Page 18 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“Ah. You saw Dorian taking it up the ass, did you?” He gives a mirthless chuckle.
“Yes! If…if that’s what it’s called.” It seems to me that his words are crude but accurate.
“Among other things,” he says dryly. “So they saw you watching them and got upset.”
“I never would have said anything!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t say anything. But somehow word got back to the Queen. That’s why…why she sent me to you last night,” I add in a low voice. Goddess, now I truly am embarrassed.
Xaren doesn’t seem surprised.
“Yes, my mother has spies everywhere,” he remarks. “I could have told her that Dorian wouldn’t bed you. But she never listens to me.”
“You won’t either. Bed me, I mean,” I say, though I have no idea what makes those words come out of my mouth. Maybe my fear for the future—the time that is coming when I cannot escape the Queen finding out I’m not pregnant.
Xaren’s eyes narrow and he stares down at me.
“I think we’ve already established that you don’t really want me to bed you, little dove,” he growls.
I feel suddenly flustered and have to look away, my cheeks hot as coals.
“That’s what I thought,” Xaren growls. “Now come on—we’re going to find that groom who put burrs under your mount’s saddle and get to the bottom of this.” He hands me Mirabella’s reigns. “She’s quite calm now—can you mount?”
“Not…not without a mounting block,” I admit.
“Very well. Hold the reigns.” He puts big hands around my waist and lifts me up to my horse’s saddle. I give a little gasp—he’s acting like I weigh no more than a feather pillow!
A moment later I’m securely mounted. When he’s sure I’m safe, Xaren swings easily up onto his own mount and urges the big black stallion into a canter.
I do the same, clicking my tongue and tapping my heels at Mirabella’s sides. Now that she has no burrs under her saddle, she’s once more docile as a lamb. She goes when I ask her to, her pace extra steady and smooth, as though she’s trying to make up for the wild ride she took me on earlier.
But when we get back to the stables, Grims is gone. And when Xaren demands to speak to the Stable Master, the man swears with a straight face that there’s never been a groom with that name. I try describing him—lank blonde hair, thin face—but he denies ever having hired a man by that description.
It’s frustrating for me but even more so for Xaren.
“Listen to me…” He leans down and stares the Stable Master dead in the face, his golden eye flashing. “Elaina is my wife. One of the men who works here tried to injure or kill her—I want that man! I want him fucking brought to me the minute you find him!”
“We can look, Prince Xaren, but I’m telling you, I ain’t got nobody like that on my staff!”
I can’t tell if Xaren believes him or not but there’s a sullen look in the man’s eye. Almost like he’s holding a grudge against the Dark Prince. Again, I remember Tanzy’s story about the milkmaid and the stable boys. Maybe the Stable Master is still mad about that.
“You find him and bring him to me,” Xaren demands. “And in the meantime, nothing had better happen to my wife. She’d better not even stub her toe on the mounting block or there’s going to be Hell to pay—and you’ll be the one paying it.” His golden eye gleams. “So be sure you tell your staff—all of them—that she’s under my protection. I will personally punish any man who even looks at her wrong. Am I making myself clear?”
“Very clear, Your Majesty,” the Stable Master mutters. He casts a baleful look in my direction and I feel my stomach knot. Something tells me I’d better give riding a rest for a while. I don’t think I’ll be welcome in the stables for some time.
But also, hearing Xaren claim me as his wife is doing funny things to me. I feel butterflies fluttering again, but in a good way. Dorian has certainly never claimed me like that—the Crown Prince can barely be bothered to notice me. Then again, he has Henri, who seems to be enough for him. And Xaren has no one. Except maybe me? I don’t know—I’m so confused.
At least we seem to be on good terms again…or so I think.
12
ELAINA
But despite defending me and saving me from being thrown off my horse and killed, Xaren ignores me at dinner that night. And when I show up at his door that evening, I find it locked against me.
I have to pound my fist on the wooden door for five minutes while calling his name before finally, grudgingly, it opens. He’s dressed in long, dark sleep trousers and nothing else, his broad, bare chest on display. I try not to look—I’ve seen a man unclothed before—well, half unclothed—but the stable boy back home was nothing like the Dark Prince.
“What do you want?” Xaren looks down at me like I’m an annoyance. Whatever happened to being all protective and calling me his wife?
“It’s not what I want—it’s what your mother wants,” I say, stung by his tone and the way he’s glaring at me. “I’m supposed to spend every night in your bed and she sends her servant to watch and be sure I’m obeying her orders.”
