by Anne Bishop
“Is Surreal ill?” Lucivar asked, shoving the door closed.
“She’s pregnant,” Daemon replied softly.
He rocked back on his heels. There hadn’t been a man in Surreal’s life in quite some time, so her unexpected pregnancy explained Daemon locking down the Hall against outsiders, and it explained why Surreal was here and not at her own house. It also explained the chill in Daemon’s temper and those glazed eyes.
Lucivar settled into a fighting stance, his wings half spread for balance—an instinctive response. “Am I here to help her drain her Jewels or to help you have a chat with the cock who danced with her?”
“I am the cock who danced with her,” Daemon crooned.
His lungs locked, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. “You?”
Daemon smiled.
Lucivar shuddered. “I’d like to talk to Surreal.”
“You don’t need my permission.”
“Today I do.”
Daemon’s smile became more gentle—and more terrifying. “Yes, today you do.”
Would I have walked out of this room intact if I hadn’t known that? He didn’t need to ask the question when he already knew the answer.
The study door opened, Daemon’s invitation for him to leave.
Turning his back on the Sadist was playing with suicide, but he did it. When he reached the door, Daemon said, “Lucivar? I want this baby.”
Lucivar looked over his shoulder. “I’ll talk to Surreal. And then you and I will talk.”
He walked out of the study. Beale stood in the great hall at the doorway leading to the informal receiving room and the staircase that led to the family wing.
“Anything I need to know?” he asked the butler.
“Lady Surreal saw her Healer in Amdarh and was given a tonic to help her body adjust to . . .” Beale fumbled, clearly reluctant to speak of something so personal when it pertained to the SaDiablo family—especially when none of them knew if Daemon would take offense at someone talking about Surreal.
Lucivar nodded so that Beale didn’t have to continue. “I’m going up now to talk to her—with the Prince’s permission.”
“I don’t believe Lady Surreal’s Jewels have been drained yet,” Beale said.
Not something I can do for her now, Lucivar thought as he strode through the corridors that led to Surreal’s suite.
Blood was the living river, and the body was the vessel for the power that made the Blood who and what they were. But everything had a price. When a witch wore darker Jewels, her moontimes were more uncomfortable and the pain of doing more than basic Craft during the first three days was fierce. That was the reason they drained their Jewels before a moontime—to let the body rest. And when they were pregnant, they submitted to someone else draining the reserve power in their Jewels so that their power didn’t try to fill the child in the womb—and destroy it.
He rapped once on Surreal’s sitting room door and went in before she answered. One look at her had him yanking back his temper because she didn’t need a man yelling at her, but he couldn’t stop himself from going up to the windows where she stood and opening his wings halfway to look more intimidating.
“Get off your feet,” he snarled.
“Take a piss in the wind,” she snarled back.
Relieved that she didn’t sound as sick as she looked, he took a step back to give her some room.
“Aren’t you going to ask how this happened?” Surreal said.
“I have two children. I know how it happened. What I don’t know is what you want to do about it.”
“Do about it? I’m keeping it! How could you think I would . . .” She burst into tears.
“Ah, Surreal.” He put his arms around her and cuddled her while she cried. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“I’m not upset,” she said, still crying. “My body is doing strange things, and it’s making me weepy. And being weepy because I can’t help it is not the same as being upset.”
Lucivar rubbed his cheek against her hair. “It will be all right. In a couple of days, you’ll swing over to bitchy and that will feel more normal to you.”
She punched him. He laughed.
When she seemed settled again, he called in a handkerchief and let her mop her face.
“What I meant was, what do you want to do about Sadi? Talk to me, Surreal.”
“I’d rather you talk to him.”
“After you tell me what you want. I thought Daemon had this place locked down to keep everyone out, but that’s not all of it, is it?”
“He says I can’t leave with his child.”
“Well, the baby can’t go anywhere without you for quite some time, and he can’t seriously expect you to stay inside the Hall for the next ten months.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that, sugar.” Surreal sniffled once more, then vanished the handkerchief. “He offered to marry me. Told me, more like it. A week from tomorrow.”
He loved his brother, but he wasn’t sure Daemon was emotionally ready to be anyone’s husband yet—if ever.
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I haven’t given him an answer yet.” She looked sad and wistful. “But I am going to marry him.”
“Why?” When she didn’t answer, he swore softly. “I know you care for Daemon. And he cares for you. But I’m not sure he can give you the kind of love a wife deserves from a husband.”
“I do have some conditions that he’ll have to agree to, and if he agrees, I think we can do well enough together.”
