"I propose an alternative," Cassandra said quickly, pressing her fists into her lap. She didn't even glance at Saetan. "Jaenelle could live with me. Everyone knows who—and what—Saetan is, but I—"

Titian twisted around in her chair. "Do you really believe no one in the Shadow Realm knows you're a Guardian? Did you really think your masquerading as one of the living had fooled anyone?"

Anger flared in Cassandra's eyes. "I've always been careful—"

"You've always been a liar. At least the High Lord has been honest about what he is."

"But heis the High Lord—and that's the point."

"Thepoint is you want to be the one who shapes Jaenelle just like Hekatah wants to shape Jaenelle, to mold her into an image ofyour choosing instead of letting her be what she is."

"How dare you speak to me like that? I'm a Black-Jeweled Queen!"

"You're not my Queen," Titian snarled.

"Ladies."Saetan's voice rolled through the room like soft thunder. He took a moment to steady his temper before turning his attention back to Draca.

"Sshe will live at the Hall," Draca said firmly. "It iss decided."

"Since you haven't discussed this with any of us until now,who decided this?" Cassandra said sharply.

"Lorn hass decided."

Saetan forgot how to breathe.

Hell's fire, Mother Night, and may the Darkness be merciful.

No one argued. No one made so much as a sound.

Saetan realized his hands were shaking. "Could I talk to him? There are some things he may not understand about—"

"He undersstandss, High Lord."

Saetan looked up at the Seneschal of Ebon Askavi.

"The time hass not yet come for you to meet him," Draca said. "But itwill come." She tipped her head slightly. It was as much deference as she ever showed to anyone. Except, perhaps, to Jaenelle.

They watched her leave, listening to her slow, careful footsteps until the sound faded away completely.

Andulvar let his breath out in an explosiveffooooh. "When she wants to cut someone off at the knees, she's got an impressive knife."

Saetan leaned his head against the chair and closed his eyes. "Doesn't she though?"

Cassandra carefully rearranged her shawl and stood up, not looking at any of them. "If you'll excuse me, I'll retire now."

They rose and bid her good night.

Titian also excused herself. But before she left, she gave Saetan a sly smile. "Living at the Hall with Jaenelle will probably be difficult, High Lord, but not for the reasons you think."

"Mother Night," Saetan muttered before turning to the other men.

Mephis cleared his throat. "Telling the waif she has to leave isn't going to be easy. You don't have to do it alone."

"Yes, I do, Mephis," Saetan replied wearily. "I made her a promise. I'm the one who has to tell her I'm going to break it."

He said good night and slowly made his way through the stone corridors until he reached the stairs that would take him to Jaenelle's suite. Instead of climbing them, he leaned against the wall, shivering.

He had promised her that she could stay. He hadpromised.

But Lorn had decided.

It was long after midnight before he joined her in the private garden connected to her suite. She gave him a sleepy, relaxed smile and held out her hand. Gratefully, he linked his fingers through hers.

"It was a lovely party," Jaenelle said as they strolled through the garden. "I'm glad you invited Char and Titian." She hesitated. "And I'm sorry it was so difficult for Cassandra."

Saetan gave her a considering look through narrowed eyes.

She acknowledged the look with a shrug.

"How much did you hear?"

"Eavesdropping is rude," she said primly.

"An answer that neatly sidesteps the question," he replied dryly.

"I didn'thear anything. But Ifelt you all grumbling."

Saetan drifted closer to her. She smelled of wildflowers and sun-drenched meadows and fern-shaded pools of water. It was a scent that was gently wild and elusive, that captivated a male because it didn't try to capture him.

It relaxed him—and slightly aroused him.

Even knowing it was a Warlord Prince's natural response to a Queen he felt emotionally bound to, even knowing he would never cross the distinct line that separated a father's affection from a lover's passion, he still felt ashamed of his reaction.

He looked at her, wanting the sharp reminder of who she was and how young she was. But it was Witch who looked back at him, Witch whose hand tightened on his so that he couldn't break the physical link.

"I suppose even a wise man can sometimes be a fool," she said in her midnight voice.

"I would never—" His voice broke. "You know I would never—"

He saw a flicker of amusement in her ancient, haunted eyes.

"Yes, / know. Do you? You adore women, Saetan. You always have. You like to be near them. You like to touch them." She held up their hands.

