“Since I’m special, I should have two nutcakes,” Jaenelle Saetien said, putting one on her plate as she reached for another with her other hand.

“Aaaaaahhhhh, no,” Daemon replied, using Craft to move the plate of treats out of his daughter’s reach. He murmured his thanks to Manny when she placed a large mug of coffee in front of him, and watched his girl pout—and then study him to see if pouting would bring about the desired response of him giving in and letting her have the second nutcake.

Her negotiating to convince him to change his answer when she wanted something wasn’t new, but previously she’d argued with logic and provided reasons that were sometimes fascinatingly skewed, coming as they were from a child’s perspective, and she usually accepted his final answer with a minimum of fuss. This effort to manipulate his feelings had begun right after he hadn’t let her have a special cake—and was an unwelcome ploy. Especially today.

“Something wrong with your lip, witch-child?” he asked mildly.

“I’m special,” she said, still working the pout. “I should get two nutcakes.”

“You’re not that special,” Mikal said, rolling his eyes in a way that was designed to annoy adults—a reminder that the young Warlord had reached the messy years when he was no longer a boy but hadn’t quite settled into the long, fraught decades of being a youth.

Pouting forgotten, Jaenelle Saetien turned on the older boy, who was usually considered a friend as well as family. “I am so. Everyone knows I’m special because I wear Twilight’s Dawn, and no one else can wear that Jewel.”

“Lady Angelline was the first witch to wear a Jewel like that, and her Twilight’s Dawn was a lot more powerful than yours,” Mikal said. “But ever since the Birthright Ceremony, you’ve been acting like a brat and fanning about like you’re better than the rest of us and almost daring the teachers to scold you when you decide you don’t have to do your schoolwork because you’re special.” He slipped out of his chair, stuck his butt out, and wiggled it to demonstrate fanning.

“Enough,” Daemon said.

Ignoring him, Jaenelle Saetien jumped up, knocking against the table hard enough to slosh milk over the rim of her glass. “You take that back, Mikal!”

“No, I won’t!” Mikal wiggled his butt again. “Brat, brat, brat!”

Daemon felt the rise of power driven by his daughter’s anger, watched Mikal’s eyes widen before the boy wrapped himself in a Rose defensive shield.

The power in Jaenelle Saetien’s Jewel ranged from Rose to Green. If she struck Mikal with anything but the lightest end of her Birthright power, she would break the boy’s shield at the very least. At the worst, she might break a great deal more than a shield.

That he had to consider the possibility that his girl would do such a thing because of a childish squabble disturbed him. That he might have missed the signs that she felt entitled to use her power against anyone, let alone a member of their family, disturbed him in other ways.

“Enough.” Daemon’s deep voice, laced with the power of his Birthright Red Jewel, rolled through the cottage like soft thunder—a warning of a storm gathering on the horizon.

Instantly subdued, the children sat and stared at their plates while Manny wiped up the milk and Tersa . . . He didn’t know what his mother was seeing or hearing.

Daemon reached for a nutcake and met Manny’s eyes. She had been his caretaker when he was a child, before and after Tersa had been driven away by Dorothea SaDiablo, the High Priestess of Hayll in the Realm of Terreille. Manny had looked after him during the years when Dorothea had used him and trained him to be a pleasure slave. She had been the one good constant in his childhood, and she had never taken any sass from him, even after he’d begun wearing the Black.

That she was looking at his daughter with an expression close to dislike told him he needed to find out what was going on when he wasn’t present and make some adjustments.

And at least one adjustment would be made on the way home.

“Are you coming up to ride with us tomorrow, Mikal?” he asked to break the silence.

“Yes, sir, if it’s still all right with you,” Mikal replied, dropping the Rose shield.

“It is.”

“I got a letter from Beron yesterday,” Mikal said, the spat apparently forgotten—at least by the boy. “He’s auditioning for a new play, but he’s planning to come home and visit for a couple of days.” The boy’s excitement over his elder brother’s acting career brightened the room—and calmed Daemon’s temper.

“I’ll have my guest room made up for him,” Manny said. “Make sure he gets a couple of home-cooked meals in him.” She glanced at Daemon. “I imagine Mrs. Beale will be expecting to tuck a couple of meals into him as well.”

“I imagine she will.” He’d check with Holt to find out if he and Surreal were hosting any particular guests while Beron was in Halaway. If not, Manny and Mrs. Beale could arrange between themselves when and where the young actor showed up for meals.

They discussed the theater and what little Mikal knew about the part Beron hoped to win. Daemon didn’t comment about Jaenelle Saetien’s big sighs or continued sulking. And he didn’t say anything when a nutcake vanished from the serving dish.

٭I’ll handle it,٭ he told Manny on a psychic thread before the woman could make a fuss. ٭How long has this behavior been going on? There’s been little sign of this at home.٭ No sign of this outside of the cake incident, and no one had approached him about his girl’s behavior when she wasn’t with him.

٭Not that long. Like Mikal said, the young Lady has been full of herself since the Birthright Ceremony,٭ Manny replied. ٭Happens to some youngsters. I expect she’ll grow out of it once her Jewel stops attracting so much attention.٭

٭The sooner she grows out of it, the better.٭

A flash of annoyance from Manny—directed at him for his harsh tone. A flicker of something else from Tersa. That was more of a worry.

٭I agree,٭ Manny finally said. ٭Course, I remember what you and your brother were like when you were around her age, even before you had a reason to feel so full of yourselves.٭

Daemon looked at Manny. ٭May the Darkness spare all of us from a child like that.٭

٭Too late.٭

His lips twitched. Dealing with Daemonar’s energy whenever the boy came to visit left him exhausted and wondering how anyone survived Eyrien children. And left him wondering what Lucivar had been thinking to have three of them. Although Titian really was a darling witchling, and baby Andulvar was still too young to cause too much trouble.

A few minutes later, Daemon—now wearing an overcoat—escorted Jaenelle Saetien and Morghann out of the village, heading toward SaDiablo Hall. Home. His girl’s mood had changed from sulky to cheerful, but that wouldn’t last long.