“I won’t.”

Lucivar stared at him. “They’re having a good time. Let them be.”

“I’m not going to do anything. Not with Jaenelle here.”

“Because she’s younger than you and Titian?”

Daemonar grinned. “No, because she hits a lot harder than Titian.”

His sigh turned into a chuckle. “Go on, then.”

Daemonar grabbed his clothes and darted over to the bushes where he would have privacy dressing.

Lucivar pushed away from the edge of the pool and floated on his back, his wings spread.

Didn’t get much quiet time these days, not since Marian had given birth to their third child, a boy they named Andulvar in honor of the Demon Prince. A hard birthing, and it was taking Marian longer to recover. Because she needed more rest and her time and strength were being given to the baby, he made sure Daemonar and Titian had a little time alone with her each day. And he made sure she had a little time for herself. Like today when he took the children for an afternoon at the pool and Jillian was at the eyrie to help out and watch the baby so that Marian could have a couple of hours to sleep or read in peace.

With all the children nearby but occupied, he could have a few minutes of peace himself.

The girls’ shrieks had him snapping upright, but he stayed in the pool, listening while he sent out psychic probes to search for the problem. They weren’t yelling for help, and those shrieks weren’t telling him much. The sound could be for anything—bug, snake, weird formation of bark on a tree. Granted, the girls weren’t prone to shrieking, since they’d learned early how their fathers responded to the sound, but they were young girls of a certain age, so . . .

Daemonar’s voice. Angry. Distressed. Close to panic.

It didn’t matter if he couldn’t sense anything wrong. If all three of them were upset, there was a problem.

Lucivar surged out of the water, calling in his war blade as he strode toward their voices. He used Craft to pass through the bushes in his way, never breaking stride. Nothing should have been able to slip through his perimeter shield. Nothing! But if something had and the children were under attack . . .

He burst in on them, his temper rising to the killing edge as he scanned the clear, grassy area where Jaenelle and Titian stood, then probed the bushes behind Daemonar—and found nothing.

“What in the name of Hell is going on?” he roared.

Daemonar and Titian began talking so fast they were barely coherent, their words a cacophony of tripping sounds full of accusations, justifications, denials, and explanations. But it was Jaenelle’s expression—baffled and a bit disappointed—that caught his attention and made him uneasy.

A sharp whistle silenced his children. Daemonar clutched his clothes to cover himself. Titian twisted her fingers. Jaenelle remained focused on ... whatever.

Then, sounding apologetic, she said, “It looks like baby Andulvar’s stuff.”

Daemonar made a strangled noise. Titian glanced at her father, blushed fiercely, and looked away. Jaenelle cocked her head and continued to ponder.

“What?” He looked down to figure out what the witchling found so interesting—and swore silently but with great sincerity. And suddenly all the accusations, justifications, denials, and explanations made sense.

After making one more swift probe to be sure there was no danger, Lucivar vanished his war blade and called in the loin wrap he usually wore as a morning cover-up in the summer. As he secured the wrap, he said, “Before I decide whose ass gets kicked, let me see if I understand this. Some of the older girls at school have gotten curious about what a boy has tucked in his pants, and they’ve been teasing Titian, saying she’s too young to know about such things.”

“They made it sound all mysterious, and I wanted to know!” Titian wailed.

“So when you heard Daemonar in the bushes, Jaenelle tried to sneak up on him and get a look at what the older girls were talking about.”

“I tried to be quiet, but Daemonar heard me right away,” Jaenelle said.

No, he didn’t, Lucivar thought. Otherwise, he would have started yelling before the shrieking started. But he found it interesting that Jaenelle was trying to give Daemonar credit for catching her—and even more interesting that she had been able to sneak up on an Eyrien boy who already had a few years of formal training. Of course, that boy was still naked and nowhere near the bushes where he’d gone to get dressed, which meant he’d decided to sneak up on the girls and see what they were doing and had been so intent on that he’d forgotten the reason he was still carrying his clothes—until Jaenelle sneaked up on him and he realized how much trouble he’d be in for being naked in front of his young cousin.

Lucivar said, “So now you’ve seen the mysterious boy parts that are making the older girls act silly.”

“Really?” Jaenelle asked doubtfully.

“Darling, if someone is male and human, this is what he’s got in his pants.”

“Oh.”

He quivered with the effort not to laugh at the keen disappointment held in that single word. Apparently boy parts weren’t mysterious after all. In fact, they weren’t even interesting. At least, not for a good many years.

Thank the Darkness for that.

“Papa?” Titian said after a long moment of feet-shuffling silence. “Can we go back to picking flowers?”

“Not yet.” Lucivar gave all the children a lazy, arrogant smile. “First, we’re going to discuss some new rules.”

“That’s it,” Lucivar said, setting his coffee mug on the counter.

Daemon stood still, saying nothing, trying to find his balance. Jaenelle Saetien hadn’t seen a strange man intent on doing her harm in any way. And he couldn’t fault Lucivar for choosing the war blade over pants when it sounded like the children were in trouble. He would have made the same choice of weapons over modesty.

His head throbbed and his stomach churned, no doubt from holding in all that rage that now had no target.

He watched Lucivar pick up the coffeepot and refill one mug. “Is there enough in there for another cup?”

Lucivar gave him that measuring look, understanding the message. He filled the other mug and handed it to Daemon.

“I don’t know what to say.” Daemon sipped the coffee. “I know too much, Lucivar. I heard too many nightmares while Jaenelle and I were married, and I never want my little girl to know the things my Queen knew.”

“I know about those nightmares too.” Lucivar took two plates out of the cupboard and divided the rest of the food. “Jaenelle Saetien didn’t say anything about her visit here until this morning?”

