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“It is my honour to serve,” said Lucivar, stiffly, “but are you quite sure I am the one you want to escort you?”
“You are my First Escort, are you not?” Jaenelle responded.
Lucivar nodded.
“And is it not protocol for a Warlord Prince to provide his help and protection when his Queen requests it?”
“Yes, but–”
“Then I request you escort me to Amdarh.”
Lucivar had come to the Hall to discuss deployment of patrols over the Rihlander villages with Andulvar. It had been many years since Andulvar had ruled a territory but his understanding of the mentality behind Jhinka raids was second to none and his command of battle tactics against them was superb. Mindful that despite the protections the Hall provided to the demon-dead, Andulvar needed to rest during the day, he had made his visit brief. However, as he was about to leave, Beale had told him Jaenelle wanted to see him. What game was she playing? He was, of course, always ready and willing to help in any way he could, especially when her safety was concerned; but why was she not asking Daemon? Why wait to ask him until after Daemon had left the Hall? The question was on the tip of his tongue before he noticed a certain determined gleam in his sister’s eyes. With an inward sigh for the tasks he pushed to one side, Lucivar bowed to the inevitable and allowed her to whisk him out the door and into the small Coach waiting on the drive.
Saetan had timed his visit carefully: early enough to catch the eyrie at its best, with the summer sun streaming through the windows and the morning glories blooming in the garden; late enough so Marian would have had time to get the household in order after Lucivar left, so she would not feel too flustered when he arrived, anxious about silly things like washing left undone (as if that would bother him). He expected a lovely long visit with a gracious lady he both respected as his son’s wife, and liked as a person, with the added bonus of playing with his grandson. He found Marian determined to go out. Not on a visit to the nearby hills, so young Daemonar could practice his flying; but out to the shops. He suggested he mind Daemonar while she went into the village. She said she had organised Jillian to watch him and wanted Saetan to accompany her, and not just to the village but to Dharo. Any witch could cite Protocol to request escort, especially from one she had a legitimate claim as family. But for Marian to do so, using formal phrases he knew were utterly foreign to her nature…? He suspected a plot. (No, he was absolutely certain there must be some plot.) But he showed none of his suspicions, as he inclined his head, offered his arm, and said simply, “It is my honour to serve.”
In early afternoon, Daemon returned sooner than anticipated from his visit to discuss business with Rainier, to find the Hall strangely quiet. He sniffed and sent a questing thread through the Hall, establishing the absence of a psychic presence he had expected.
“Where is everyone?” he asked Beale.
“The High Lord has gone to visit Lady Marian, and Lady Angelline has gone shopping.”
“Shopping?” Daemon questioned. “But I asked her this morning if she had plans for anything and she said she just wanted a lazy day at home. She said she had a book to read. I could have seen Rainier some other day if I’d known she wanted to visit the shops. Perhaps I can catch up with her,” he mused. “How long ago did she leave, Beale?”
“Lady Angelline left within an hour of your departure to see Prince Rainier.”
“Left…alone? She went without escort?”
“Prince Yaslana accompanied her.”
“I see,” although the puzzled expression on his face showed patently he did not. But she was safe, and Daemon had no doubt he would hear all about it when Jaenelle returned. “Could you please ask Mrs Beale to send some sandwiches and cakes to me in the library?”
“Very good, Sir.”
No sandwiches arrived, however. Instead, just when he had decided to go himself in search of sustenance, Karla arrived, flinging the double doors to the library open wide as she marched in.
“Kiss, kiss!” she said, coming around the desk to stand before him, and giving him a peck on the cheek while stepping on both feet. “What good luck finding you in; you’re just the man I wanted.”
“Really,” Daemon replied, “I wasn’t aware you wanted any man.”
“Now don’t be snarky, Prince Sadi, you know I love you truly; but you belong to another” she added with a dramatic gesture. “However, not for this afternoon, I have been told, which means you belong to me!”
“Karla, I am not in the mood, right now, for–”
“I am in need of your service, Prince Sadi, on an important matter related to the honour of the Queen.”
He just stared, flummoxed.
“I request your service.”
“It is my honour to serve,” he replied stiffly, rising to his feet, “how does the Queen need the Consort’s help?”
“Well, the first thing you can do is escort me to lunch,” she said; and as he crossed the room to the bell pull, she added, “in Scelt.”
Daemon made one last protest, “Why can’t Morton accompany you?”
“He is busy dealing with other matters, as requested by his Queen.”
Karla held out her hand, palm down, and waited. After one final reluctant moment, Daemon slid his hand, palm up, under hers, in the time-honoured gesture, and they crossed out from the library to the entrance hall.
“Beale,” he said, “in case anyone asks, Lady Karla and I will be lunching in Scelt today.”
“Very good, Sir,” said the imperturbable butler as he held open the front door. He watched attentively as the Prince politely handed Queen Karla into the waiting Coach, took the driver’s seat, and the Coach was steered into the red wind that skirted the drive. When he turned back to face the Hall once more it resembled a hive of frantic bees: maids and footmen were scurrying here, there, and everywhere polishing, carrying, and arranging things. With one exception: his wife stood directly in front of him, arms folded, a grumpy expression on her face.
“That’s the last of them gone, I trust,” Mrs Beale pronounced. “I did warn the Lady I would need at least the afternoon free of any interference to get the Hall organised and the meal properly ready, and a whole day would be better.”
“Lady Karla responded very quickly when I called her. And she may have had to invoke Protocol to demand his service,” Beale spoke with a certain satisfaction about what he had overheard as he stood just outside the library, “but I am sure that she will be able to keep Prince Sadi occupied until this evening.”
“Then I require your help,” announced his wife, “down in the kitchen."
He looked enquiring. (It was not often she asked for his help, especially in her own domain.)
“The lady wanted something special for Prince Sadi’s surprise birthday cake,” Mrs Beale explained, “so it will take more than just my two hands to assemble the tiers.”
Beale nodded, “of course my dear. It is my honour to serve.”