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WORDCOUNT: 1392
SUMMARY: Third snapshot of Daemon's time in Chaillot. "He hesitated a moment, then took her in his arms. He needed to hold her, feel her warmth against him, needed reassurance that the sacrifice was worth it." - Daemon, after finding out that Lucivar had been sent to the salt mines. Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop.
FEEDBACK: I'd love it.
DEDICATION: For Raya. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

TASTES LIKE BENEDICTION
by Leni

Daemon woke up with a strangled scream caught in his throat. It'd been two weeks since Kartane delivered the news, but his mind insisted to create scenario upon scenario - each one worse than the last - about Lucivar's fate.

Now he sat ramrod straight on his bed, too aware that no tears could be found on his face. And yet he rubbed his arms harshly, trying to fend off the cold that'd gathered during his nightmare. If he looked around, Daemon knew that he'd find the walls glazed with thin ice.

"Prince."

His eyes flared open, and he automatically pulled the sheets to cover his nudeness. The figure standing between him and the door didn't seem to notice. Dressed in her usual nightshirt, she advanced, and as she did, Daemon could hear the slow hiss of the ice as it cracked and dropped to the floor. He had known that she was the stronger one, that her power ran deeper than anything he or the Priest could dream of. But to feel the cold that emanated from her….

"You haven't called me in a long time."

…it was glorious.

That sepulchral voice had become something he reveled in. It was a hint of what was to come, a taste of raw Darkness that made him wish for the night she'd turn seventeen and finally be allowed to have her own Court. "It's nothing that should worry you, Lady," he told her.

Instead of placating her, she stopped and held her head high. Every piece of furniture shook forcefully. Except the bed, Daemon noticed distractedly as Witch's eyes pinned him. "I'll be the one to decide that," she stated, looking at him as if, irony of ironies, he were the child.

Daemon fought the urge to bow in apology. "I didn't mean to bother you," he rephrased. He arranged the sheet tighter around his hips, opened his arms in obvious welcome. "But I'm glad you came."

The air in his bedroom thawed as her posture relaxed and her eyes grew sleepy. "I always wanted to come," Jaenelle said as she lifted herself onto the bed, accepting the embrace. "Always."

He kept his grasp light, still too afraid of his own reaction to her nearness. But he did lower his face into her hair, breathing in the smell of the flower-scented soap Leland insisted she use. A little girl. That's what she was to them. A little girl and nothing more, that's what she lowered herself to to please her family.

"It's okay," she said soothingly, putting one hand to his shoulder. A small stroking motion and he realized that the temperature had lowered again. Daemon checked himself and tried to focus on the small body he was holding. "I'm glad I can answer the call now."

He nodded, his chin hitting the top of her head reassuringly. There was no resentment in his heart. Not against her. Never against her. All those times he'd clamored for Witch and been left unanswered, Jaenelle had been bound by her promise not to wander in Terreille.

Daemon had wanted to snap Lucivar's neck once he'd understood what that promise had implied. He'd wanted to fall to his knees and thank his brother for his foresight. Because Jaenelle, sweet child that she was, would have fallen prey to one of Dorothea's traps - and how would he have lived without knowing her?

He wouldn't, and now he didn't need to. He put a hand on her back, almost engulfing it from shoulder to shoulder, and pulled her just a little bit closer, just enough to drive away the remnants of his nightmare.

"He's still alive." Her whisper broke the silence. "The Ebon-Gray still shines in Terreille."

Relieved, he dropped back against the headboard, bringing her along. The dream had been too real. Dorothea's smirk over his brother's mutilated body, almost palpable. "The last time we saw each other, we talked about you." He willfully suppressed the memories of what had happened to Cornelia and her Court after he and Lucivar had been separated. The rage, the blood, the destruction - Jaenelle may be able to sense them under his first barrier; but there was no reason to bring them further. "He'd already met you," he realized now. "Sweet Darkness, I should strangle him for not telling me that." But he was smiling as he said the words, glad that his brother had the chance to meet their Queen, to serve her by protecting her.

"He kept calling me Cat," she shared suddenly.

Daemon blinked at the non-sequitor, but he was already answering: "Sounds like him."

She gave a little huff that tickled dangerously against his neck. Subtly, he shifted his hold on her, placing a safer distance between them. "I don't think I deserved it," she complained, sounding for all the world like the injured party.

A chuckle was condemned to death in the spot, afraid it'd send her away in a sulk. Daemon wondered when she'd learned to shift the mood so efficiently; it still lacked finesse, true, but a few years from now she would easily control her males and their outbursts. Daemon almost purred at the vision; but instead he refocused on their little discussion. "Cat, huh?" Jaenelle was a free spirit, ready to get into trouble at the littlest chance and drag him into it. He could imagine a younger version of her, less troubled by the secret of her witchblood alcove… He'd never been more jealous of Lucivar than at that moment, when he realized he'd never meet that child. "I think it fit perfectly," he responded, lightening his voice from a sad choke.

Jaenelle lifted her head, glaring at him with a expression that was supposed to be annoyed but instead endeared her to him even more. "You will not call me that, will you?"

He pretended to think about it. "You'll keep calling me 'Prince' when we're by ourselves?" 'Except if you've turned into a young Queen addressing a Court male?' he wanted to add. Because he'd learned to recognize the difference, and while a Warlord Prince could do nothing but comply when Witch addressed him by his title, it niggled Daemon every time Jaenelle used it in the middle of their games.

"But it's your title!" she whined as expected. But she didn't face him anymore, and instead had snuggled between his chest and arm.

Daemon closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Thank the Darkness it wasn't her body he hungered for. Not yet. Not for years to come. "Maybe 'kitten'…."

A rude noise came from his side.

Daemon laughed, but just as fast his expression - now outside her line of vision - grew pensive. No. She was Jaenelle. And Jaenelle was Witch. She was Queen and Dreams and Love, and none of those titles required a nickname. Only five years more, and unless she flat-out refused him, he'd become an official member of her Court. Five short years where he'd have to fight for the privilege of wearing the Consort ring, and if that happened…. Daemon wanted to tilt her head towards him, wanted to brush her thoughts and see if she had any idea - any at all - of what her decision would be.

But instead he found a dozing child happily cuddled at his side, sleep rapidly reclaiming her. Her face was still hidden against his arm, so he settled for caressing her cheeks before leaving the bed and hastily pulling on some clothes.

Jaenelle didn't protest as he set his arms around her body, neither did she make a sound as he carried her stealthily back to the nursery wing.

"Daemon…," she called his name after he'd tugged the covers to her chin. Her blue eyes were misty with sleep, but she valiantly kept them open. "You still haven't answered me."

He smiled, bending down to put his thumb and forefinger over her eyebrows. "Rest easy, dear girl." She obediently closed her eyes as he dragged his fingers down her eyelids. "I'd rather let my foolish brother deal with your anger."

"But I'm not angry," she disagreed, curling into herself and yawning against her pillow.

"Of course you aren't," he said, mostly to himself. "That is exactly why we love you." And with a last look at her, Daemon left the room and resignedly returned to the solitude of his.

The End
23/11/08

This is the last I typed, but I hope more stories will come. I just love this period so much!

K&S
Leni