Queen of the Darkness

agree to this, do we get to fuss for the next three days without getting snarled at?"
    That's all it took to change the Queen back into a stuttering, snarling younger sister. "Who is 'we'?" she asked ominously.
    "The family."
    Saetan wondered if anyone else had noticed that the look Daemon gave his brother should have left Lucivar bleeding. And he wondered if Lucivar even realized that, whether he had included or excluded Daemon under the term "family," it wasn't sitting well with the Queen's Consort. "Papa!" Jaenelle said, whirling around to face him. "Witch-child?" he replied mildly, but he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as Daemon's face shifted into a cold, unreadable mask.
    She stared at him for a moment, then whirled back to Lucivar. "Within reason," she snapped. "And I get to decide what's reasonable."
    When Lucivar just grinned at her, she stomped out of the study. The grin faded when he looked at Andulvar. "Since you're the Master of the Guard, she should have asked you to make the arrangements."
    Andulvar shrugged. "My ego's not bruised, puppy. She's too good a Queen not to understand the needs of the males who serve her. Right now, you need to make the arrangements more than I do." His smile had sharp edges. "But if you don't inform me of your arrangements, I will be insulted."
    "If you have time now, we could take a look at a map," Lucivar said.
    "You're learning, puppy," Andulvar said as he draped an arm over Lucivar's shoulders and led him out of the study. "You're learning."
    When Daemon made no move to leave, Saetan leaned against the blackwood desk. "Something on your mind, Prince?"
    "I don't give a damn what familial ties you and Lucivar claim to have with her, I am not her brother," Daemon said too quietly.
    "No one said you were. The fact that I'm her adopted father and you happen to be my son is irrelevant. You've never thought of her as a sister, and she's never thought of you as a brother. That hasn't changed."
    The chill in Daemon's eyes thawed to bleakness. "She may not think of me as a brother, but she also doesn't want me to be anything else."
    Saetan snapped to attention. "That isn't true."
    Daemon's soft laugh held bitterness and grief. "It usually takes me less than an hour to seduce a woman when I'm trying. And usually not more than two when I'm not. I can't even get close enough to talk to her most of the time."
    Daemon's acknowledged ability to seduce chilled Saetan. Because the people telling the tales didn't know they were talking about his son, he'd heard enough stories about the Sadist to feel uneasy. Those bedroom skills, like the man who wielded them, were a double-edged sword.
    If Daemon felt driven enough to use those skills prematurely...
    Saetan crossed his arms to hide the slight tremor in his hands. "The boyos find this little chase between you and Jaenelle amusing."
    "Do they?" Daemon asked too softly.
    "And, I confess, so do I." Or would, if I could be certain you weren't going to go for my throat before I finish this.
    Daemon's gold eyes held a bored, sleepy look Saetan knew too well—because there had been times when he had looked into a mirror and seen it in his own eyes.
    "Do you?" Daemon asked.
    "A couple of days ago, Jaenelle asked for my opinion about the dress she was wearing for dinner."
    "I remember it. It's a lovely gown."
    "I’m delighted that you appreciated it." Saetan paused. "Can you also appreciate that, in the thirteen years she's lived here, Jaenelle has never been concerned enough about clothes to ask for my opinion about something she was wearing. And can you appreciate that she wasn't asking for my opinion as her Steward or her father but as a man. And I admit that, considering the way that dress fit her, my opinion of it as a father would have differed considerably from my opinion as a man."
    Daemon almost smiled.
    "She sees you as a man, Daemon. A man, not a male friend. For the first time in her life, she's trying to deal with her own lust. So she's running."
    "She's not the only one trying to deal with it," Daemon muttered, but the sleepy look had changed to sharp interest. "I am her Consort. She could just—"
    Saetan shook his head. "Do you really think Jaenelle would demand that from you?"
    "No." Daemon raked his fingers through his hair. "What can I do?"
    "You don't need to do anything more than you're already doing." Saetan thought for a moment. "Do you know how to make a brew to ease moontime discomfort?"
    "I know how