Twilight's Dawn

said, “Thank you, Beale,” picked up his fork, and began to eat his first breakfast in a year.
    Surreal finished her own breakfast, glad of the delay, however fleeting, before she told him about the day’s task.
    “What are you doing here?” Daemon asked. “I thought you would be in Amdarh for . . . something Holt had mentioned.”
    “It’s a celebration for Lady Zhara, and it’s next week.” She swallowed some coffee, then added, “You’ll also be attending.”
    He put down his fork. “No, I will not.”
    “Zhara is the Queen of Amdarh, the capital city of Dhemlan, and you are the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. So, yes, you will be attending.”
    The room chilled, and Daemon said too softly, “No, I will not.”
    She waited. He’d regained enough of himself that his face and eyes didn’t betray the vicious internal struggle she knew had to be going on—just as she knew the decision had been made for him and who had made it.
    “So you’ll be there as my companion?” Daemon asked coldly.
    The moment he appeared at a social event, everyone would know he’d ended his year of mourning, and there would be women drooling over the chance to ride his cock—and make use of anything else they could squeeze from the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan. There were also women who believed they were in love with him and wanted to gain his attention.
    And there was a woman who had loved him for a lot of years and would continue to do her best to hide it because that was still the only way to help him.
    “Actually, sugar, I’ll be there as your guard, but I have a thigh sheath for my stiletto, so I’ll still be wearing a dress.”
    Daemon blinked. The chill faded from the room. “You’ll have a knife?”
    “I’ll have several. I usually do. But at least one will be visible, so no one can say they didn’t have sufficient warning if things get messy.”
    His lips twitched. He picked up his fork and took another bite of his breakfast. “So you came to the Hall this morning to tell me about this celebration?”
    Shit. “No, I came to clean out Jaenelle’s suite. Helene will help me.”
    Daemon set down the fork again. “No,” he crooned, “you will not.”
    She’d sometimes wondered if, with the right provocation, he would kill her without hesitation. She didn’t have to wonder anymore. The answer was in those glazed, murderously sleepy gold eyes.
    She gave a pointed look to the bare ring finger of his left hand. “You made your promise, Sadi, and I made mine. Today I’m going to keep that promise. Jaenelle wanted her suite cleaned out after the year of mourning ended. There are specific things she wanted saved and taken to the Keep. The rest are to be given away or sold.”
    He snarled at her, but it was a sound of pain rather than anger. Unfortunately, being driven by pain made him more dangerous.
    She pointed a finger at him. “And that right there is the reason why I’m doing this and you’re not.” She wanted to get out of this room before her bowels loosened past controlling, but she didn’t want to spend the next few decades wondering if the Sadist would pay her a visit. “You would never disobey your Queen. Why do you think I would disregard a request from her?”
    He looked away.
    “If there is something particular you would like to keep and it’s not on the list of items Jaenelle wanted stored at Ebon Askavi, I’ll set it aside for you,” Surreal said gently.
    Daemon hesitated, then shook his head.
    “Will you be around if I need to ask you about something?”
    “I’ll be in my study at least for the morning,” he replied. “I expect Holt has a long list of items he wants to review with me.” He pushed back from the table. “Keep your promise, Surreal. I won’t interfere.”
    She waited until he left the room before she allowed herself to sag for a moment. Then she straightened up and took a last sip of coffee. The sooner she and Helene cleaned out Jaenelle’s suite, the better it would be for all of them.

TWO

    T he Arachnian Queen, the Weaver of Dreams, delicately touched one thread of the web spun by Witch before the living myth became a song in the Darkness. This web had slept many years because the dreams it held had been too unshaped to become flesh. But something had changed, and now the golden spider could sense the whisper of wishes, of longings.
    Specific dreamers. Most unusual to tie threads to specific dreamers when the shaping had not yet begun. Too much chance that