Page 35 of A Witch and Her Dragon
I quickly tear my gaze away and say, “Would you like some tea? I can make some while you get changed.”
A thick silence stretches between us, broken only by the crackling of the flames in the hearth. I start to wonder if he’s going to ask me to leave.
At long last, Raelan says, “The tea is there.” He points to the mantel, which is home to a few glass jars filled withvarious herbs, then pads up the stairs to the loft, bare feet quiet on each step.
With him momentarily out of sight, I try to catch my breath, mentally scolding myself for my silliness while fetching the kettle and filling it with water from the pitcher in the corner. I hang it on a hook over the flames, then busy myself with preparing two teacups. Raelan has a few options for tea: lemon balm, chamomile, and peppermint.
“Which flavor do you want?” I call up to him.
“Peppermint,” he replies, voice muffled, like he’s pulling a tunic over his head.
My gaze flicks briefly to the loft overhead, but all I see is a subtle movement of shadow, and I tear my eyes quickly away.
I fill two cotton sachets with peppermint leaves, then toss them into a couple mismatched teacups and pour the hot water over the top. The minty scent swirls around me, reminding me of the gardens back home, where the peppermint plants grow so wild that our gardeners have to fight to tame them each year.
Raelan’s feet thump softly down the stairs, and I steady myself before turning to face him, one cup held in each hand.
Now he’s dressed in comfortable attire I’ve never seen on him before: a loose-fitting tunic and soft cotton pants, no armor or uniform in sight. Looking at him makes my cheeks warm. I only hope the firelight will hide the blush coloring my skin.
“Peppermint, as requested,” I say, holding out his teacup.
He crosses the room slowly, perhaps even hesitantly, and when he takes the cup from my hand, I notice how careful he is not to touch my fingers.
But why?
A small burst of irritation goes through me. But it’s good. It reminds me why I’m here, helps pull my head out of the clouds.
I settle myself into one of the armchairs near the fire, gesturing with my free hand for Raelan to do the same. He does so, but I note the tension in his shoulders, the stiffness in the way he’s holding himself, like he’s as unsure around me as I now am around him.
Best to be out with it, then.
“What was that?” I ask. “What happened?”
Raelan doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he stares into the flames, the dancing fire reflected in his glassy dark eyes. A muscle in his jaw goes taut, and then he sighs.
“That was my dragon. It was released when you removed my chain.”
His chain.
The reminder has me reaching into the pocket of my robe, fingers wrapping around the heavy metal, which is warm to the touch from being nestled alongside my body. I hold it up, the links clinking together, and Raelan’s eyes find it.
“Who put this on you?” I ask. “Why do you wear it?”
Worry turns in my stomach. I can’t imagine Grandfather would enslave someone this way. It makes me sick just thinking about.
I hope I’m wrong. If I’m not . ..
“The magic in the chain keeps my beast from emerging. Without it, I could transform at any time.” Raelan stares at it while he speaks, but I can’t quite read the expression on his face, don’t know if he’s looking at it with disgust or with longing—or perhaps a bit of both.
“Where’d you get it?” I ask, running my thumb over the smooth links. It’s beautifully made, so I imagine it was crafted by an expert metalworker.
“His Majesty gave it to me,” Raelan says, turning away from me to stare into the fire once more.
Simmering heat shoots through me. “Grandfather forces you to wear this? How could he—”
Raelan holds up a hand, halting me midsentence. “He forces me to do nothing. I choose to wear it.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”