“You don’t have to settle for ‘well enough.’ ”
She turned away to stare out the window. “I want this baby, Lucivar. Not just a baby; this baby. And I want this chance at a marriage. I haven’t shared my life with anyone since Rainier, and we were never lovers, never had that kind of bond. Plenty of men since then have been willing to entertain a short-term liaison, especially if it got them an invitation to sit at a dinner table with Daemon and talk about whatever grand idea they had that needed a little financial backing. But men from the short-lived races didn’t want to have children who wouldn’t reach true adulthood in their lifetime, and men from the long-lived races saw their offspring’s lives cut short if I was the mother. I never fit in to either place. Sadi knows all that, but he wants this child too, regardless of whatever life span it may have. And I have the feeling that if he doesn’t have someone soon who can make a claim on his heart, he’ll become so cold and distant we’ll all lose him. Or he’ll become so lonely, he’ll accept the illusion of love and end up like his father, with a woman who loves ambition more than him. Well, I do love him, and I know he probably will never love me. But I can keep him from being alone, and I can give him a family of his own.”
“And what will you get?” Lucivar asked.
“I’ll get a family too.”
“Is that enough?”
“I’ll find out.”
“Then I guess I should talk to him about the wedding.”
“I need to talk to him first. Could you stay around for a little while?”
“All right.”
“Lucivar? Did you know Sadi is the High Lord now?”
Her words froze Lucivar’s heart. He’d suspected that Daemon had begun absorbing that side of Saetan’s duties years ago—Sadi was, after all, Saetan’s true heir—but he hadn’t wanted to see the evidence, hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what had been unspoken until now. He’d been afraid that once he admitted that Daemon was the High Lord, he would lose the man who was his brother.
He understood Surreal’s decision now. The Realms couldn’t afford to let Daemon slide into an isolated, lonely existence. None of them wanted to see Daemon repeat the mistakes in Saetan’s life—or see the rise of someone like Hekatah because of those mistakes. The new High Lord of Hell needed to be kept tethered to the living because the simple truth was he was more dangerous than his predecessor.
“Go on and talk to him,” Lucivar said. “Get things settled between you.”
He paused. “And then get off your feet.”
He thought her answer landed squarely on the side of bitchy, which pleased him because it meant she was feeling a little better—and he’d take bitchy over tears any day.
Surreal found Daemon standing in the middle of his study, watching her with those glazed gold eyes.
“I have some conditions,” she said. “If you can agree to them, I’ll marry you.”
“I’m listening,” he crooned.
Her throat closed up. She was dancing on the knife’s edge by making any demands of him, but now was the only time such things could be said—if she could get her voice working again.
He moved toward her slowly. He probably thought his movements weren’t threatening. Unfortunately, until things were settled between them, there was nothing about him that wasn’t threatening.
“Let me tell you what I think are some of your concerns,” he said as he stepped close enough to touch her. “The wife of the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan has to make a commitment to be faithful to her husband and take no lovers. Naturally, she would want the same commitment from her husband. Yes?”
“Yes,” Surreal whispered, staring at the Black Jewel peeking through the unbuttoned opening of his white silk shirt.
“But I don’t think you want to be married and celibate,” Daemon continued, his voice becoming a soothing caress. “And I think you enjoyed the pleasure I gave you in bed. Yes?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“So one of your conditions is that I be a husband to my wife in every way? That I don’t deny you the pleasure and comfort of sex?”
She nodded, still not daring to look into his eyes.
“I was aware of that when I made the offer, Surreal,” he said gently. “I can’t promise you a husband’s love, because I don’t know if I have that in me anymore. But I can promise you all of the social courtesies, all of the physical courtesies. That much I can, and will, give you.”
He lifted her chin with one finger, a silent command to look at him. “Is there anything else?”
“No. Yes. I don’t want to be locked up here for the next ten months!”
“If I agree to that, you, in turn, will try to tolerate occasional bouts of rabid protectiveness?”
She heard amusement in his voice and felt the slightest release of tension in his body.
“If you turn rabid, I’ll turn bitchy.”
He smiled. “Fair enough. One question. Is there a particular stone you would like for your wedding ring? Or a particular kind of setting?”
She shook her head. “Surprise me.”
“In that case, Lady . . .”
His lips touched hers, a soft kiss that remained soft but grew warmer. She floated on the sensation of being wrapped in the softest blanket. So soft, so deliciously warm. She felt light and heavy, and there was nothing in the world but his mouth so soft on hers and his hands lightly brushing her back under her shirt.
She wanted to snuggle down into that soft warmth and doze for hours, safe and content.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before Daemon raised his head and said, “Feel better?”
Her head began to clear, but the warm, sleepy feeling remained—and the sharp discomfort in her abdomen was gone.
“You drained my power,” she said. “Gray and Green.”
“Yes.” He kissed her temple.
“You going to kiss me like that every time you drain me?”
She felt him smile.
“I’m going to kiss you like that simply to kiss you like that. And I’ll do it often if it pleases you.”
Mother Night.
She felt the pull of desire between her legs, but the soft warmth wrapped around her again, and she didn’t want to do anything about that pull. Not right now.
“Once I drain your Jewels to give you an unfilled reservoir, your body will channel its power to them naturally, the same as it does during your moontime,” Daemon said. “I thought you would be more comfortable if I took a direct path this first time.”
She was pretty sure he’d wrapped some spells around her while kissing her, but she felt too comfortable and lazy and soft to care.
“Why don’t you snuggle down on the sofa in here and take a nap?” he said.
