, opened the door, and prepared to step onto the next one.

Karla was still storming around the room, bits of pillow stuffing stuck in her spiky white-blond hair. When she saw him, she planted her feet in the fighting stance he’d taught her, her eyes fired up for battle.

“What can I do to help you?” she demanded.

He almost laughed, but as he looked at her, he could hear Daemon’s voice whispering to him. She took the bait. Now use it. As long as she’s focused on helping you perform, she won’t be thinking about why you have to perform. Use what she’s offering to get her through what has to be done.

He sighed, then said hesitantly, “Maybe if we just sat together for a while.”

Alarm leaped into her eyes. Had he sounded too uncertain, too hesitant?

There weren’t many choices in the room. The armchairs by the hearth weren’t made to accommodate a man with wings, but there was one straight-backed chair that had been placed near the window. He led her to it and settled her on his lap.

They stared at each other.

Maybe it would have been easier at night, in the dark, instead of late afternoon with the heat and light of late summer pouring through the open window. Saetan had cleared this wing, so there were no gardeners working outside, no servants in the hallways. But there was still that awareness of people working and moving throughout the rest of the Hall. If Marian had been sitting on his lap, he wouldn’t have thought about those people—couldn’t honestly say he’d be thinking about anything at all except her.

He pushed that thought aside. It wasn’t smart to think of Marian right now. They weren’t lovers. He wasn’t breaking faith with her by being here. And even if they were lovers, seeing a witch through her Virgin Night was a duty to the court, not an act of infidelity.

Thinking about that wasn’t helping him either.

He looked at the brew warming in its glass container. No choice.

Using Craft, he lifted the glass container, poured its contents into the two goblets, set the container back on its stand, and extinguished the small tongue of witchfire. When the goblets floated over to him, he handed one to Karla and took the other.

“What is this?” Karla asked, sniffing cautiously.