Queen of the Darkness

company for a while."
    "Why?"
    "Do I need a reason?"
    Apparently that question meant something different to him because he carefully put the pen back in its holder, set his half-moon glasses on the desk, leaned back in his chair, and stared at the study door before fixing that stare on her.
    "If you're intending to watch me do paperwork, would you like to move that chair behind the desk?" he asked mildly.
    That would put him between her and any irate male— namely Daemon—who might come through the door. "What a marvelous idea," Surreal said. She picked up the chair and brought it around the desk.
    Before she could sit down, Saetan picked the chair up again and moved it closer to the bookcases that filled the back of the alcove. "Sit down," he said as he walked his fingers over the titles on one shelf. Selecting a book, he handed it to her. "This is a history of the Dea al Mon. You should learn a bit more about your mother's people. And it will be a reasonable excuse for why you're sitting there should anyone come in and wonder about it." He paused. Waited. "Are you expecting anyone?"
    "No, I'm not expecting anyone."
    "I see. In that case, I'll do a bit more paperwork while you catch your breath. Then we'll have a little chat."
    Surreal gave him a weak smile. "It seems to be my day for little chats."
    Fortunately, his response to that was muttered softly enough that she could pretend she didn't hear it.
----
    2 / Kaeleer
    Daemon stared at the empty corridor, shook his head, then kept walking. He'd spent the day walking, first on the grounds of the estate and now along the corridors of the Hall.
    In the month that he'd been in Kaeleer, he'd come to love the place. Loved the feel of it, the sprawling mass of it, the furnishings in it.
    And he was going to have to leave it.
    He'd come to that conclusion after another long, sleepless night. Oh, the boyos had tried to help with their stories about pursuing their Ladies, but it was becoming painfully clear that there was no hope for him. Maybe if he wasn't wearing the Consort's ring, wasn't reminded every minute of the relationship it implied, he could accept being just a friend or—may the Darkness help him—another older brother. Maybe he could get past desire that had become painful and just...
    Just what? Watch Jaenelle accept another man one day? Pretend he could quench the fire raging inside him?
    A month wasn't long, was no time at all in the courtship dance. But he had already waited so long for Witch to appear. Then, when she'd offered him the Consort's ring, he had hoped...
    He would talk to Saetan, give back the ring, see if there was a remote court somewhere in the Realm where he could serve out the required time in order to remain in Kaeleer. He would...
    A door opened. Jaenelle stepped into the corridor. Her face turned pale at the sight of him.
    He stopped walking. He might have to give up everything else, but he wouldn't give up loving her.
    "Um. Daemon," Jaenelle said in an odd voice. "Do you have a minute?"
    "Of course." It cost him, but he gave her a warm, reassuring smile and followed her into the room.
    Standing out of reach, she stared at the floor, looking uneasy and intense—as if she was trying to find the right way to break bad news.
    She's going to ask me to return the Consort's ring. As soon as that thought formed, Daemon ruthlessly buried any ideas about noble sacrifices. He wasn't going to give up that easily. And he wasn't going to return the Consort's ring without a fight.
    "How hard can it be?" Jaenelle muttered.
    Daemon just waited.
    Letting out a big sigh, Jaenelle walked up to him, braced her hands on his shoulders, rose up on her toes a little, mashed her lips against his, then scampered back out of reach and eyed him warily.
    Daemon wasn't sure what to say about this unexpected move. As a kiss, it left a lot to be desired. As a kiss from Jaenelle...
    It took effort not to lick his lips.
    "Are you nervous?" Jaenelle asked, still eyeing him warily.
    He was going to have a little chat with Surreal about the uselessness of cryptic advice. But at least he had some idea what the right answer should be.
    "Actually, I'm terrified that I may say or do something stupid and you won't want to kiss me again."
    Maybe that was too much of the right answer. Now she looked worried. Then she threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperated helplessness.
    "I don't know what I'm doing," she almost wailed. And then added under her breath, "Surreal