She nodded. She’d do anything to keep that voice stroking over her, petting her. And maybe tomorrow—or next month—she’d figure out why feeling that way should piss her off. For now, she let him settle her on the leather sofa in his study and tuck a light blanket around her.
“Rest, Surreal,” he said quietly as he ran a hand over her hair.
Rest, he’d said. So she obeyed.
EIGHT
Happy to have a few minutes when she wasn’t required to smile at women she wanted to knife, Surreal sat alone at a table near the ballroom windows, watching her husband partner one of the Province Queens in a dance.
Sadi hadn’t insulted anyone’s intelligence by pretending—or implying—that the reason the marriage had been planned with such speed was that he had suddenly fallen in love with his second-in-command. Besides, no one, male or female, who had participated in a pregnancy and saw the way Sadi and Yaslana responded whenever anyone came near her had any doubts about why Daemon was getting married again.
Some of the Province Queens who attended the brief ceremony and were now staying for the afternoon-long reception resented Surreal for standing between them and Sadi all those years, certain she’d done it so that she would be in position to snag the coveted title of lover or the more lucrative title of wife at a time when Sadi might be emotionally vulnerable—like, for example, the day his father finally became a whisper in the Darkness. Other Ladies were noticeably relieved that Daemon had remarried and had chosen someone whose temper and ambitions weren’t likely to give anyone unpleasant surprises. A few were genuinely happy for her.
All the Queens’ Consorts were hearty in their congratulations since her new title of “wife” meant their Ladies would no longer dare look in Sadi’s direction—which meant their own positions in the courts were secure at least for the duration of their contracts.
But whether they resented her, were relieved for themselves, or were happy that the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan had a steady sexual companion, they had all been careful of how they approached her.
Not because they felt threatened by her, Surreal thought with a dollop of resentment, but because the consequences of pissing off Daemon or Lucivar right now were bound to be painful—and messy.
“Am I interrupting?”
Surreal smiled at Lady Zhara. “Not at all. Please join me.” She and the Queen of Amdarh had had their share of disagreements over the years, but despite that, they had become friendly and worked well together.
Zhara set a plate on the table. “I thought you might be feeling up to a little nibble now that the ceremony is over and your nerves have settled. When I was pregnant with my first child, I found that a bite or two every couple of hours was easier to handle than a meal, especially in the early stages.” She studied Surreal. “But if seeing or smelling food makes you queasy, I’ll remove the plate right now. Is that why you’re sitting so far away from the feast?”
Surreal selected a triangle of toast that held a bit of chopped beef. “I wasn’t sitting away from the food; I was sitting close to the windows and fresh air. And, actually, I could use a bit of food now. Breakfast didn’t stay down this morning.”
Zhara made a sympathetic face. “It will get better.” She selected a slice of fruit from the plate and tipped her head toward the center of the room. “I’m surprised Prince Sadi isn’t dancing attendance on you instead of dancing with the guests. Especially since you weren’t feeling well this morning.”
Snarling, Surreal selected a cube of cheese. “After the wedding ceremony and well-wishing were completed, I went to the bathroom to pee. Just to pee. And he followed me inside the room and intended to stay so that I wouldn’t—I don’t know—fall over in a faint and crack my skull or
some other such nonsense. After I tried to punch him, I told him if he didn’t stop fussing and give me some breathing room, he would have the distinction of being married and divorced on the same day. Which is why he’s currently over there and I’m over here.”
Zhara swallowed hard. Surreal couldn’t tell if the woman was appalled or amused.
“Mother Night,” Zhara finally said. “But he did respect your wishes.”
“You think so? The bastard sicced the Scelties on me!”
*He did not sic us.* The duet of voices came from under the table. *We volunteered.*
Zhara pressed her lips together and stared at the ceiling. Her shoulders shook.
Surreal pondered the plate of food. That flash of temper seemed to clear up the last of the morning wobbles, so she began eating with more enthusiasm.
Holt wandered by, set two wineglasses on the table, and wandered off.
Zhara picked up a glass and sniffed. “I’m guessing this one has water.” She set that one in front of Surreal, then took a sip from the other glass and nodded her approval. “Your ring is lovely. The design looks like something Banard would do, but I’ve never seen a stone like that.”
“It’s called earth’s moonlight,” Surreal said, holding out her hand so that Zhara could get a better look. The stone was a translucent dove gray that looked like it held streams of light. The ring, made of yellow and white gold, swirled around the center stone and had small diamonds.
“The design is like the moon and stars,” Zhara said.
Surreal felt a funny little twitch in her chest. “The stone is only found in Dea al Mon, which is why most people have never seen one.” Which meant Daemon had gone to the Dea al Mon, her mother’s people, to purchase that stone for her ring.
“None of your kinsmen are here today?” Zhara asked.
Nothing sly about the question, no digging for gossip. She heard delicate concern in the older Queen’s voice.
“We decided to do three small gatherings instead of one large one,” Surreal said. “The Queens from Kaeleer’s other Territories will be coming next week for an informal afternoon, and the following week, Daemon and I will spend a day with my mother’s clan.”
