Demon Lover by Bonnie Dee

have her.
    There was a perfunctory rap on the door and then it opened. A pale, white-haired woman wearing a black gown and white apron stood in the doorway. She stared at Gwyneth for only a moment before bowing.
    “Madame, His Highness requests your presence for dinner. I am to escort you to the dining room.” She lifted her head and glanced at Brea, still nursing at her mother’s breast. “If you wish to change, there is a wardrobe full of gowns. I will help you and dress your hair, if you wish. And I will care for your child while you dine.”
    The last thing Gwyneth wanted to do was surrender her daughter into the care of a complete stranger—especially such an odd-looking one. But she’d moved past the notion that these creatures—or people—whatever they were, would gobble up Brea or hurt her in any way. Whatever Svartan had in mind for her daughter, it was greater than that.
    And so she laid down Brea, who had fallen into contented sleep on her breast, in the golden cradle and let the pale woman show her the gowns hanging in the wardrobe. She reached for one at random, intent only on removing her own wet and uncomfortable clothing that would soon begin to smell of sour milk. Then she paused. Though the fabric between her fingers was a luxuriously fine silk, it was of a dull brown color and the cut was staid and unflattering. If she was to appear desirable enough to Svartan to tempt him to another deal, she needed something rather more alluring.
    Letting go of the brown dress, she instead picked up a delightful golden yellow creation with a low-cut bodice. She hoped it would remind him of their nights together spinning gold out of straw.
    The pale woman nodded as though satisfied and lifted her hand to unlace Gwyneth’s damp gown.
    At once, Gwyneth pulled away. “I can manage,” she said coldly. Again the woman inclined her head impassively and stood back. While Gwyneth stripped off her old clothing and redressed in fresh, clean linen and the golden silk gown, the other woman walked to the cradle and gazed down at the baby.
    Gwyneth watched her warily.
    “What beautiful skin she has,” the woman said warmly. “So delicate and rosy and golden…like yours.”
    As the woman smiled at the sleeping baby, Gwyneth realized she wasn’t as old as she’d first believed. In fact, she couldn’t have been many years older than Gwyneth. It was just the white hair which misled her. But all the people down here seemed to look like that. No doubt Svartan did, too.
    “I have a little one of my own,” the woman confided. “She’s just over a year now.” She looked up suddenly and caught Gwyneth’s unguarded gaze upon her. The woman had pale, almost colorless eyes that made it very hard to judge their expression. “He won’t hurt your baby, you know. None of us would do such a thing.”
    Gwyneth was conscious of massive relief. Not so much at the pale woman’s comforting words—which merely confirmed what she already believed—but at the confession of having her own child. It made the woman and her people seem less like demons, and this whole world considerably less terrifying.
    She pulled the laces of her dress tight and tied them with a neat bow. “What does he want with my baby?”
    But it seemed the woman was finished with confidences. Her pale gaze fell away. “He’ll explain it to you himself. Nothing bad for her or for you. Shall I help you with your hair?”
    “It’s done,” Gwyneth said, dragging the brush through it several times. Taking her at her word, the woman walked to the door, opened it and called out someone’s name. Gwyneth twisted her hair into a knot at the top of her head and held it with a long pin. She glanced at her daughter. “She’s fed and shouldn’t wake now until I return. Unless she needs changing…”
    “I’ll cope,” said the woman dryly. “This is Karnak, who will take you to the king.”
    A lean, willowy man in bright red velvet, with long, white hair, bowed to