Page 3 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Two

Rosomon

S lipping my hands into Sky Stallion’s mane, I squeeze my flanks to guide him back to the narrow path.

The stranger’s hands grip me, their expanse and heat encircling my entire rib cage and drifting dangerously close to my un-corseted bosom.

The sensation of his hot hands on my body is wondrous, exciting, and somehow feels very right, even though I’m certain it’s wrong.

But there’s no time to debate his hands’ placement.

The sun will soon set, and I lack the physical power to force his dismount.

The danger housed in the stranger’s body is terrifying.

Yet, as my cleft presses against the horse’s spine, and my bottom rocks against the man’s taut thighs as we move, a peculiar throbbing beats low in my belly.

The moment we cross the bridge and climb out of the gorge, I steer Sky Stallion away from the road.

The stranger doesn’t object, as if he instantly understands that we should not be seen as we overtake the cortege from Khotor.

Crossing the rolling expanse of my father’s land, Sky Stallion’s pace is exhilarating, especially given the added excitement of having this dangerous man’s thighs pressed against mine, his entire body draped around me.

Together, our legs goad Sky Stallion far beyond the limits I’ve ever risked riding on my own, and the man’s power and heat rival the steed’s.

His large hands meet around me, and I sense their strength, as his fingers flex to keep me secured.

As forbidden and wrong as this seems, I’m grateful for the added security.

An undeniable heat builds inside me, and something continues to pulse deep between my legs, as if the insides of my body are trying to keep time with the horse’s gait.

My cleft has turned damp, even though I’m less than a week past my last courses.

I hope to Othrix that I’m not bleeding without rags.

Across the field, the royal cortege stands out in silhouette against the sun, now lingering perilously close to the horizon.

When we’re well past the royal party, I nudge Sky Stallion back toward the main road.

As our angle changes, the stranger’s body leans into mine, as if he had the idea to turn at the same moment.

It’s like the three of us—man, woman and beast—are working as one.

The idea thrills me, and at our far faster pace, we will arrive at the gates safely ahead of the visiting royal party.

The stranger’s hold is at once firm and gentle, and his fingers pulse against my body to the beat of Sky Stallion’s hooves, amplifying the internal pulses between my legs.

I long to look down at his strong hands, to view their grasp on me, but in the dimming light, I dare not take my eyes from our path.

If darkness weren’t imminent, I’d want to continue this ride for hours—for days.

I’d want him to take me to far away places.

“Careful.” Using his legs against mine and the horse, the stranger guides us past a gully I failed to spot. Had Sky’s hoof landed inside it, his leg would have broken.

“We’re getting close.” The stranger’s voice rumbles through me. “Slow down.”

His thighs relax against mine, and the two of us work together to slow the horse to a more comfortable pace.

“I’ll leave you by that tree,” the man says, “before we are seen together.”

I’m grateful he’s thought of this. It’s too late in the day for me to sneak into the castle undetected—especially since that royal cortege is expected—and Nurse’s scoldings will be so much worse if I’m seen with a strange man.

I steer us toward the massive stonewood tree that stands alone in the expanse of wild tymothy grasses not a furlong from the gates.

I discovered the joys of this tree when I had but ten years.

Nurse told me that goblins live in the ancient tree’s roots, but I found none, and soon realized she’d only said it to deter me from climbing into the trees thick branches.

I’ve spent countless days hidden in the crooks of this tree, reading books taken in secret from the royal library.

Reading is another activity forbidden for young ladies.

But in the years after Mother’s death, I taught myself to read, and then, hiding behind a screen, I managed to gain an education, listening as the pedagogues instructed my younger brothers.

As we approach the tree, we slow Sky Stallion, stopping just behind it. Anyone with a looking tube will easily spot the horse here, but the tree’s trunk is wide and should shield both me and the stranger from view.

I stroke the horse’s sweat-slicked neck, and he paws the earth, seemingly frustrated that his hard run has ended. Or possibly that it’s ended in a place where there is no water to drink, nor oats to feed him.

The man dismounts, and his absence exposes my back and legs to the chill of the evening air.

The purple light of the setting sun turns the man’s cloak a deep black, and highlights the sheen of its fabric, clearly a plush, silk velvet. He is no pauper.

Is my stranger a nobleman or knyght? If so, where is his steed?

