Page 30 of Bride of the Black Dragon
“Not a scholar exactly—I just like to learn new things.” I’m a bit on the defensive. It’s considered very unladylike to admit a love of learning. Most women can barely read. But I love reading—I sat with my brother at his lessons and the tutor taught both of us. I was only allowed to do so, however, because I promised my parents I’d never tell anyone. No man wants a wife who might be smarter than him—that’s what my mother always said.
But Xaren doesn’t seem put off by my enjoyment of reading and learning, to the contrary, he’s looking at me in a new way. Like maybe he misjudged me somehow.
“You’ll have to tell me what you think of the book later,” he rumbles. “For now, it’s almost time for dinner and I want the two of us to be present at the table. My mother mustn’t think she’s won.”
“But she has,” I point out, as we rise to go. “She…she’s ordered us to…to make a baby together.” I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks heat. “And I don’t think we dare to disobey her again. At least I know I don’t.” I drop my voice to barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t put it past your mother to make me disappear if I don’t give her a grandchild soon.”
A troubled look flits across Xaren’s dark face, but he shakes his head.
“Later for that,” he says shortly. “And when I say we can’t let her think she’s won, I mean we must not let her think she’s broken our spirits.” He lifts his head defiantly and I see his golden eye flashing. “She can’t break me—I’m fucking done with that.”
I wish I could say the same, but the truth is, I’m more scared of my Mother-in-Law than I was before, and that’s saying something. There was something so unnerving about the cool, collected way she sat there watching her own son get whipped bloody. And how she refused to pay the ransom for Xaren’s return, even though the Citadel is dripping in gold and I’m sure she could have afforded it many times over.
There must be something wrong with her, I conclude. She must have a dead heart. My father always said that about Executioners—he said they must have a dead heart in their chest in order to kill people for a living—for anyone with a living, beating heart could never do the work.
That’s what I think about the Queen—she has a dead, blackened husk of a heart. And what’s more, I do believe that Dorian has inherited it. How else could he accuse an innocent maid of a theft he had committed himself and then stand by and watch her lose a hand without so much as batting an eyelash?
Yes, there’s definitely a sickness in the Royal family, I think, as I follow Xaren to get dressed for dinner. The question is, has he inherited it as well?
I don’t think so—he never would have offered to take my beating if he had. And he wouldn’t have cared about the milkmaid who was nearly raped by the stable boys. His pain has set him apart—it’s made him bitter but it’s also kept his heart from hardening and dying like his mother’s and his brother’s. I like him for that—for caring about the suffering of others.
Dinner is a silent affair. The Queen gives Xaren a surprised look when she sees him come to the table and then she watches us both with narrowed eyes as we eat and talk quietly, ignoring her scrutiny.
Dorian isn’t there at all—he’s allowed to skip the nightly banquet though I am not. He’s probably sulking in his room, complaining to Henri or perhaps plotting vengeance against me for exposing him in front of the Court.
The thought makes me uneasy and I have a hard time forcing down the few bites of food that I eat to keep up the façade that everything is normal.
The Nobles at the lower tables are quiet, no doubt hoping to hear a Royal fight. But when there is no such spectacle, they gradually begin to talk amongst themselves, though they keep their eyes trained on the Royal Table on its raised dais.
It occurs to me that we’re nothing but a show for them—an endless source of juicy gossip—and I’m tired of it. I don’t want to be on display for a lot of stuck-up snobs who see me as nothing but a dancing bear to poke for their amusement. I want to go someplace where I can act normally and eat without a roomful of people staring at me.
But that’s never going to happen unless I run away from the Citadel and where would I go if I did? It makes me think of another passage in the Dragon Lore book that I read—all about a land beyond the Y’pryz Mountains at the far edge of the Kingdom. A land where everyone—male and female—all has their own Drake inside. A land of Dragons.
Of course, it’s nothing but a myth, I’m sure. And even if it wasn’t, who could ever get there? The Y’pryz peaks rise thousands of feet in the air—no one has ever scaled them successfully and come back to tell the tale. It’s foolishness to even think of it, especially since I have no Drake myself.
Still, I can’t help daydreaming about getting away from Royal life—which I just don’t seem to be cut out for. Though maybe things will settle down if Xaren will just put a baby in my belly.
The thought makes my cheeks grow hot because I know I’ll be going to his rooms again after dinner is over. I must convince him to take me this time…maybe if we take things slowly.
But I keep getting mental images of him on top of me, parting my thighs… I wonder how big his male parts are? I wonder if it will hurt? One of my married sisters admitted to me that though it hurts the first time, it can feel rather nice afterwards—if the man is gentle and takes his time.
I look at the Dark Prince from the corner of my eye and wonder if he has any gentleness in him. If he would take his time with me…
The thought makes me blush again and my nipples feel tight and tender rubbing against the bodice of my dress. I feel a warmth and tenderness between my thighs, too, which causes me to press them together tightly.
Xaren catches me looking at him as the servant comes by with the dessert platter.
“That one,” he says, pointing out a delicious-looking apple dumpling pastry with golden brown crust. “And that one.” He points to a scrumptious-looking chocolate éclair. “No, not on my plate—these are for my wife,” he directs the servant, who places both desserts on the plate in front of me. “She has a sweet tooth,” he adds, smiling a little.
“Thank you,” I murmur, picking up the dainty golden dessert fork which would have gone unused if Xaren hadn’t ordered for me. I’m still shy about ordering something that’s obviously fattening in front of the Queen. Now that she knows I’m not pregnant, she’s been glaring at me again when I dare to take a slice of the rich, fatty roast or a bowl of cream soup.
“You’re welcome, little dove,” my dark husband murmurs.
“I appreciate you ordering it for me but you don’t have to watch me eat it,” I say, with a bite of éclair halfway to my mouth.
“I like to watch you enjoying yourself,” he murmurs. “And besides, you’ve been watching me all dinner. Tell me, what have you been thinking?”
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire and I suddenly have trouble swallowing the luscious bite of éclair. If he knew what I’d been thinking…
