“I’d apologize for him, but there’s really no excuse for upsetting a woman during her moontime,” Saetan said as he removed his cape and laid it over the back of another chair. “His education in the Terreillean courts was abysmal at best, but he’s been in Kaeleer three years now. He should have acquired some understanding from dealing with the coven. Idiot.”

Marian’s hands curled into fists as she watched him rinse out the teakettle, fill it with fresh water, and put it on the stove to heat.

“He didn’t do anything,” Marian said.

“He upset you,” Saetan replied in a tone of voice only a fool would challenge. “He probably walked in here this morning and started roaring, telling you what you could and couldn’t do as if you were a simpleminded child instead of a grown woman who has enough sense to know when her body needs rest and care.”

The High Lord was on her side. So why did she want to take the skillet that was still sitting on the counter and smack him over the head with it?

Finding the mugs in one of the upper cupboards, he filled one with hot water and slipped a tea ball into it.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Saetan said. “I’ve had enough experience with Lucivar to see it all. You have duties and responsibilities that you take seriously. You would have planned for this and wouldn’t be doing more than you had to. But then he comes in, snapping and snarling, so what else can a witch do except defend herself and push back, insisting that she’s capable of doing more than she knows she can?” He brought the mug over to the table and placed it in front of her. “Here, sweetheart. This is a brew I make for Jaenelle when her moontime is troubling her. Drink it up.”

Reluctant to do anything that would please him after he’d insulted Lucivar but not having enough nerve to defy him, she lifted the mug and sniffed. It smelled good. She took a sip. It tasted even better.

“You’re making stew?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He washed his hands and began moving around her kitchen with a confidence that looked like he was used to being in kitchens. Which wasn’t likely.

“His social skills are rough, to put it kindly,” Saetan said. “He just smashes through an obstacle instead of considering if there’s a quieter way around it.”

Maybe Lucivar’s social skills were rough compared to a slick Hayllian, but that wasn’t saying much. She’d rather have rough and honest than slick any day.

“Here, darling.” Saetan returned to the table and placed a cutting board, the carrots, and a knife in front of her. “Do you feel well enough to cut up the carrots?”