Page 22 of Dragon Unleashed

Princess?“What the—?” I push past him into his room.

“Come on in why don’t you? I’d never turn you down.” He tugs suggestively on his towel, flashing a grin when a startled first-year scuttles past his doorway.

Great, more ammunition for the gossips.

As the door swings shut, I shift uncomfortably. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea. I take a deep breath and focus over his left shoulder. A portrait of the Virrey, his arm possessively around the shoulders of a thin woman, stares back at me. She looks sad somehow. I blink.Focus, Lorelei.At least I’m no longer obsessing over his muscles.

“Did you know who my mom was?”

Farrell regards me for a long moment before walking to a magnificent cherrywood dresser.

“Don’t walk away from my question.”

He drops the towel and reaches into a drawer.

Fuck. Why does he have to have a perfect ass?

Abruptly I turn my back and stare at a floor-to-ceiling tapestry on his wall. More shitting dragons. His family is obsessed. I concentrate hard on it for a few long moments.

“Safe now, princess.” The nickname hits home properly this time.

“You did know!” I swing around.

Crap. It’snotsafe. He’s in boxers and a shirt. On what planet does that count as dressed? The back of my neck prickles. I won’t blush. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“I suspected.” He holds up a hand as my flames rush across my skin. “Wait. Let me finish. If you’re going to chew my balls off at least let me speak first.”

He nods toward his ginormous sofa and reluctantly I perch on the edge, as far from him as possible.

“At the end of last term, when your vamp side emerged, I started to put it together. Your stupidly white hair, your aether,you being a vamp and…my father’s unhealthy obsession with you.”

Unhealthy obsession, that’s one way of putting it.

“He doesn’t tell me everything, you know. He hides his corrupt business from me. I know there’s shady stuff, I just don’t always know what it is.” Farrell watches me so intently I don’t quite know what to do with myself.

“Look, Lorelei…” Farrell stands, one long stride taking him to a large oak chest in the corner. He lifts the beautifully ornate lid, revealing a perfectly organized, color-coded interior. He would hate my room. He runs a finger over the neatly labeled compartments before tugging out a box. “I was investigating. I planned to give you this. To tell you.”

The Farrell standing in front of me now looks so open, so damn hopeful, so like the man I thought I was getting to know last year.

I set my jaw and wait him out.

“You’re angry. I get it. You think I should have told you about the rebellion. Just because I didn’t doesn’t mean I don’t care. I have other priorities.”

“Sure. Priorities that aren’t your allegiance. Priorities that aren’t me.”

He holds the wooden box toward me.

Cautiously I flip the delicate clasp open. Carved on the inside of the lid are the wordsPrincess Irena Mael.I run my fingers over the letters.

“Irena. I didn’t know her first name.”

Farrell pulls a face and I could swear there’s pity there.

I don’t need his pity.

“Keep looking, take your time.”

The box is stuffed with newspaper articles, dating from her birth onward. There are a few formal photos of the young princess, but two capture my attention. In one, a very youngIrena is standing in the middle of a playroom, staring straight at the camera, a grin splitting her face in two. In the second, the camera must have caught her unawares. She’s older, maybe only a couple of years younger than I am now, around seventeen. She’s on a beach staring out across the water and there’s no mistaking the tears in her eyes.

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