“Oh, she was a bundle of information about the visit, talking about the baby, and Auntie Marian teaching her and Titian to make wildflower wreaths, and getting to do practice routines with you using the sparring sticks, and playing with the wolf pack who lives on the mountain with you, and shopping in Riada with Titian and Jillian and the three of them stopping at The Tavern for the midday meal. She said you had some new rules, but that was thrown in with the rest, and she didn’t elaborate, so it sounded like they were boundaries that just applied to her when she was with you in Ebon Rih.” Daemon took a long swallow of cool coffee. “She didn’t say anything about seeing a man’s body until she wanted to show me something wonderful and tried to drag me out of bed.”

“What was it?” Lucivar asked.

Daemon sighed. “I don’t know. The conversation ended once she mentioned boy parts.”

Lucivar looked out the kitchen window. “Hell’s fire. What time did she jump on you that you got here so early?”

“Before sunup.”

Lucivar huffed out a laugh. “No wonder you arrived here looking like you were skating the border of the Twisted Kingdom.”

“Prick, I know you better than to think what I was thinking. For that, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. If Titian had hit me with that bit of information before I was awake, I would have landed on your doorstep wondering the same thing. The only difference is I would have pinned your ass to the wall before we started talking.”

He meant it. All of it.

Lucivar picked up one of the plates and held it out. “You want this?”

“Yes, I do.” Taking his plate and mug to the kitchen table, he sat down.

Lucivar tossed him a fork, then joined him.

“Tell me about these rules,” Daemon said.

“I kept it simple.” Lucivar spread jam on his toast. “Look equals tell. Touch equals tell. Permission before action. No exceptions.”

“Is that supposed to make sense?”

“The long version of the rules is, if any male tries to show them his stuff or tries to talk them into showing him their bodies, the first thing they do is shield. The second thing they do is holler for you or me, and we will decide what needs to be done. If anyone tries to touch them or tries to make them touch body parts—”

“They shield and holler for one of us.”

Lucivar nodded. “If they want to spend private time with a friend, male or female, they get our permission first. I won’t refuse any reasonable request and will set whatever boundaries I feel are necessary, but permission comes before action.”

“And the consequences of disobeying your rules?”

Lucivar looked him in the eyes. “I’ll destroy the enemy, regardless of gender or age. And unless there is permission beforehand, I will regard any person who tries to sneak off with one of my children as an enemy.”

Daemon sat back. “There might be mitigating circumstances.”

“Not if I find out about it afterward instead of beforehand.”

“That’s a hard line.” One he knew Lucivar would hold. “Do these rules apply to Daemonar too?”

“Yes. And Jillian.”

Daemon stiffened. “Has someone been bothering Jillian?”

Lucivar shook his head. “No—and I intend to keep it that way.” He paused. “Look, Bastard, you may think those rules are harsh, and maybe you want to soften them for Jaenelle Saetien. But when it comes to my children, when they stay with you, I expect you to hold that line.”

He polished off the eggs. “I don’t have any trouble with your rules or holding that line for any of the children—including Mikal.”

“And Beron?”

Daemon shook his head. “Beron has his own residence and is apprenticing in his chosen profession, so he’s old enough to choose his own company.” But it wouldn’t hurt to remind the young Warlord that being given that much independence didn’t mean the family patriarch wasn’t aware of all of his activities.

“The theater group he belongs to is performing a play in Riada next month. We’re looking forward to seeing him.”

And Uncle Lucivar will keep an eye on him while Beron is in Ebon Rih, Daemon thought, working to hide a smile.

“You want more coffee?” Lucivar asked. “I’ll make another pot.”

“Sure. Where is Marian?”

“Sleeping in.”

Something in the tone, in the way Lucivar moved around the kitchen. “Is she all right?”

“Just slow coming back from this birthing. It’s taking longer for her to regain her strength and energy. She’ll be fine.”

“But . . . ?” Daemon asked gently.

Lucivar filled the coffeepot and put it on the stove to heat before replying. “Nurian is an excellent Healer, and I trust what she says. But I wish Jaenelle Angelline was still here to tell me Marian will be fine. I’d feel a lot easier if she was still here to tell me that.”

Daemon walked into his study and found Surreal waiting for him, comfortably settled on the long leather sofa. She had a book in her lap and a crossbow aimed at his groin.

“Is that necessary?” he asked politely.

“You tell me.” Her tone was a few steps short of polite.

He slipped his hands in his trousers pockets and waited. When Surreal began a discussion by pointing a weapon at a man, it was wise to yield as much as possible.

“I upset Jaenelle.” The crossbow didn’t waver, so he considered the other half of his offense. “And I left you to deal with it without giving you any idea of what you were facing.”

“Which is something you won’t do again. Agreed?”

Was there a choice? “Agreed.”

Surreal vanished the crossbow, then shifted so that he could sit beside her.

“Jaenelle Saetien is very sorry that she forgot to tell you about Uncle Lucivar’s new rules—which you will explain to me in detail by the end of the day,” she said. “A new friend showed up early this morning, and she needed to tell you about him before she totally broke the rules instead of just bending the rules by waiting for you to wake up before she told you about her new friend, since he was in her room, but you didn’t wake up, which is why she woke you, but then she mentioned the boy parts, which Uncle Lucivar had also told her to tell you about, and before she could explain, you cat-puffed, kicked her out of the room, and left to yell at Lucivar.”

“I what? Cat-puffed? What in the name of Hell is that?”

“I’m guessing it’s what a pissed-off feline does.”

“Well, that makes me sound scary.”

“No, it makes you sound like a rolly ball of fur. Regardless ...” Surreal grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. “I’ll give you a choice. You can go up there and settle things with your daughter and her new friends, or you can take the second part of the discussion about why boy parts wiggle.”