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A cloth slides into view over my clenched hands. I look up at Fynola’s smiling face. “For the … blood, my Lady.”
She doesn’t ask what happened; she simply presses the damp cloth into my hands and crosses the room, shoving aside a tall rack of dresses to reveal a door. Pushing it open, she pulls out an empty rack and rolls it toward me as I wipe my hands clean.
She hangs four dresses on the rack, then turns to me. “We can start with these, and if they don’t please my Lady, I’ll bring more.”
I toe off my boots before walking barefoot to the rack. The first dress is a floor-length velvet of midnight blue with delicate silver embroidery along the hemline. It’s beautiful, but a bit much—maybe not for the King, but for me. My fingers pause at the second dress. It’s black, like Kem’s shadows. There are thin straps that lead to a body-hugging silhouette that would stop mid-thigh. A sheer smoky gray fabric drapes and swirls from the shoulder to just below the hem, softening the tight fit. It’s simple, but elegant.
The woman reaches over me and slips the dress from its hanger. “This one, then?”
I nod, speechless, as I pull my shift over my head. She hands me the new dress, and it’s even silkier than I imagined as I slip it on. The dress I wore here is plain and soft, but still uncomfortable. Clothes in general seem frivolous, unnatural, and confining. But this dress—I turn, looking at my reflection over my shoulder—might convert me. It hugs my body without feeling constricting, and flows around me like water … no, like shadows. It’s perfect, and my palms start sweating when I think of the King seeing me in this dress.
Fynola reappears with a pair of slip-on flats. At first, I think they are black as well, but when I bend down to slip them on, I notice they’re a deep purple, accenting my own amethyst coloring.
“Would you like any jewelry, my Lady?”
The dress and shoes are already overwhelming. Adding more would be …
She chuckles and moves toward the door. “That’s a no then.”
I’m not sure what she saw on my face, but apparently, my expression told her everything she needed to know. I follow her back down the hall, but instead of descending the stairs, we turn right. Large oil paintings line this hall. I keep pace, but catch a glance of each piece of art as I pass. They are depictions of the regions of The Crimson Plains. There’s the western sea, the crashing waves practically spraying off the canvas. This one shows the ancient forest of the eastern continent. The valley with the castle nestled at its edge is lovely, but doesn’t quite catch the magnificence of the real thing. I almost pause as the snow-capped peaks of my mountain range glow at me from the next canvas. A pang of homesickness hits me, churning through my stomach, but I hurry to keep up with my guide.
Fynola stops at the only doors along this long hall. They are open, and she waves me inside. “Enjoy your dinner, my Lady.”
I take a deep breath, once again annoyed that it seems shallow compared to the capacity of my dragon’s lungs. Stepping into the room, I’m greeted by soft torchlight and a crackling fire in a hearth. The ceiling soars above my head, the room large enough I think Kem and I could both shift and still fit in his room. I swallow at the thought of our dragons in this room … alone. But then I catch the scent of food—cooked food. Under the char, there is spice. My tongue flicks out with interest before I remember I can’t taste the air in this form.
“You look lovely, but I hope you didn’t feel you had to change on my account.”
Kem’s deep voice pools low in my belly, and I turn to find him standing on the far side of the room behind a small iron table set for two. I swallow again and walk forward, looking him up and down.
I smile. “Well, you changed, so it seems the small effort was the correct one.”
He glances down, running his free hand over the front of his sleeveless white tunic. His pants are a dark gray and form fitting.
He is … impressive.
His other hand holds a crystal glass of dark wine, and the liquid swirls with his movement. “Yes, well, I went for a swim, so …” He leans over, his arms flexing with a casual grace as he grabs another glass, holding it out to me. “Wine?”
I’d prefer whiskey, but I’m not about to turn down the King. I approach the table, reaching out. Right before my fingers wrap around the glass, his scent of leather, cardamon, and vanilla slams up my nose and down my throat. My stomach clenches, and the edges of my vision go a little hazy.
A crash snaps my attention away from the dizzying sensation. I catch the sparkle of broken glass and wine dripping over the edge of the table before I’m slammed against the floor-to-ceiling window.
How did I end up on the complete opposite side of the table?
Kem’s large hands press my shoulders to the cold glass. This is the second time tonight I’ve been manhandled, but unlike with Inchel, I have absolutely no desire to break out of Kem’s hold even though there is an ember of violence in his eyes as they rake over my face and down my neck.
His chest rumbles against mine in a low growl. “Why do you smell like him?”
5
KEMREMIR
My body trembles with rage and need. The smell of Inchel on Tatha’s skin is drawing my dragon dangerously close to the surface. She tilts her head back, and her sparkling purple eyes search mine. I press closer to her, well aware my hard cock is pressing into her stomach.
“Tatha. Why is Inchel’s scent on you?”
Her breasts press against my chest with her next breath, and her luscious lips part. “He … um … well … earlier, in the hall, he …”
“Did he hurt you?”
