Heir to the Shadows

top step. The large man standing in the doorway had the stoic, unflappable expression of an upper servant, but he also wore, a Red Jewel.
    "Hello, Beale," Jaenelle said as she breezed through the door.
    Beale's lips turned up in the tiniest hint of a smile. "Lady."
    The smile disappeared when Lucivar walked in. "Prince," Beale said, bowing the exact, polite distance.
    The lazy, arrogant smile came automatically. "Lord Beale." He put enough bite in his voice to warn the other man not to tangle with him, but not enough to issue a challenge. He'd never challenged a servant in his life. On the other hand, he'd never met a Red-Jeweled Warlord who was a butler by profession.
    Ignoring the subtle, stiff-legged displays of dominance, Jaenelle called in the luggage and dumped it on the floor. "Beale? Would you ask Helene to prepare a suite in the family wing for Prince Yaslana?"
    "It would be my pleasure, Lady."
    Jaenelle pointed toward the back of the great hall. "Papa?"
    "In his study."
    Lucivar followed Jaenelle to the last right-hand door, trying, unsuccessfully, to think of another reason besides amusement for the sudden gleam in Beale's eyes.
    Jaenelle tapped on the door and went in before anyone answered. Lucivar followed close on her heels and then stumbled as the man standing in front of the blackwood desk turned around.
    Daemon.
    While they stared at each other, both too startled to respond, Lucivar took in the details that denied the gut reaction.
    The dark psychic scent was similar, yet subtly different. The man before him was an inch or two shorter than Daemon and more slender in build, but moved with the same feline grace. The thick black hair was silvered at the temples. His face—lined by laughter as well as by the weight of burdens—belonged to a man at the end of his prime or a little beyond. But that face. Masculine. Handsome. The warmer, rougher model for Daemon's cold, polished beauty. And the final touch—the long, black-tinted nails and the Black-Jeweled ring.
    Saetan crossed his arms, leaned back against the desk, and said mildly, "Witch-child, I'm going to throttle you."
    Instinctively, Lucivar bared his teeth and stepped forward to protect his Queen.
    Jaenelle's aggrieved, adolescent wail stopped him cold.
    "That's the sixth time in two weeks and I've barely been home!"
    Anger flooded Lucivar. How dare the High Lord threaten her!
    Except his darling Cat didn't seem the least bit intimidated and Saetan seemed to be fighting hard to keep a straight face.
    "Sixth time?" Saetan said, his deep voice still mild but laced with an undercurrent of amusement.
    "Twice from Prothvar, twice from Uncle Andulvar—"
    All the blood drained out of Lucivar's head. Uncle Andulvar?
    "—once from Mephis, and now you."
    Saetan's lips twitched. "Prothvar always wants to throttle you so that's no surprise, and you do have a knack for provoking Andulvar, but what did you do to annoy Mephis?"
    Jaenelle stuffed her hands in her trouser pockets. "I don't know," she grumped. "He said he couldn't discuss it while I was in the room."
    Saetan's rich, warm laugh filled the room. When his laughter and Jaenelle's temper were both at a simmer, he looked knowingly at Lucivar. "And I suppose Lucivar has never threatened to throttle you, so he wouldn't understand the impulse to express the desire even when there was no intention of ever carrying it out."
    "Oh, no," Jaenelle replied. "He just threatens to wallop me."
    Saetan stiffened. "I beg your pardon?" he asked softly, coldly.
    Lucivar shifted back into a fighting stance.
    Startled, Jaenelle looked at both of them. "You're going to argue about the word when you mean the same thing?"
    "Stay out of this, Cat," Lucivar snarled, watching his adversary.
    Snarling back, she threw a punch at him with enough temper behind it that it could have broken his jaw if  he hadn't dodged it.
    The tussle that followed was just turning into fun when Saetan roared, "Enough!" He glared at them until they
    separated, then he rubbed his temples and growled, "How in the name of Hell did the two of you manage to live together and survive?"
    Eyeing Jaenelle warily, Lucivar grinned. "She's harder to pin now."
    "Don't rub it in," Jaenelle muttered.
    Saetan sighed. "You might have warned me, witch-child."
    Jaenelle laced her fingers together. "Well, there really wasn't any way for Lucivar to be prepared, so I figured if you both were unprepared, you'd start out on even ground."
    They stared at her.
    She gave