Lia shook her head and tsked sadly. “Someone your age really should know about these things. Didn’t your papa ever talk to you about that?”

“He talked to me at great length about a great many things. Including that.” Sniffing primly, Jared added, “He even demonstrated once.”

Lia almost spilled the juice all over her lap.

“Not like that,” Jared growled. He made a circle with his left hand and brought it toward the pointing forefinger of his right. When his hands were half a hand apart, he noticed how huge Lia’s eyes had gotten—and quickly lowered his hands.

Lia gulped some juice. “That’s it?”

“That’s the gist of it.” And if he had to explain any more of it, he wouldn’t be putting a warming spell on the bathwater. Which reminded him of why he shouldn’t have to explain it. “Didn’t your mama ever talk to you about that?”

“Of course she did,” Lia huffed. Then she added, giving him a speculative look, “But she never said anything that looked quite like that.”

This conversation was going to kill him. He just knew it. “Your move,” he said a bit desperately, wanting to distract her.

She looked at the game board. “No, it isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t.”

“Move anyway.”

She moved a Blood male pawn.

He pounced on it with a Warlord.

Her pained gasp broke his heart.

He caught her as she stumbled away from the table. “I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Lia, I’m sorry.”

“He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me,” Lia sobbed. “If I hadn’t bought him, he’d still be alive.”

“Maybe,” Jared said. He gently stroked her back.

“He would.” She clutched his shirt and pressed her face against his shoulder. “He would.”

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” Jared gave her a little shake. “Listen to me. You may have heard the women the Gray Lady brought out of Raej talk about being enslaved and the brutality they endured, but you don’t know what it’s like for the males. You can’t.”

“I’ve heard—”

“You’ve heard nothing,” Jared said, sharpening his voice enough to prick her pride and make her raise her head and look at him. “You’ve heard what they would admit to, what the scars on their bodies won’t allow them to deny. But they aren’t going to tell you about the other kinds of wounds or the deep scars you can’t see. No man would tell a young Queen about the kinds of twisted games that are played in those courts. We’re all scarred, Lia. We’re stripped of our honor and our pride. We’re punished when we act like Blood males and punished when we don’t. Dorothea SaDiablo and the Queens who dance to her tune don’t just rape a man’s body; they rape his soul. They take what’s good in a man and twist it out of all recognition.”