Page 28 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

She nods, but I can see in her eyes that she does not understand—not at all.

“Wait here,” I tell her. “I’ll fetch the tea before I explain.”

Luckily the water is still on the boil. I prepared the herbs earlier, and it takes but a moment to fill the small pewter teapot.

I set it inside the tent to steep and also bring in her clothing. Rosomon leans forward on the cot, in eager anticipation.

“One more moment, ma chérie.” Heading back around the tent, I throw out the used basin of water and refill it, carrying it carefully inside.

Normally, I wouldn’t bring a basin of water inside my tent but can’t bear the thought of asking her to face the cold air, and I won’t allow her to dress while sticky with my seed.

“Oh, how nice.” She rises as I carry in the basin of water.

“Come.” I beckon her to the center of the tent, and then slowly bathe the evidence of my eruption from her belly and chest. And then, after rinsing the sponge, I wash her inner thighs and the hair surrounding her cleft.

Doing so makes me want to kiss her there.

To show her another way I can give her great pleasure.

But since she’s coming to camp—inevitable at this point—I’ll have other opportunities to introduce her to oral pleasures.

“Let me help you dress,” I say as I finish washing her. Then, I quickly wipe the juices off my cock.

“Are we done?” she asks, clear disappointment in her voice.

“For tonight, yes.” I nod, trying to convince myself, as much as her. “We will arrive at camp tomorrow. But it’s a long trip, so we should both get some sleep.”

“Tomorrow?” Her eyes widen.

I pick up the cloth that was binding her chest. “Yes. Before sundown, if we are lucky.”

She helps as I wrap the cloth around her. “It needs to be tighter.”

I let her direct the tightness, worried that I’ll hurt her.

Only one more day, I tell myself. She’ll only need this cruel binding for one more day. Once we’re at camp, I see little reason for her to keep up this ruse that she is a boy.

I’m still shocked that Prince Tynan hasn’t recognized her, or if he has, that he hasn’t exposed her.

He’s the main reason I let her continue her ruse, fearing he’d drag her back to his grandfather.

At camp, I’ll talk with him. Reason with him.

Make whatever deal is necessary to ensure he does nothing that would hasten her return.

The young prince was cruelly raised, but I’ve seen goodness deep inside Tynan. I have to believe that he’ll see reason, that he won’t send her back to face beatings, rape, and an early death.

When her bosom is wrapped, I tie a tight knot. “There.”

She reaches up on her toes to kiss my smile. “Before I dress, can we do it one more time?” She reaches under my chemise.

I catch her hand before it finds my semi-hard rod. “Not tonight, ma chérie. You must dress and then drink your tea.”

I help her put on her clothes, and she sits on the cot as I pour a portion of steeped tea into a cup. “Drink it all,” I tell her.

“If your seed did take root,” she says, “what would sprout?”

Her question is asked so calmly, so innocently, that I almost don’t want to tell her.

“A child.”

She chokes on her tea, and her eyes rise to meet mine, filled with alarm.

I sit beside her, and she keeps her gaze fixed on me as she takes another long drink of the tea, making a face at its bitter taste, but clearly more eager to drink it now.

“That is how babes are made,” I say simply.

“Does it happen every time?” she asks. “What if this tea doesn’t work? I don’t want a babe.” She drinks more of the tea, then looks down. “My mother died giving birth to my brothers.”

I slide my hand over her shoulders, and she leans into me. “I know. I’m very sorry. And to answer your question, no, it doesn’t happen every time. It’s difficult to predict when a seed will root. But this tea almost always prevents it.”

“ Almost always?” She looks into my eyes, fear clouding her beauty.

“Don’t fret.” I kiss her forehead. “Drink your tea. Drink the whole pot, and no seed will take root.”

She drains her cup and then holds it out so I can pour the last of the pot. Steam rises from the tea’s surface as she brings it up to her lips.

“What will happen when we get to camp?” she asks after drinking a good amount of hot tea.

“I’m glad you brought that up.” I’m still mulling things over but have a solution and the question must be faced. “I’ve been wanting to discuss this with you.”

Her head tips to the side, as if my answer surprised her.

She finishes her tea, and so I set the cup on the ground and take her hands in mine.

“Rosomon.” My mouth is suddenly dry. “I never finished explaining why the sex between us was so very special. Special for me.”

