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“Yes.” I draw back from her, feeling suddenly guilty. “I was supposed to experience it with Mordessa, but she is gone now.”
“She was your intended?”
“My Promised, yes. She would have been my life-mate.”
“So you loved her.”
Why does that concept seem so important to everyone? Love, love, fucking love… there are other bonds, just as vital.
“I felt admiration for her,” I say grimly. “She was strong and intelligent. A skilled warrior and huntress. Beautiful and healthy.”
The Princess cocks an eyebrow at me. “Is that all?”
“I told you, not all dragons choose a life-mate based on passion.”
“Seems unfortunate. I would think a union of both admiration and passion would be ideal.”
“Well… yes, I suppose so. Not all are fortunate enough to have that.” I think of Mordessa’s fathers, the intensity of their connection, the hint of jealousy I felt upon seeing it.
“And you plan to turn all of us into female dragons, after which you will…” her mouth twitches at the corner, “perform mating dances for us? What are these dances like?”
“I feel as though you’re mocking me.”
“Do you?” She blinks innocently.
“The mating dances are sacred, regal performances.”
“I’m sure they are. Will you show me one?”
I move farther from her, growling. “I would not perform a mating dance for you if you were the last female on earth. For now, it is my duty to keep you alive and healthy, but I have decided that when your transformation is complete, you will be put with the other females until the mating frenzy, during which some other male will be your partner. Perhaps his patience will be greater than mine. Or perhaps the change into dragon form will alter your insolent disposition into something more palatable.”
I pace toward the mouth of the cave. A moment later, a rock bounces off my side. No more than a pebble, really, but it must have cost the Princess quite the effort to hurl it.
Turning back, I see her standing outside the nest, flushed and furious.
“I do not need to be made palatable to you,” she says. “And you know nothing about my true disposition.”
“I only know what you’ve shown me. Is there any more to you, besides the girl who soils where she sleeps and fusses constantly about soap and clothing and tea?”
She stands there, fists tight. When she doesn’t reply, I turn my back on her again and move into the sunlight.
After several long moments, I hear the faint scuff of her bare feet on the rock, approaching me. She sits down cross-legged at my side, where I can see her out of the corner of my eye.
“I like to read,” she says quietly. “I like to memorize poems and songs. All kinds of songs, not just the annoying ones. Sometimes I write my own songs, too, but I never sing them for anyone. I enjoy cooking. I like to sew and embroider. And I like ironing. That’s a process for smoothing the wrinkles out of clothes. Most people think it’s tedious, but I find it soothing, and I don’t mind the heat.”
I don’t understand what “embroider” means, or why wrinkles must be removed from clothing, but I don’t ask.
“I’ve never been a do-nothing princess,” she continues. “I’ve always liked to help the servants with chores, or with their children. Sometimes they would bring their babies to the palace and I would rock them or play with them while their parents worked. The best age is when the babies begin trying to speak. Their eyes are so bright and they make all these soft, eager, cooing sounds, and they look at you with so much joy and hope. I love little ones. Always have. I love animals, too—dogs and horses. My favorite horse is called Fairweather. She will miss me terribly. I hope the Vohrainians don’t ride her too hard and break her spirit.”
The quiet sorrow in her voice stirs my own pain, but gently, like a breeze ruffling the grass.
“I always thought I might have been better as a housemaid, not a princess,” she murmurs. “I like arranging closets and cabinets. Shaking out the rugs on a fine morning. Sweeping while composing songs in my head. Maybe I was meant to be a peasant wife on some thriving farm, surrounded by sweet, rosy-cheeked babies. Maybe I was born into the palace life by mistake. I’ve always lacked the keen ambition and the ruthless conviction necessary to be a ruler. That’s what my mother thought, anyway. It’s the reason she would not tell me much about the war, or ask for my opinions on matters of state, or give me any responsibilities beyond the occasional goodwill mission to visit the poor or the sick. She used me like a toy, to distract and pacify the people. And she probably would have arranged a strategic marriage for me in a year or two, if Elekstan managed to survive the war intact.”
“She is stubborn, your mother,” I say. “During the weeks we battled for Vohrain, I often wondered why she did not surrender. Your kingdom’s defeat was inevitable from the moment we allied with your enemies. If she had yielded, we would not have had to kill so many of your soldiers.”
“Her stubbornness may be the one thing I inherited from her,” the Princess admits. “You said, she is stubborn, not was stubborn. Do you think she’s still alive? The King of Vohrain promised to imprison both of us rather than kill us, but I would like to know for sure if he spared her.”
“I will need to meet with him soon. I can ask him then.”
