But this assault by women who should have known better! At every social duty he fulfilled on his own, they surrounded him like starving cats around a succulent—and wounded—bird, and not even meeting defensive shields cold enough to freeze skin deterred them.

He had the sexual heat leashed so tight it was a surprise that he hadn’t emasculated himself, and that still wasn’t enough. Of course, the headaches, which had gotten more and more savage over the past few months, had done a good job of killing his libido, so the limited sex with Surreal was more than sufficient, even excessive.

And still the bitches kept pushing him. Pushing and pushing. Didn’t they realize they were going to push him too hard one of these days and snap his control? Then he would play with them. Sweet Darkness, how he would play!

“Prince?”

Daemon looked at Helton, the town house’s butler. The man’s face maintained a professional demeanor, but the eyes were full of fear.

The struggle to regain control of his temper had Daemon sweating. He didn’t want to fight this battle. Wasn’t sure how much longer he would win this battle.

“Prince?” Helton said again.

Somewhere in the town house, he heard one of the maids weeping. Terrified.

Daemon swallowed hard. Tasted a hint of blood.

He walked into the sitting room, then waited for Helton to join him.

“My apologies, Helton. It’s been a trying day, but that is no excuse for bringing temper into the house and distressing the staff.”

Helton took a step toward him. “Is there some way I can be of assistance?”

For a moment, he considered asking if Surreal was having an affair. If other witches had reason to think the marriage was breaking, they might also think he would be amenable to ignoring his vows. That could explain their otherwise inexplicable behavior. But asking the question would put Helton in an untenable position of conflicting loyalties, so he didn’t ask. Besides, he owed Surreal a great deal, including the gift of his darling daughter.

He would be back at SaDiablo Hall tomorrow, dealing with Jaenelle Saetien’s latest effort to test his rules. At least she was a female he still understood.

“No, thank you,” Daemon said, then changed his mind. “Yes. I’m not available to anyone for the rest of the day.”

“Very good, Prince.” Helton turned to leave, then turned back. “I hope things improve for you.”

“So do I.” It was a shame neither of them could put a name to what those things might be.

EIGHTEEN

Jillian flew down to Riada’s main street, full of nervous anticipation. Not wanting to call too much attention to herself, she wore her usual daytime trousers, but she’d paired them with a new top that had a more daring neckline than anything she’d worn before. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, so it was appropriate to wear clothing that suited a woman in love.

After taking a couple of deep breaths and resisting the urge to fuss with her hair and clothes, she began perusing the merchandise on display.

Market day in Riada. You could always go into the shops to purchase greens and fruits, fish and other seafood, and all kinds of meat, but as soon as the weather warmed up, merchants hauled out carts and tables and displayed their goods in the open air, turning the chore of shopping into a festive celebration. That one morning a week was as much about chatting with neighbors as it was about selecting the food for a couple of days’ worth of meals.

Even when she didn’t have to buy anything, Jillian looked forward to market day. The street swirled with color from the cloths that shaded the tables and the clothes worn by the men and women who were buying or selling. Voices mingled, rose, and fell in their own kind of music. The sound of a village, a community.

Keeping her wings tucked to protect them from the people jostling to see the merchandise, she wandered from one display to the next, looking at everything but buying nothing. Not yet, anyway. Marian had given her a shopping list but told her to purchase the ingredients for a meal she would like to learn how to make. Being a hearth witch, Marian was a wonderful cook—unlike Nurian, who was an excellent Healer and made healing brews that people actually liked drinking but, somehow, could make even an overspiced roast taste bland.

“Your basket is empty, Lady Jillian,” one merchant said, his voice a genial scold as he pointed at her basket. “Eyriens love the air, but even you can’t eat it.”

“First I have to decide what to eat. Then I’ll buy the ingredients,” she replied, smiling.

“What about seafood?” the fishmonger called. “I have fish fresh from my brother’s nets, brought to me just this morning. Or shrimp. What about lobster? I have some right here. I can put one in the pot and cook it for you if you don’t want to do it yourself.”

“You have a brother who catches fresh fish and lobsters?”

“My brother catches the fish. I have cousins who tend the lobster pots and also catch the shrimp. Lucky for you, huh? You won’t find fresher fish in all of Ebon Rih.”

Laughing, Jillian started to move on, then stopped. Marian had taught her how to make a spicy-sweet dressing for cold seafood served over fresh greens. Marian circled the plate with a couple of different kinds of sliced fruit and served it with crusty bread.

An easy dish to prepare for today’s midday meal, especially if the fishmonger cooked the lobster for her while she selected the other ingredients. And if Nurian didn’t get back from visiting her patients exactly on time, Jillian could put the meal together quickly once her sister got home, and nothing would overcook and spoil.

After checking Marian’s list, she said, “Two cooked lobsters and a pound of the shrimp.” That would be enough for everyone.

“Do you want to select your own lobsters?” The fishmonger gestured to the tank of water behind him.

“You can choose.” She wasn’t squeamish. She was Eyrien after all, and she’d seen enough game being dressed for the table. But lobsters were different. Even when they were dead, their beady eyes had an accusing stare that made her want to apologize while she ripped off their claws and broke open the shell. If she didn’t point to one, then they all had a chance to live a little longer—or at least live until the next customer made a selection. “I’ll make my other purchases and come back for them.”

Moving with purpose now, she purchased the other items that Marian wanted for the Yaslana household, then selected the fresh greens and other vegetables that she wanted for the salad, as well as the items she needed to make the spicy-sweet dressing.

She stood by the fruit cart, her eyes closed as she held up a piece of fruit so that she could breathe in the scent.

Then a male voice said, “Luscious, sweet, and deliciously ripe.”