"This is different. You're my daughter."

"And so you will keep your distance from Witch?" she asked sadly.

He pulled her into his arms and held her so tightly she let out a breathless squeak. "Never," he said fiercely.

"Papa?" Jaenelle said faintly. "Papa, I can't breathe."

He immediately loosened his hold but didn't let go.

Soft night sounds filled the garden. The spring wind sighed.

"This mood of yours has something to do with Cassandra, doesn't it?" Jaenelle asked.

"A little." He rested his cheek against her head. "We have to leave the Keep."

Her body tensed so much his ached in response.

"Why?" she finally asked, leaning back far enough to see his face.

"Because Lorn has decided we should live at the Hall."

"Oh." Then she added, "No wonder you're moody."

Saetan laughed. "Yes. Well. He does have a way of limiting one's options." He gently brushed her hair away from her face. "I do want to live at the Hall with you. I want that very much. But if you want to live somewhere else or have any reservations about leaving the Keep right now, I'll fight him over it."

Her eyes widened until they were huge. "Oh, dear. That wouldn't be a good idea, Saetan. He'smuch bigger than you."

Saetan tried to swallow. "I'll still fight him."

"Oh, dear." She took a deep breath. "Let's try living at the Hall."

"Thank you, witch-child," he said weakly.

She wrapped an arm around his waist. "You look a bit wobbly."

"Then I look better than I feel," he said, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Come along, little witch. The next few days are going to be hectic, and we'll both need our rest."

8 / Kaeleer

Saetan opened the front door of SaDiablo Hall and stepped into orchestrated chaos.

Maids flitted in every direction. Footmen lugged pieces of furniture from one room to another for no reason he could fathom. Gardeners trotted in with armloads of freshly cut flowers.

Standing in the center of the great hall, holding along list in one hand while conducting the various people and parcels to their rightful places with the other, was Beale, his Red-Jeweled butler.

Somewhat bemused, Saetan walked toward Beale, hoping for an explanation. By the time he'd taken half a dozen steps, he realized that a walking obstacle had not been taken into account in this frenzied dance. Maids bumped into him, their annoyed expressions barely changing upon recognizing their employer, and their "Excuse me, High Lord," just short of being rude.

When he finally reached Beale, he gave his butler a sharp poke in the shoulder.

Beale glanced back, noticed Saetan's stony expression, and lowered his arms. A thud immediately followed, and a maid began wailing, "Now look what you've done."

Beale cleared his throat, tugged his vest down over his

girth, and waited, a slightly flushed but once more imperturbable butler.

"Tell me, Beale," Saetan crooned, "do you know who I am?"

Beale blinked. "You're the High Lord, High Lord."

"Ah, good. Since you recognize me, I must still be in human form."

"High Lord?"

"I don't look like a freestanding lamp, for example, so no one's going to try to tuck me into a corner and put a couple of candle-lights in my ears. And I won't be mistaken for an animated curio table that someone will leash to a chair so I don't wander off too far."

Beale's eyes bugged out a bit but he quickly recovered. "No, High Lord. You look exactly as you did yesterday."

Saetan crossed his arms and took his time considering this. "Do you suppose if I go into my study and stay there, I might escape being dusted, polished, or otherwise rearranged?"

"Oh, yes, High Lord. Your study was cleaned this morning."

"Will I recognize it?" Saetan murmured. He retreated to his study and sighed with relief. It was all the same furniture, and it was all arranged the same way.

Slipping out of the black tunic-styled jacket, he tossed it over the back of a chair, settled into the leather chair behind his desk, and rolled up the sleeves of his white silk shirt. Looking at the closed study door, he shook his head, but his eyes were a warm gold and his smile was an understanding one. After all, he had brought this on himself by telling them in advance.

Tomorrow, Jaenelle was coming home.

Chapter four

1 / Hell

"That gutter son of a whore is up to something. I can feel it."

Deciding it was better to say nothing, Greer sat back in the patched chair and watched Hekatah pace.

"For two glorious years he's barely been felt, let alone seen in Hell or Kaeleer. His strength was waning. Iknow it was. Now he's back, residing at the Hall in Kaeleer.Residing. Do you know how long it's been since he's made his presence felt in one of the living Realms?"