“That’s right. You didn’t.” She frowns. “Unless… The other times… Did you force the other women?”

“No!” Cupping her face, I kiss her forehead and then look into her eyes. “No. I haven’t forced a woman. Not ever.” Not to my knowledge, in any case…

“That’s no surprise.” She smiles softly. “And I apologize for the question. But I still don’t understand then, what was different with me?”

“I’m only coming to understand that myself,” I respond. “The simplest way to put it is…I suppose that sex is different—much better—when you are with the right lover.”

“Oh.” She blinks a few times. “Are you saying I am the right lover—for you ?” Her bound chest fills with a long intake of air,

I swallow, trying to find more moisture to speak.

I can’t believe how quickly I’ve grown attached to Rosomon, how rapidly my feelings developed.

But see now that I began to fall in love with her the first moment I looked into her fiercely determined eyes—the eyes of a young woman willing to risk breaking her neck to save a lowly wench she’d never met.

Foolishly, I thought bedding Rosomon might rid my mind’s obsession, but instead it has made it worse. Much worse.

“Yes,” I answer finally. “Sex with you… Rosomon, you affect me—physically and emotionally—like no woman I’ve been with before.”

A smile spreads over her face and into her eyes. “It’s the same for me, although, of course, it means less from me as I have no comparison, whereas you claim to have had too many lovers to count.” She attempts a frown, but a satisfied grin wins the battle for her expression.

I lift one of her hands to my lips and kiss her knuckles. As my lips make contact, her eyelids flutter, further evidence that the strong attraction I feel for her is mutual.

“Alas…” I shake my head as my heart fills with regret. “Rosomon, I can never offer you the life you deserve.”

Her head tips to the side. “Why should you offer me a life? I don’t understand.”

“What I mean is, I can never make you an offer of marriage.”

“Oh.” She laughs. “Is that what has you so worried? Is that what’s dug these lines?” She runs her finger over my forehead and then cups my cheek.

“Saxon. My sweet, strong Saxon. Please, don’t fret—at least not about that . I don’t want a husband. Not ever.”

Her words sting but then make me appreciate her even more. At some point, Rosomon will change her mind about marriage. A husband is a woman’s only option for a comfortable life, but I don’t want to argue with her right now.

I’ve stolen her maidenhood. That part is done. And, if her current distaste for becoming a wife means she’s willing to return to my bed without the promise of marriage, I don’t have the strength to argue.

“What is camp like?” she asks, her eyes eager. “How soon before I can ride a dragon?’

I startle, looking into her eyes to confirm that she’s joking.

But she’s not.

Does she actually believe she’ll have a chance to ride a dragon? That any dragon would be fooled by her costume as easily as the rider candidates were?

Her hand drops from my face, and she studies me, clearly recognizing my shock.

“Ma chérie.” I take her hand again, but it stays limp in mine. “You won’t enter camp as a rider candidate.”

She pulls back her hand. “Why not?”

“Because.” I shake my head, surprised that she hasn’t figured this out. She’s comprehended everything else so quickly. “Because you are a girl.”

Her chin lifts. “I am a woman . A woman of two and twenty. I’ve lived eight days and nights, trapped in close quarters with men, and not one of them has suspected I’m not a boy.”

“A dragon will know.”

“How?” She shakes her head. “And why does that matter?”

“Dragons form strong bonds with their riders. It’s difficult to describe the connection once you mount. And…”

“And?” Her expression remains firm.

“Dragons only bond with men. With strong men. Men whom they respect enough to sacrifice some control.”

She frowns. “How many women have tried to make such a bond?”

“That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point.” She leans away from me. “If no woman has tried , then how can you know they cannot?”

“Rosomon.” I shift toward her.

She stands, frowning at me as I remain on the cot.

“I first bonded with Surath—” I shake my head.

“I was a dragon rider before you were born .” She must see reason.

“And I’ve been a master for ten . I know how dragons think.

And what it takes to control one.” I clear my throat.

“Given my vast experience and knowledge, I can say with certainty, women cannot ride dragons. They lack the strength.” Amongst other things.

Her eyes narrow. “You can’t know that. Not with certainty. Not if no woman has been allowed to try.”

I sigh. This is going nowhere. Rosomon is beyond stubborn, and I suppose, in other circumstances it’s a trait of hers I much admire.