But the psychic scents in the room, combined with the muskiness of sex, made his own body tighten. Rage and fear filled the room, along with a hatred so deep it caught in the back of the throat like a bitter mist. If he’d walked into that room without already knowing both people were safe and unharmed, he would have been tearing the Hall apart to find Daemon and Jaenelle, certain one or both would be desperately hurt.

And there was something under all those other scents that he recognized, that he—and Daemon—would have to deal with.

But not yet. Not until his boy was feeling steady again.

He turned his back on the room and gave Helene the frame that held the cleansing web, and explained what it would do.

“Please give my thanks to the Ladies,” Helene said. “This will help to clean the room.” She looked at Beale and Jazen. “The fewer women in the room right now, the better.”

“I’ll help with the cleaning,” Jazen said. “And I’ll make sure the clothes don’t need to be aired.”

“I’ll send up Holt to assist,” Beale said.

Helene turned to Saetan. “We’ll have the room done in a few hours.”

“Good,” Saetan replied. “Jazen, leave a complete change of clothes in my sitting room for the Prince.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Beale? Is there something else that needs my attention?”

“Prince Aaron is down in the breakfast room, waiting for Lady Angelline,” Beale said. “The Prince’s guest is pacing in the formal receiving room, muttering to himself.”

“Inform Prince Theran that someone will be available in an hour if he wants to discuss anything.”

“Very good, High Lord.”

There was a look in Beale’s eyes that told him plainly enough that the butler wasn’t going to inform Theran about who would be available for that discussion.

What was it about the Dena Nehele Warlord Prince that raised the hackles of Kaeleer males?

Still wondering about that, he walked back into his bedroom and found Daemon tucked in his bed. The body belonged to a full-grown man, but the eyes that watched him, so full of despair, belonged to a boy.

He sat on the side of the bed. “She’s all right,” he said softly. “In better shape than you are, actually.”

“There were bruises,” Daemon whispered. “On her wrists. I saw them.”

Saetan nodded. “Yes, there are. And there are a few love bites, which I didn’t see. And her leg muscles are sore, but you and Nighthawk are being given equal blame for those.”

“Oh.”

The smallest twitch of lips; a hint of amusement in the golden eyes; the tight muscles in the shoulders beginning to relax one breath at a time.

He knew the signs, had watched this son struggle to repair himself once before when he’d believed Jaenelle had been lost forever.