“You’re forgetting about the Master of the Guard,” Hekatah said.

Daemon smiled a gentle, brutal smile. “No, I haven’t. I didn’t forget about Prothvar or Mephis either. They’re no longer a concern.”

For a moment, Saetan thought Hekatah had gutted him. But while the wound wasn’t physical, the pain was. “No,” he said. “No. You couldn’t have.”

Daemon laughed. “Couldn’t I? Then where are they, old man?”

Because he had wondered the same thing, Saetan couldn’t answer that. But he still found himself denying it. “You couldn’t have. They’re your family.”

“My family,” Daemon said thoughtfully. “How convenient that they decided to become ‘family’ after I became the Consort to the strongest Queen in the history of the Blood.”

“That’s not true,” Saetan said, straining forward despite the knife Hekatah still held against his belly. It was mad to be arguing about this, but all his instincts shouted at him that it had to be now, that there might not be another chance to alter that look in Daemon’s eyes.

“Isn’t it?” Daemon said bitterly. “Then where were they 1,700 years ago when I was a child? Where were you? Where were any of you during all the years between then and now? Don’t talk to me about family, High Lord.”

Saetan sagged against the post. Mother Night, every worry he’d had about Daemon’s loyalty was coming true.

“How very touching,” Hekatah sneered. “Do you expect us to believe that? You’re your father’s son.”

Daemon’s gold eyes fastened on Hekatah. “I think it’s more accurate to say I’m the man my father might have been if he’d had the balls for it.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dorothea said suddenly. “It’s a trick, a trap. He’s lying.”

“It seems to be his day for it,” Surreal muttered bitterly.

Giving Surreal a brief, dismissive glance, Daemon shifted his attention to Dorothea. “Hello, darling. You look like a hag. It suits you.”

Dorothea hissed.

“I brought you a present,” Daemon said, glancing at Surreal again.

Dorothea looked at Surreal’s pointed ears and sneered. “I’ve heard of her. She’s nothing but a whore.”

“Yes,” Daemon agreed mildly, “she’s a first-class slut who will spread her legs for anything that will pay her. She’s also your granddaughter. Kartane’s child. The only one he’ll ever sire. The only continuation of your bloodline.”

“No slut is my granddaughter,” Dorothea snarled.

Daemon raised one eyebrow. “Really, darling, I thought that would be the convincing argument. The only difference between you is she’s under a male most of the time while you’re on top of him. But your legs are spread just as wide.” He paused. “Well, there is one other difference. Since she was getting paid for it, she had to acquire some skill in bed.”

Dorothea shook with rage. “Guards! Seize him!”