Queen of the Darkness

using an Ebon-gray spear thread.
    *I'm coming in through the servants' door at the back of the hall.*
    *If any of them manage to slip past us, is there any way for them to reach the living quarters?*
    *The only way to the upper floors from that part of the Hall is by using the staircase in the informal receiving room. Don't worry about it. Kaelas is there. Nothing's going to get up those stairs. And the High Lord is coming down from that direction.*
    Daemon heard the carriages pull up in front of the Hall, saw Beale nod to the footman when someone banged on the door.
    Footsteps. Rustling clothes. Then a woman's voice.
    "I demand to see Wilhelmina Benedict."
    Cold rage slipped through him so fast he was riding the killing edge before he realized he'd taken the first step toward it. He hadn't heard her voice in thirteen years, but he recognized it.
    "Lady Benedict is not available," Beale said in a bland voice.
    "Don't tell me that. I'm the Queen of Chaillot and I—"
    Daemon stepped out of the receiving room. "Good afternoon, Alexandra," he said too calmly. "Such a pleasure to see you again."
    "You." Alexandra stared at him, her eyes wide and fearful. Then the anger came. "You arranged for that 'tour' of Briarwood, didn't you?"
    "All things considered, it was the least I could do." He took a step toward her. "I told you I would wash the streets of Beldon Mor with blood if you betrayed me."
    "You also said you would put me in my grave."
    "I decided that letting you live was a more thorough punishment."
    "You bastard! You—" Alexandra started shivering. All of her entourage started shivering.
    The intense, burning cold hit him a moment later, stunning him enough that he slipped away from the killing edge.
    A moment after that, Saetan stepped into the great hall.
    Is that what I look like when I go cold? Daemon wondered, unable to look away from glazed, sleepy eyes and the malevolently gentle smile.
    "Lady Angelline." Saetan's voice rolled through the Hall like soft thunder. "I always knew we would meet someday to settle the debt, but I never thought you would be foolish enough to come here."
    Alexandra clenched her hands but couldn't stop shaking. "I came to take my granddaughters home. Let them go, and we'll leave."
    "Lady Benedict will be informed that you're here. If she wants to see you, a meeting will be arranged—fully chaperoned, of course."
    "You dare imply that I present some kind of danger?"
    "I know you do. The only question is, how much of a danger."
    Alexandra's voice rose. "You have no right—"
    "I rule here," Saetan snarled. "You're the one who has no rights, Lady. None at all. Except those I grant you. And I grant you little."
    "I want to see my granddaughters. Both of them."
    Something savage flickered at the back of Saetan's eyes. He looked at Leland and Philip, then turned his attention back to Alexandra. His voice dropped into a singsong croon. "I had two long, terrible years in which to come up with the perfect execution for the three of you. It will take you two long, terrible years to die, and every minute of it will be filled with more pain than you can imagine. However, in this case, I must have my Queen's consent before I begin." He turned away from them. "Beale, prepare some rooms for our guests. They'll be staying with us for a while."
    As he walked past Daemon toward his study, their eyes met.
    Daemon looked at Leland, who was clinging to Philip and crying softly; at the other Queens and their males, who were cowering in a tight group; and, finally, at Alexandra, who stared at him with terrified eyes and whose skin was bleached of any color.
    Turning on his heel, he headed for the study and noticed Lucivar standing quietly at the back of the hall.
    *If you go in there, be careful, Bastard,* Lucivar said.
    Nodding, Daemon walked into the study.
    Saetan stood by the desk, carefully pouring a glass of brandy. He looked up, poured a second glass, and extended it toward Daemon.
    Daemon accepted the glass and took a healthy swallow, hoping it would thaw him a little.
    "Another male's rage shouldn't throw you so much it knocks you away from the killing edge," Saetan said quietly.
    "I'd never felt anything quite like that before."
    "And if you feel it again, will it throw you again?"
    Daemon looked at the man standing an arm's length away from him and understood it was the Steward of the Dark Court and not his father who was asking the question. "No, it won't."
    Moving carefully, as if he were