When Sadi's golden eyes met hers, Witch looked back at him, from the depths of the abyss. There was a brief, feral strength for a moment, something ancient and dark, and then Jaenelle was turning her eyes towards the park.
"I am well," she answered. "I'm living in Kaeleer now. And Lucivar is there. He's been with us for the last two years, since he got away from Pruul."
Loneliness pricked at her. She wanted her family, her friends. It was too soon to do this to Daemon. She didn't want to obligate him to submit to her. She didn't want to use him. He'd been used enough by playing to those courts. And with his freedom so fresh, how could she ask him to be there for her? Even when she ached to be held by him, to feel his strength, and caress it with her own.
But she could also sense the distress in him, the way his emotions were churning. He was a Warlord Prince, a law unto himself. One of the reasons males craved the distaff gender was to ground them, to anchor their instincts to protect and serve. It was the dance between the sexes, the careful checks and balances of Protocol. She was a Queen, and he was a Warlord Prince who needed to be grounded, lest he lash out, riding the killing edge until his fury was spent.
A Queen tending to a distresed male in her court. Yes. She could fill that role. Slowly, her sapphire eyes lifted to him. At the same time, her hands lifted, palms turned towards the ground, her expression a mask of calm as she offered them to him.