Page 16 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Eleven

Saxon

M y rod is stiff and has been from the moment I invited Princess Rosomon to my tent. My cock is so hard that, should she allow me to get it anywhere near her, it will explode on impact.

I’ve stayed away from the caravan of wagons to avoid her, and now that I’ve rejoined them, I must remind myself not to use her true name.

I’m proud of my decision to allow her to travel with the recruits, glad to have played a part in keeping her from marrying that disgusting and cruel old man.

I greatly admire that she managed to escape her horrible fate and would love to hear how she did it.

That night in her father’s castle, I barely slept a wink, imagining ways I could steal her away before her wedding.

Not to mention all the things I’d do with her after we were together.

I even imagined creating a life with her, but those thoughts were pure fantasy.

I’m committed to my life as a dragon master and would never shirk my duty. Not even to save a fair maiden.

The next morn, I swore to put all memories of the princess behind me, but that challenge was soon tested, when she appeared on my field of volunteers.

My brief thoughts of exposing her identity were quickly doused.

If King Vyktor ever finds her, she won’t survive long.

And after her grave insult of refusing his hand, I doubt he’d even bother to try to extract a son from her.

He’d likely just kill her. Kill her in some brutal manner, involving great pain.

As a man of morals, I couldn’t expose her identity, while we were still on her father’s lands. But we’re out of Achotia now, and her ruse can’t last forever.

The princess is beyond surprising to me.

When I challenged her to approach Surath, I thought she’d run, and I certainly didn’t expect what happened, or that she’d last three days and nights in a wagon with unruly young men.

Her guile and bravery have tripled my admiration for her.

She was clever to hide with us. No one would think to look for a runaway princess amongst recruits for the dragon camp.

Perhaps I should let her continue on with us all the way. She might prove useful at camp. Useful to me, even if she’ll certainly never ride a dragon.

Surath may have allowed Rosomon’s caress—they are both females, and Surath likely sensed no danger from her—but no dragon would ever suffer the indignity of a woman mounting their pommel.

And no woman, not even this princess, would ever have the strength to control such a beast or climb atop to even try.

I hear a soft scratch on my tent flap, and turn to admire her shape, silhouetted against the canvas. How has anyone been fooled into thinking she’s a man?

Rising from my cot, I stop at the center pole, the only place in the tent where I can stand at full height, shocked at how badly I want her to see me this way, and not hunched over when she enters.

Thrix , how this woman has cast a spell over my soul. One I fear won’t be broken until her soft channel is clenched around my hard rod. Should she allow it, I hope that experience purges my mind of its current obsession.

“Come in,” I say.

The flame on the candle next to my cot flickers as Rosomon enters more assuredly than I expect.

As a princess, an innocent maiden versus the well-ridden stable hand I first assumed, I expected her to be timid about coming into my tent—if she came at all.

But she stands before me now with great confidence.

Does she want this as badly as I do?

No. Looking into her eyes, there is no hint of lust—only concern. Worry that I’ll reveal her identity.

“You have news of my family?” Worry tightens her words, as does her attempt to lower its pitch. “How do you even know of my family?”

“Oh.” I laugh at myself. I’d forgotten the excuse I used in front of the others. “First, yes, I know of your family. I know well who you are.” I wink. “I very much enjoyed our horseback ride together.”

Her hands shift to cover her belly.

“And I only mentioned your family, so that no one would suspect why I wanted to see you.”

“Why do you want to see me?” She tips her head to the side.

She truly doesn’t know. And suddenly I’m uncertain. I am never uncertain.

I’ve never bedded an unspoiled maiden and have never had need for tools of seduction. I’ve never even laid down a coin to find a sweet puss.

“Well?” She steps forward boldly. “Do you plan to cast me out? Here on the border of Verax?”

My esteem for her grows. She knows something of the Seven Kingdoms. Very few females are educated, not even those of noble birth.

Roses flare on her pale cheeks as she looks up into my eyes. “If you knew why I fled?—”

I take her face in my hands, and her words halt on a quick intake of breath.

Her chest heaves as if she’s having difficulty catching another, and my rod throbs even harder.

I felt a spark between us that day in the woods, and her reaction this moment confirms it is mutual.

She may not know what to do with it, but there is no denying her desire.

“Princess Rosomon,” I say softly. “I know well who you are and know the horrific fate you escaped—perhaps even more than you do.”

“How?” Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “What fate do you mean?”

“Your marriage to the King of Khotor.”

She stiffens. “How do you know about that?”

“I was at the feast to celebrate your betrothal.” Still cupping her face, I’m beyond grateful and surprised that she hasn’t stepped away from my touch. “I was there the night you were presented to King Vyktor.”

Her lush cherry lips part as she sucks in the information along with a ragged breath of air.

Her slightly opened mouth forms an invitation as juicy as a summer peach in the sun, and it’s all I can do to keep from accepting.

Even after all these days and nights in that wagon—perhaps because of them—her scent is intoxicating, drawing me to her like a moth to a candle.

And under my breeches, my stiffness reaches toward her like a divining rod seeking water.

“If you knew from the start,” she asks, “why didn’t you expose me?”

“Because…” I raise my eyebrows. “I have had the great displeasure of meeting the King of Khotor.”

A smile brushes her lips.

“And…” My thumbs long to brush her lips, but I stroke her cheekbones instead.

Her entire body responds, and the pounding in my cock grows even harder. I may be granting myself too much credit, imagining the reactions in her that I want, but I can taste her desire on the air and feel it in every part of my being.

“And what?” she asks softly, reminding me that desire interrupted my words.

“I’ve met that despicable King, and I’ve also met you .”

“Oh.” She’s clearly startled by my answer. But perhaps also pleased.

“Princess Rosomon.” My voice rumbles out, as if through rocks.

“Please,” she says. “ Please call me Rosshall lest you make a mistake when we are not alone.”

“As you wish, Rosshall .” It was I who chose that name for her, after all. “Rosshall, have you ever been kissed?”

Her chest heaves, pressing against her leather jerkin, one I assume belongs to the smaller of her two brothers.

“On the lips?” she asks, breathlessly.

I nod.

“I’ve only been kissed on the hand. And only by my brothers, practicing for court.”

She’s even more innocent than I thought.

“Would you like to try?” I whisper. “One kiss on the lips? To see if you like it.”

She blinks. Her long lashes are nearly translucent in the faint candlelight, but they flash like diamonds in contrast to her bright violet eyes, the same color as the sky.

I’ve never been particularly drawn to women with silvery skin and pastel locks.

But Rosomon’s hair and eyes are vibrant, and at this moment her features are the most beautiful in all the Seven Kingdoms. I wonder how a child of ours might look.

I shake that thought from my head. Taking a wife is not possible. Not for me. Not ever. Nor for her, if I steal her maidenhood…

“What’s wrong?” she asks softly, looking so innocently into my eyes. And so badly wanting to please me.

“Nothing, Rosshall . Absolutely nothing is wrong. In fact, everything in this moment feels very right.”