He backs several paces away, ducking under a low-hanging branch, and then turns as he looks up toward the evening sky. As he spins, his cloak rises to reveal the leather-covered shape housed beneath. His tightly fitted garments seem like part of him.

I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his solid build. The stable boy’s form is impressive, but the mounds and planes of this man… His sculpted lines seem to hold the power of a steed—or other such beast—and my brief sighting heightens the unfamiliar stirrings deep in my belly.

“How may I repay your kindness?” I ask him. “I don’t even know your name, good sir.”

He turns back toward me. “I am neither good, nor a sir. And you can thank me by returning home safely. Now go.”

Another shriek sounds in the distance, and a shiver traces through me. Night is quickly falling, perhaps bringing creatures of Darkness. I don’t want to leave this man’s side, but I long to be in the safety of my chambers, where a warm bath awaits.

“Where is your mount?” I ask.

“She is safe.”

I’m shocked that this man doesn’t ride a stallion. “At least give me your name.” My voice comes out breathless.

“Saxon.” He slaps Sky Stallion’s flank, and I grip the beast’s mane for dear life as we gallop toward the castle’s gates and away from the stranger.

Nurse’s arms twitch, clearly longing to beat me. She wouldn’t dare. Not now I’m a grown woman having two and twenty years. But her look delivers a harsh scolding as well as any blow she ever delivered when I was young. Perhaps better.

Still, I wouldn’t take back one moment of today’s ride. Not even the part where I was grabbed by that stranger. Especially not that part. My fingers rise to my heated cheeks.

“Look at the state of ye, lass!” The stocky woman folds her arms over her aproned tunic as she shakes her head. Amber-tinged light from the roaring fire highlights stray gray hairs, which have escaped the braids Nurse wears coiled atop her head.

No matter how neatly Nurse’s hair greets the day, in a few hours it always looks as if it has been styled in a windstorm.

In this way, I suppose Nurse and I are kindred spirits, and warmth of a more familiar kind rises inside me.

Nurse is the closest thing I’ve had to a mother.

My only caregiver after the Queen died, when I had barely seven years.

“Are ye grinning, lass?” Nurse’s eyes narrow. “Are ye laughing at me? Are ye proud of your unladylike antics?”

“No, I…” I’d like to tell her what fueled my smile. I’d love to share the warm affection I feel for her right now, but such an interaction between a grown princess and her servant would only add to the list of crimes I’ve committed today.

“What’s done is done.” Nurse shakes her head. “Let’s get ye bathed and dressed. It’s to be a special feast.”

“A feast to welcome the King of Khotor?”

Her head cocks to the side. “How did ye know—” Interrupting herself, she shakes her head. Then her strong hands take my shoulders. She turns me and begins to release the laces down the back of my simple frock.

I begged Seamstress to fashion this dress, claiming it was a gift for one of my maids. Little white lies harm no one.

“Filthy. Disgraceful.” Nurse mutters under her breath as she works to disrobe me. “And ye smell of that beast ye had between your legs. Indecent.”

My cheeks burst into flames, but I quickly realize she means the horse and not the stranger. Nurse knows nothing of how my bottom and flanks were pressed between a man’s thighs. Nor how firmly he held me against his trouser flap, the place where men house their mysterious sausages.

The heat in my cheeks amplifies. Oblivious, Nurse tugs the loosened garment off my shoulders, and it drops to pool around my feet.

Left in my thin shift, I step toward the copper tub. Steam rises from its welcoming surface, even though I was late to arrive.

The fire flares, and I spin toward the carved stone fireplace.

“My frock!”

Nurse tossed my favorite garment into the flames.

Anger stokes the red in my cheeks, but I keep it contained.

I’d never lay my hand on a servant like that horrible king did to that girl.

And I can’t punish Nurse for doing something Housemistress would praise her for. Nurse only wants the best for me.

Resting my hands on the copper tub’s curved edge, I ease one foot into the bath, loving how the heat first stings and then soothes my foot and calf. “I’ll ask Seamstress to make me a new frock,” I say defiantly.

“Housemistress has forbidden Seamstress from crafting more unsuitable garments for ye,” Nurse says.

I spin toward her.

Her eyes cast down, Nurse shakes her head, and she doesn’t seem as pleased with herself as I expected. “It was the King hisself who insisted.” She nods slightly toward the fire, and my appreciation for her grows.