Zhara swallowed hard. Surreal couldn’t tell if the woman was appalled or amused.
“Mother Night,” Zhara finally said. “But he did respect your wishes.”
“You think so? The bastard sicced the Scelties on me!”
*He did not sic us.* The duet of voices came from under the table. *We volunteered.*
Zhara pressed her lips together and stared at the ceiling. Her shoulders shook.
Surreal pondered the plate of food. That flash of temper seemed to clear up the last of the morning wobbles, so she began eating with more enthusiasm.
Holt wandered by, set two wineglasses on the table, and wandered off.
Zhara picked up a glass and sniffed. “I’m guessing this one has water.” She set that one in front of Surreal, then took a sip from the other glass and nodded her approval. “Your ring is lovely. The design looks like something Banard would do, but I’ve never seen a stone like that.”
“It’s called earth’s moonlight,” Surreal said, holding out her hand so that Zhara could get a better look. The stone was a translucent dove gray that looked like it held streams of light. The ring, made of yellow and white gold, swirled around the center stone and had small diamonds.
“The design is like the moon and stars,” Zhara said.
Surreal felt a funny little twitch in her chest. “The stone is only found in Dea al Mon, which is why most people have never seen one.” Which meant Daemon had gone to the Dea al Mon, her mother’s people, to purchase that stone for her ring.
“None of your kinsmen are here today?” Zhara asked.
Nothing sly about the question, no digging for gossip. She heard delicate concern in the older Queen’s voice.
“We decided to do three small gatherings instead of one large one,” Surreal said. “The Queens from Kaeleer’s other Territories will be coming next week for an informal afternoon, and the following week, Daemon and I will spend a day with my mother’s clan.”
“And for your honeymoon?”
“A week in Amdarh.”
“That’s not . . .” Zhara stopped. She shook her head. “Forgive me, but . . .”
Surreal grinned. “The Queen of Amdarh is about to tell me her city isn’t romantic enough for a honeymoon?”
“No, of course not. I love the city, but . . .” Flustered, Zhara stopped again.
“But you thought the Prince would choose someplace else?” When Zhara nodded, Surreal smiled, feeling a little misty about the other woman’s concern. “Amdarh was my choice. Shopping. Concerts. The theater. I won’t be able to stay in the city without Sadi or Yaslana as escort until after the baby is born—and I won’t put everyone at risk by trying to defy that request and provoke their protective instincts.”
Zhara knew how sharp Sadi’s protective instincts could be. She had been there when Daemon had threatened to purge Dhemlan the next time someone tried to harm Jaenelle Angelline.
Anyone who remembered that threat and learned Daemon was the High Lord of Hell now would be scared witless.
“I’m going to indulge myself in the shops and let him fuss over me while I do it,” Surreal continued. “That should please both of us.”
Zhara laughed. “Yes, it should. Ah. I think your husband has sent a negotiator.”
Surreal looked over her shoulder and saw Lucivar walking toward her.
Lucivar greeted Zhara, then held out his hand to Surreal. “We’re dancing.”
“Do you know how to negotiate?”
“Sure.You want to lead?”
Surreal looked at Zhara, who shrugged. Then she looked back at Lucivar. “Why are we dancing?”
“I think your husband figured if you didn’t kick me in the balls, you were ready to suffer a dance with him.”
Suffer a dance. That didn’t sound like words from a husband who hoped for a warm welcome on his wedding night.
“He’s really upset that I wouldn’t let him stay and watch me pee?”
She wasn’t sure Zhara was still breathing. She wasn’t sure Lucivar was breathing either until he said, “Well, shit. Come on. I’ll dance with you and knock some sense into his head afterward.”
“You’d have more luck knocking sense into a stone wall.”
“Don’t push it, witchling.”
So she danced with Lucivar, then was handed off to Holt. And she watched a roomful of Dhemlan’s Queens and their aristo companions stand there with their mouths hanging open when Lucivar grabbed his brother and almost yanked Daemon off his feet as he hauled Sadi out of the ballroom.
When they returned, both looking a little rumpled but otherwise unscathed, Daemon asked her for a dance—a request she granted.
“Lucivar says I’m being an ass,” Daemon said.
“He could have been looking in a mirror when he said it,” she replied sweetly.
He let out a startled laugh. “I like the suggestion, but he was right. I can’t protect you from morning sickness or the other physical discomforts that will come, but I do want to protect you. I don’t want you to hurt.”
“Everything has a price, Sadi.” She smiled at him. “But it eases the discomfort some to know you’re suffering with me in your own way.”
“Really?”
“Shit, no.”
Chuckling, he drew her closer. “All right, Lady. I will try to behave and be reasonable.”
“So will I, Prince. So will I.”
“Do you think Daemon and Lucivar have tossed the last of the guests out the door?” Surreal asked Marian hours later. Pleading fatigue halfway through the festivities, she had come up to the family sitting room, and Marian and the children had come with her.
“Don’t encourage Lucivar by saying things like that,” Marian said. “We live on a mountain. When someone gets tossed out of our house, there’s a long drop after the first step.”
Surreal set her dinner tray on the table in front of the sofa. “How did we end up playing hawks and hares by ourselves?”
“We let Daemonar and Titian go up to the playroom with the Scelties. They ran around until they all fell asleep. I didn’t want to run around, and you’re not allowed to run around. So we ended up here, playing hawks and hares, eating dinner off a tray, and not having to be polite.” Marian looked at the clock. “Shouldn’t you get ready for your wedding night?”
“Do you think there will be one?” She tried to smile, but her eyes filled with tears.