“Indulge me for a moment in a possible scenario.” Saetan waited for her nod of consent. “Daemon walks into his room at the Province Queen’s country house and finds a woman waiting for him, a woman who has been openly flirting with him and now indicates that she wants the kind of attention a married man reserves for his wife. He demands that she leave, and she does, wearing his shirt. A month later, a package arrives at the Hall, addressed in such a way that you’re the most likely person to open it, even though it’s not blatantly aimed at you. And inside the package is your husband’s shirt, smelling of another woman’s perfume. Smelling of another woman. And there’s a note, carefully phrased, that says something like ‘Hope your wife didn’t notice that a shirt was missing.’ What would you do?”

“Since she was clearly trying to hurt my husband by sending that package, I would find her, and we would have a little chat.”

A razored chill in her voice. A look in her sapphire eyes.

Yes, she and the woman who sent that package would have a little chat—and the webs Jaenelle would weave around the bitch would be a far more terrifying punishment than the physical penalty Daemon had devised.

And that, Saetan realized, was the reason Jaenelle didn’t understand. She knew the depth of Daemon’s loyalty, so she would react as though he was under attack and move to defend her husband—in the same way she had always responded whenever she thought her father was under attack.

Remembering how she responded to attacks on her family, he pulled back. Chained his own temper as he considered the best way to explain.

“Although,” Jaenelle added thoughtfully, “I suppose another woman would either file a complaint with the Province Queen or the District Queen who ruled her hometown.”

“And some of the men would have filed a complaint as soon as they got home, especially if they felt vulnerable because they had young children, and a charge of infidelity could end with paternity being denied at their children’s Birthright Ceremony.” Saetan shook his head. “I think once Daemon begins making discreet inquiries about that Lady’s activities, he’ll find that a number of complaints had been submitted—but were somehow lost before they reached someone with enough power or authority to make the woman’s activities public.”

“You don’t think this was about Daemon?”

“It wasn’t about Daemon—and it wasn’t about you. Not this time. Oh, I think she would have enjoyed the opportunity to bed him—which only proves she’s an arrogant fool—but I think she was more interested in having the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan owing her for her silence.”

“I see. Blackmail.”

Saetan nodded. “She’s not the first to play this game. She won’t be the last.”