Page 32 of Enchanted
She had great fun with that, grinning to herself as she worked. He should be handsome, she decided. Cruelly so. No wart-faced gnome with a hunched back, but a tall, dashing man with flowing hair and hard, dark eyes. She dressed him in robes, imagined they would be red, like a prince.
“Why didn’t you make him ugly?” Liam asked her.
“Because he wouldn’t be. And if he were, it might seem as if Brinda refused him just because of his looks. She didn’t—it was his heart she rejected. The darkness of it that you’d see in the eyes.”
“But the hero, he’d be more handsome.”
“Of course. We’d expect, even demand that. But he won’t be one of those girlishly pretty men with curly gold hair.” Lost in the story, she tore off the page herself to begin another. “He’ll be dark—dangerous, too. Brave, certainly, but not without flaws. I like my heroes human. Still, he risked his life for Brinda, first for honor. And then for love.”
She laughed a little as she leaned back from the sketch. “He looks a bit like you,” she commented. “But why not? It’s your story. Everyone wants to be the hero of their own story, after all.” She smiled at him. “And it’s a wonderful story, Liam. Can I read the rest?”
“Not yet.” There were changes to be made now, he thought, and switched off the screen.
“Oh.” Disappointment rang in her voice, and fed his ego. “I just want to see what happens after they fly out of the Land of Mirrors.”
“If you do, you’ll have to accept my proposition.”
“Proposition?”
“A business one. Do the drawings for me. All of them. It’s a great deal of work, as most of the levels will becomplex. I’ll need an exacting amount of detail for the graphics, and I’m not easily satisfied.”
She held up a hand. She wanted to stop him, to give herself time to find her voice. “You want me to draw the story?”
“It’s not a simple matter. I’ll require hundreds of sketches, all manner of scenes and angles.”
“I don’t have any experience.”
“No?” He lifted her sketch of the dragon.
“I just tossed those off,” she insisted, pushing to her feet with a sense of panic. “I didn’t think.”
“Is that the way of it?” Interesting. “Fine, then. Don’t think; just draw.”
She couldn’t keep up, couldn’t quite catch her breath. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious,” he corrected, and laid the sketch down again. “Were you when you said you wanted to do what made you happy?”
“Yes.” She was rubbing a hand over her heart, unaware of the movement.
“Then work with me on this, if it pleases you. You’ll make the living you need. The Donovan Legacy will see to that part well enough. It’s up to you, Rowan.”
“Wait, just wait.” She kept her hand up, turned away to walk to the window. The sky was still blue, she noted, the forest still green. And the wind blew with the same steady breath.
It was only her life that was changing. If she let it.
To do something she loved for a living? To use it freely and with pleasure and have it give back everything she needed? Could that be possible? Could it be real?
And it was then she realized it wasn’t panic that was hot in her throat, pounding in her blood. It was excitement.
“Do you mean this? Do you think my sketches would suit your story?”
“I wouldn’t have said so otherwise. The choice is yours.”
“Mine,” she said quietly, like a breath. “Then, yes, it would please me very much.” Her voice was slow, thoughtful. But when the full scope of his offer struck, she whirled around, her eyes brilliant. He saw those tinysilver lights in her eyes. “I’d love to work with you on it. When do we start?”
He took the hand she held out, clasped it firmly in his. “We just did.”
***
