Queen of the Darkness

was the stand she was going to take, so he tried to shift them to different ground. "All right. We should have reported it." Or taken care of it themselves better than they had.
    She stared at him suspiciously. "Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?"
    Daemon raised one eyebrow. "I would think you would prefer having males agree with you," he said mildly. "Should I keep arguing?"
    "When any of you gives up this quickly, it's only because another of you has gotten into position to continue the argument from another angle."
    "You make the First Circle sound like a hunting pack," Daemon said, trying hard to suppress a chuckle.
    "I think they learned that tactic from the wolves," Jaenelle replied sourly.
    Daemon began massaging her neck and shoulders.
    She closed her eyes. "Did you know you and Lucivar were the only living human males in the First Circle that Vania didn't try to bed?"
    "She wouldn't have dared try with me," Daemon said too softly.
    "And she was smart not to try with Lucivar. When someone puts him in that position, he has a tendency to hit first and discuss after."
    "Sounds like a successful deterrent."
    "Mmm. Oh, right there."
    Daemon obligingly focused on a knot of tight muscle. As he caressed and massaged, he subtly coaxed her to lean against him until her arms were around his waist and her head rested on his shoulder. "Lucivar's very hurt over your being so angry with him," he said quietly. "All the boyos are."
    "I know." She sighed. "I'm too tired to think of a task for each of them. I guess I'll have to stub my toe."
    "I beg your pardon?" His hands stopped caressing for a moment.
    "I'll stub my toe, and then I'll let them all fuss and fetch and carry, and they'll know I'm not angry with them anymore."
    "They'll actually believe a stubbed toe is a serious injury?"
    Jaenelle snorted softly. "Of course not. It's more like a ritual."
    "I see. The Queen can't apologize for the discipline but has to give a clear signal that it's done."
    "Exactly. If it had been just one of them, I would have asked his assistance with something that I could just as easily do myself, and he would have understood. With so many, I'll have to let them fuss." Her voice took on a bit of a growl. "They'll plump pillows and tuck blankets around me that I don't want. They'll make me take naps.''
    "So it's not just forgiveness, but a little revenge thrown in."
    "The revenge isn't so little. Usually, one of the coven will sneak a book in so I can read during my 'naps.' Once, when Papa came in to check on me, I stuffed the book under a pillow, but not quite well enough. He didn't say anything. When Khary and Aaron came in, he even poked the book farther under the pillow to hide it better. Then Saetan had the balls to say I looked flush so that they could fuss even more."
    Daemon paused for a moment, sorting through the distinction she made between "Papa" and "Saetan." "Sweetheart," he said carefully, "if Saetan has balls, then so does Papa."
    "It sounds disrespectful somehow to say that about Papa."
    "I see," Daemon said in a tone of voice that indicated he didn't see at all.
    "Papa," Jaenelle explained, "is charming and intelligent, a well-rounded companion."
    Thinking of Saetan and Sylvia, Daemon said dryly, "I don't think Saetan is the companion who's well-rounded."
    A long pause. Then, "You would call Sylvia's figure well-rounded?"
    Daemon bit his tongue. Was she asking about Sylvia because she had picked up a stray thought of his or through an obvious connection of topics? And how in the name of Hell was a Consort supposed to safely answer that? "Her figure is more well-rounded than his," he hedged—and then threw Saetan into the verbal pit without a qualm. "They do seem fond of each other, even if Sylvia won't lend him that book."
    When Jaenelle raised her head, there was nothing cold about the gleam in her eyes. "What book?"
     
    "You mentioned what!"
    Daemon rubbed the back of his neck as he warily studied his father. He had felt some obligation, male to male, to give Saetan fair warning—and now sincerely wished he hadn't.
    Saetan stared at him. "Whatever possessed you to tell her about it in the first place?"
    Oh, no. He was not going to repeat anything that had led up to that comment. "Jaenelle's in a much better mood now."
    "I'm sure she is." Saetan rubbed his hands over his face. "What's she doing now?"
    "Resting," Daemon said. "I'm going to talk to Beale about having a tray brought to her sitting room. We'll