Page 4 of A Queen and Her Knight

“I’m surprised you remember,” Azar returned immediately, crossing her arms and then uncrossing them because the pose gave away too much.

“Oh, yes?” Bernard answered with a hint of the attitude that he gave to rude delivery people, or to anyone in town who stared at him, or, occasionally, to Azar’s parents. But Azar barely had time to notice it before Bernard sighed and gestured loosely at something. “Is this how it’s going to be this summer, Miss Azar? Just like winter break?”

Miss Azar. He never called ZarrinMr. Zarrin. Azar was the only one who got that nickname. She’d used to think it was done out of fondness, but it clearly wasn’t. Bernard was mocking her.

And why shouldn’t he? Zarrin had hobbies and interests. Azar didn’t have anything but a room full of books hidden in the closet and in her bureau under her clothes so her parents wouldn’t worry about her wasting her time on novels. She didn’t know what Bernard thought of them, but he definitely knew about them. She shied away from the memory from a few years ago, and how she’d been heading outside to hike and read, and a novel had fallen from her bag and Bernard had been the one to pick it up; a thick paperback from the library, the cover red and pink, with a human woman with large, heaving breasts in the arms of a tall, dark-haired human man. The title had beenA Rake for the Duchess.

Azar would have to study all summer to stay near the top of her class. She wouldn’t go anywhere or do anything. She wasn’t permitted to travel during school breaks, and she had no license, so she couldn’t even drive into Everlasting. She’d half hoped Bernard might teach her if she could get a permit in time. But now she decided bitterly that he would probably think she’d needed a car seat.

“Iswhathow it’s going to be?” she demanded with all of that on her mind. “I can’t imagine we’ll have much interaction.” She raised her chin. “I don’t mingle with staff.”

Bernard’s mouth fell open as he took a step back. He swallowed, then narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you’ve learned at that boarding school they made you go to?”

“What do you care?” Azar nearly hissed it, and shook to think of what she must look and sound like. Probably flushed and loud enough to wake Zarrin. She was nearly eighteen. Her parents had already started to introduce her to other dragons, hoping for a match because they didn’t yet realize…. Azar took a deep breath and made herself quiet and haughty the way that otherdragons liked. “Never mind. I won’t bother with breakfast. I’ll just have coffee.”

Bernard’s voice went flat. “You hate coffee.”

“Coffee is perfectly fine,” Azar the dragon said and descended the rest of the stairs. She went past Bernard without looking at him, although there was frustration in the air. She could taste it.

“I have the kitchen set up for your tea,” Bernard said, not evenly. “You want your tea.” He didn’t ask. He got that way sometimes. Certain. It was probably elf magic.

Azar briefly stopped but still could not look at him. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do. No coffee either, then?” She raised her head but didn’t meet his stare. “I’ll prepare it myself.”

“That ismykitchen.” Bernard had no problem facing her, or snapping at her, dragon or not.

But Azar wasn’t much of one. So she said what her mother would have said. “Then do your job.”

Of course, Bernard wasn’t intimidated by Azar’s mother. What he could be was hurt, and Azar had hurt him. She could not have done this worse.

She brought her gaze up to Bernard’s eyes, as warm as the rest of him, though a gentler heat than the fire inside Azar. “Sorry,” she said quietly and pulled her book to her chest. “I’m going out. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

She had hurt him, but Bernard stopped her again in concern. “You need to eat. You had no dinner either.”

Azar almost pulled her lower lip in between her teeth, but then remembered the rose-red she’d stupidly put on her mouth. A blush did nothing for the feeling in her chest. “You don’t tell me what I need.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Bernard said, tricking Azar’s heart into pounding even though Bernard had to be talking to the house. “If Miss Azar wants oatmeal, then I will prepare oatmeal.”

Azar was so hot she shivered.

He didn’t mean it. He was being condescending because he knew Azar really did loathe oatmeal.

“I’m not hungry,” she answered at last, as frostily as she could with her fire like this.

“Azar,” Bernard began, taking a moment before speaking again, “did you not want to come home?”

“Home?” Azar echoed softly, barely audible even to herself.

“Maybe,” Bernard was still halting, finally uncertain, “you got a boyfriend and didn’t want to leave him? A girlfriend? I suppose it’s about time you started doing that. I guess I just don’t think of you as old enough.” He laughed a little.

Azar looked up.

Bernard stared back at her, stunned silent. By what, Azar didn’t immediately understand. She gazed back, wishing she’d never come here. Then she saw why Bernard was staring.

There was gray smoke around her.

Gray, as if Azar hadn’t given enough away already.

“Azar,” Bernard tried, “did I… do something?”

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