Tangled Webs

that was easy enough to find and open. Otherwise, the space would have no use.
    As she moved closer, the smell got stronger.
    Yes, there was the latch, made to look like a knot in the paneling. She shifted the witchlight so she could see inside as she opened the door and…
    “Well, shit.”
    “Did you find the clue?” Rainier asked, crossing the hallway to join her.
    She pulled the door open a little farther so they could both see inside. “I don’t know if it’s a clue, but I did find a body in a closet.”

TEN
     
     
    D aemon approached the Consort’s suite with weary eagerness. He usually enjoyed the business side of ruling Dhemlan and taking care of the family property and wealth, but today each thing had felt like a handful of grit being sprinkled over him. Before he gave himself to the best part of the day—those hours he would have with Jaenelle—he wanted a long, hot shower. No. A bath. The luxury of soaking away all the nattering voices he’d dealt with throughout a long morning’s worth of meetings and all the paperwork he’d waded through during the past few hours. The Dhemlan Queens were still nervous about dealing with him, and he understood that. When Jaenelle’s life had been threatened by a witch obsessed with having him , he’d made it brutally clear what he would do to protect someone he loved. So he understood why the Province Queens were anxious to assure him that they did have control over the territories they ruled within his Territory.
    But he really didn’t need to know all the damn details.
    And he really didn’t need anyone else trying to wheedle an invitation out of him to the private viewing of the spooky house, which everyone seemed to know about. Except him because, after all, why should Jaenelle’s husband know about a private viewing? Hell’s fire! He’d come back to the Hall to find a note from Lord Khardeen, who wanted to talk to him about the damn place—and Khary lived on the other side of the Realm!
    Rumors, he reminded himself. Just rumors, which were to be expected. Everyone was curious about this entertainment Jaenelle and Marian had created.
    When he saw the envelope on the dressing table, he huffed out a sound that was part sigh, part annoyance. No doubt it was another invitation to some kind of autumnal festivity. He’d have to ask Jaenelle how many of these things she was willing to attend. Even better, he’d ask the High Lord how many the ruler of Dhemlan was required to attend.
    He picked up the envelope, noting it was good-quality paper, then turned it over. Just a simple, decorative seal pressed into the wax. Nothing that belonged to an aristo family or a court. At least, not one he recognized. The writing had been done by an unfamiliar male hand.
    He opened the envelope and withdrew the invitation. Moments later, his anger arrowed toward one mind. «Beale!»
    While he waited for the Hall’s butler to answer the summons, he paced around the room, too upset to stand still and yet feeling more and more caged by his own need to move. Damn and damn and damn!
    The knock on the door was tentative, which told him how much his lash of temper had unnerved Beale.
    Since it was too tempting to rip through the door—and then rip through the man—he forced himself to stand still and used Craft to open the door with obvious control.
    “Prince?” Beale said when he entered the room. No sign of nerves in voice or stance, but in the eyes…Yes, there were nerves. After all, a Black-Jeweled Warlord Prince could do a vicious amount of damage to a Red-Jeweled Warlord—especially if the intent was to maim rather than kill.
    “Explain this.” Daemon held out the invitation.
    Beale came forward just far enough to take the invitation and read it. Then he glanced at the small clock on the dressing table. His skin turned gray as he looked at Daemon in horrified apology.
    “I have been down in my study doing paperwork for the past several hours,” Daemon said through gritted teeth. “I was home, Beale. I have no excuse for ignoring this invitation.” Summons, actually. They both understood what the wording meant.
    “The messenger was quite specific,” Beale said, stammering.
    “The invitation was to be delivered to the Consort’s room . He specified a place, not the person. So I thought, since it was for the Consort , the Lady was planning a private evening and had asked a friend to address the envelope so the contents would be a surprise for a little