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"You're going to eat," Lucivar said calmly.
Jaenelle stared at the place setting in front of her. "I can't."
"Cat, if we have to dump the soup on the floor so that you can puke into the tureen, then that's what we'll do. But you're going to eat."
Jaenelle snarled at him.
A pale, shaky footman brought the soup.
Lucivar put a ladle full into her bowl and filled his own halfway. He picked up his spoon and waited.
Her snarl grew louder as she reluctantly picked up her spoon.
After a narrow-eyed, considering look at Lucivar, Karla asked a question about a Craft lesson she was working on.
Mephis responded, and the discussion covered the first course.
Jaenelle ate one spoonful of soup.
Andulvar shifted in his seat, rustling his wings.
Saetan flicked a glance at Andulvar, warning him to keep still. He'd caught the scent of feminine anger. He'd caught Lucivar's tightly focused awareness of Jaenelle and her rising temper—a temper Lucivar was able to provoke with frightening ease.
With each dish offered in the second course, Lucivar selected food for her, pricked at her, scraped away her self-control.
"Liver?" Lucivar asked.
"Only if it's yours," she snapped, her eyes glittering queerly.
Lucivar smiled slightly.
By the end of the second course, Jaenelle was an explosion waiting for a spark, and Saetan couldn't understand the point of taunting her.
Until the meat course.
Lucivar slipped a small piece of prime rib onto her plate and then stacked two large pieces on his own.
Jaenelle stared at the tender, pink-centered meat for a long moment. Then she picked up her knife and fork and began to eat with single-minded intensity. When the meat was gone, she turned to her right and looked at Karla's plate.
Karla's face paled to a ghastly white.
When Jaenelle turned to her left and Saetan got a good look at her eyes, he realized that Lucivar had turned the meal into a violent, brilliantly choreographed dance designed to bring the predatory side of Witch to the surface.
Finally her attention fixed on Lucivar's plate. Snarling softly, she licked her lips and raised her fork.
Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, Lucivar transferred the second piece of prime rib from his plate to hers.
She stabbed the meat with her fork and bared her teeth at him.
Lucivar withdrew his utensils and hands and calmly resumed his meal while Jaenelle devoured the meat.
By the time they reached the fruit and cheese course, Jaenelle's attention was entirely focused on Lucivar and his offerings of food. When he held up the last grape, she stared at it for a moment, then wrinkled her nose and sat back with a contented sigh.
And the woman-child Saetan knew and loved returned.
For the first time since the meal began, Lucivar looked at the other men sitting at the table, and Saetan felt keen sympathy for this son with the battle-weary look in his golden eyes.
After the coffee was served, Lucivar took a deep breath and turned to Jaenelle. "By the way, you owe me a piece of jewelry."
"What jewelry?" Jaenelle asked, baffled.
"Kaeleer's equivalent to the Ring of Obedience."
She choked on her coffee.
Lucivar thumped her back until she gave him a teary-eyed glare. He smiled at her. "Will you tell them, or shall I?"
Jaenelle looked at the men who made up her family. She hunched her shoulders, and said in a small voice, "In order to fill the immigration requirement, Lucivar's going to serve me for the next five years."
This time Saetan choked.
"And?" Lucivar prodded.
"I'll come up with something," Jaenelle said testily. "Although why you want to wear one of those Rings is beyond me."
"I did a little checking while you were gone. Males have to wear a Restraining Ring as part of the immigration requirements."
Jaenelle let out an exasperated snort. "Lucivar, who's going to be foolish enough to ask you to prove you're wearing one?"
"That Ring is physical proof that I serve you, and I want it."
Jaenelle gave Saetan one fleeting, pleading look—which he ignored. "All right. I'll come up with something," she growled, pushing her chair back. "Karla and I are going to take a walk."
Karla, gathering her wits faster than the men could, moaned to her feet and shuffled after Jaenelle.
Andulvar, Prothvar, and Mephis swiftly found excuses to leave.
Alter the brandy and yarbarah were brought to the table, Saetan dismissed the footmen, grimly amused by their strained eagerness to return to the servants' hall. His staff didn't gossip to outsiders—Beale and Helene saw to that— but only a fool would think they didn't talk among themselves. Lucivar's arrival had caused quite a stir. Lucivar in service to their Lady ...
If tonight was a sample of what to expect, it was going to be an interesting—and long—five years.
"You play an intriguing game," Saetan said quietly as he warmed a glass of yarbarah. "And a dangerous one."
Lucivar shrugged. "Not so dangerous, as long as I don't push her past surface temper."
Saetan studied Lucivar's carefully neutral expression. "But do you understand who, and what, lies beneath that surface temper?"
Lucivar smiled tiredly. "I know who she is." He sipped his brandy. "You don't approve of my serving her, do you?"
Saetan rolled his glass between his hands. "You've been able to do more in three months to improve her physical and emotional health than I've been able to do in two years. That galls a little."
"You laid a stronger foundation than you realize." Lucivar grinned. "Besides, a father's supposed to be strong, supportive, and protective. Older brothers, on the other hand, are naturally a pain in the ass and are inclined to be overprotective bullies."
Saetan smiled. "You're an overprotective bully?"
"So I'm told frequently and with great vigor."
Saetan's smiled faded. "Be careful, Lucivar. She has some deep emotional scars you're not aware of."
"I know about the rape—and about Briarwood. When she's pushed too hard, she talks in her sleep." Lucivar refilled his glass and met Saetan's cool stare. "I slept with her. I didn't mount her."
Slept with her. Saetan kept a tight rein on his temper while he sifted through the implications of that statement and weighed it against the amount of physical contact Jaenelle allowed Lucivar without retreating into that chilling emotional blankness that always scared the rest of them. "She didn't object?" he asked carefully.
Lucivar snorted. "Of course she objected. What woman wouldn't after being hurt that badly? But she objected more to having her patient sleeping in front of the hearth, and I objected just as strongly to having the Healer who saved my life sleeping in front of the hearth. So we reached an agreement. I didn't complain about the way she hogged the pillows, tangled the covers, sprawled over more than
