Page 36 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Twenty-Four

Rosomon

I wake, still folded over the side of the bed, my body limp from exertion, my cleft throbbing and stinging.

No idea what time it might be, I slip off the mattress.

When my feet hit the floor, I wince as the impact strikes deep, almost as if my landing punched me inside.

When I straighten, I discover my legs have been reformed into jelly.

My mouth is dry, as if it’s been weeks since I had a sip of water.

Tea. I need to drink that tea. Because the only thing that could make what happened any worse, would be if Saxon’s seed should take root and he spilled it at least twice inside me.

I stoke the dying embers in the fireplace, then place the small kettle above the flames.

Waiting for the water to heat, I retrieve the small teapot and a cup from the shelf.

While the tea steeps, I wash all external evidence of Saxon from my body.

The basin of water set out by Elly last night is now cold, but the damp flannel cloth feels good against my most tender places.

I shiver as I banish every trace of Saxon from my skin.

If only it could be so easy to wash what he did from my mind and my heart.

Saxon claimed that he treated me roughly on purpose, that he did it for my own good.

I will never, not ever, let Saxon touch me again. Not if he begs. Not if he has the last hard cock in the Seven Kingdoms.

What he did was cruel, but why he did it was even more so. At certain moments, when I let myself forget his intent, the rough act became pleasurable—very pleasurable—but then I remembered his words, his motivations, and my hatred for him grew. Hatred that’s now lodged as a stone in my heart.

As I finish my courtesan’s tea, I focus on those emotions, pushing away all thoughts of my physical gratification, crushing my memories of our time in his tent—even how well I enjoyed his unrelenting hard drives last night—until I did not.

A loud bell rings from the courtyard. I have but fifteen minutes to arrive on the training field. Last night, Treacher made it clear that anyone tardy would be immediately exiled.

I gulp down the remaining tea and then scramble to don the new corset.

I’m grateful Saxon brought it along with the tea, but that doesn’t dull my growing hatred.

I’m furious with him. Furious at myself for ever thinking him to be kind or that he cared for me.

Furious at how I was drawn to him, almost like we were two parts of a whole, reunited after a long absence.

All my misconceptions regarding Saxon are over, all my girlish fantasies that he might actually care for me. The man may have introduced me to carnal pleasures, but I’ll never let him touch me again. Not ever. I hope he lives up to his claim to have honor, because he’ll never again earn my consent.

The breeches that form part of my uniform have flaps not only in front but in back.

But I find it easy enough to dress without Elly’s help.

I expect the flap in the back is designed to be used if one needs to vacate their bowels, like the one in the braies I took from my brother, and I’m once again struck by all the practicalities built into men’s garments.

Finished dressing, I stash the tin of tea at the back of my wardrobe, hoping that Elly won’t find it. And I rush out into the courtyard just in time to join the group as they walk toward the training fields.

Every step I take is a reminder of Saxon, of what he did to me. And while the deep ache between my legs was welcome after our first night together, this time it fuels my hatred.

Instead of letting the nagging pain hold me back, I’ll use it today to propel my spirit. I’ll use it to prove Saxon—to prove everyone —wrong.

I glance around for Samyull, growing fearful when I don’t spot him.

But since we’re both so much shorter than the others, I can’t be sure he’s not amongst us.

Perhaps it’s better if he’s not. If he’s already deserted camp, or declared himself recreant, it’s for the best. Everyone expects us to be the first to perish, but I have more strength in my body than the others can see, and far more determination in my heart.

As we progress across the field, the crowd spreads out, chattering and speculating about what we might face. I talk to no one. These men aren’t my friends. They are my competitors, and they are the ones who stand between me and my chance to ride dragons.