Of course he knew. He smelled the change in her scent the moment he walked in the room.

“Give him time, witch-child. He’s running scared. He loves you with everything that’s in him—and he’s just beginning to understand that it really is everything that’s in him.”

“I miss him.”

Saetan drew her closer and put an arm around her shoulders. “Not half as much as he’s missing you. And right about now, he’s wondering why he’d been such a fool as to ask you to come here.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s a mirror.” He kissed her head. “So tomorrow when he shows up, don’t tell him he looks like he hasn’t slept, because he hasn’t slept. And don’t bristle over whatever paltry excuse he makes about you needing a nap. Just tuck in with him so he can get some sleep—and let him heal his wounds in his own way.”

Those sapphire eyes looked at him, looked through him.

“Will he heal, Papa?”

“In order to be with you, Daemon needs to heal. So he’ll heal,” Saetan replied.

They sat quietly for a couple of minutes. Then Jaenelle said, “So why were you called to the Keep in Terreille?”

“For this.” He called in Cassidy’s note and handed the pages to her.

About halfway through the first page, Jaenelle began to chuckle. Wasn’t his reaction to the words, but he had suspected it would be hers.

“Oh, my,” Jaenelle said. “Cassie is really pissed.”

“And showing a fair amount of backbone,” Saetan said.

“She always had that, but she never had to fight for anything enough for it to show.”

“Looks like she’s fighting now.”

“And may the Darkness help whoever is dumb enough to get in her way.” Jaenelle folded the pages and handed them back to him. “She didn’t provide any dimensions. Hard to really know what she wants, isn’t it?”

He knew a leading question when he heard one. “Yes, it is. Any suggestions?” As if he hadn’t guessed.

Jaenelle smiled at him. “I think we know a good carpenter who could be persuaded to work in Dena Nehele for a few days.”

He returned her smile. “Yes, I think we do.”

CHAPTER 17 - KAELEER

CHAPTER 17

KAELEER

Daemon walked into his closet and pulled a white silk shirt off its hanger. As he stuffed one arm into a sleeve, he muttered, “It’s your own fault, you brainless fool. So do something about it.” And he damn well was going to do something about it just as soon as he got this miserable rag of a shirt over his shoul—

“Stop it,” Jazen snapped, rushing into the closet. “Stop!You’ll rip the seams.”

Daemon bared his teeth and snarled at his valet. “What’s wrong with Lord Aldric that he couldn’t get the measurements right? I give him enough business.”