Page 42 of A Witch and Her Dragon
Alina’s smile is quick and warm. “No need. I’ve always thought it would be lovely to have a younger sister.” She reaches up to tuck a long strand of hair behind her ear, and I hold my breath.
A few more paces down the cobblestone walkway, I gesture to the seamstress’s shop coming up on our right. “It’s here,” I say.
Alina pauses, stepping aside for me to go ahead, and it’s a relief when I can no longer smell her. My dragon coils inside me, hot and frustrated at being kept from her.
But it’s nothing compared to yesterday—both in the courtyard just before Alina removed the chain from my neck and later in the evening, when I very nearly let myself lose control with her. In comparison, this is nothing.
We climb the stairs to the apartment above the shop, Alina’s steps quiet behind mine. At the top, I knock firmly. On the other side of the door, there’s a scurrying of curious feet, followed by my mother’s voice.
Then the door swings open, and my young sisters blink up at me in surprise. But that only lasts for a second before their gazes flick to Alina, and their faces do something akin to setting aflame.
“Y-Your Highness!” Clarice squeaks. She drops into a clumsy curtsy, pulling Gilda down alongside her.
“What’s that?” Mama says from the back room.
“The princess is here!” Gilda squeals.
“What?”
“Oh, and Raelan too!”
Compared to Alina, I’m the afterthought. And I’m completely content with that.
My mother comes out of the back room holding a bolt of fabric, a thimble on one thumb, her long dark hair pulled up atop her head and stuck through with some type of stick. When she sees me, then Alina, her eyes go wide.
“Hello,” Alina says behind me, her voice gentle. She makes no indication of being startled by my mother’s scars. “We were at the café, and Raelan mentioned you like the croissants.” She holds up the crinkly paper bag. “I wanted to bring you some. I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Come in!” Gilda says, grabbing for Alina’s arm. But Clarice quickly intercepts, pulling my youngest sister back.
“You can’t grab her like that!” she snaps. “She’s the princess! Mind your manners.”
“Oops.” Gilda’s cheeks go pink. “Sorry.”
“Come in, please,” Mama says. “Let me just put some things away. Raelan, will you get the table?” Mama gestures to the kitchen table, which is currently buried under piles of clothing, bolts of fabric, and what looks like a grocery list.
Alina glances up at me, a small smile pulling at her mouth, and somehow, it makes me smile too.
I’M NOT SURE WHAT I expected of Alina, but she wholly surprises me. She takes quickly to my young sisters, even going so far as to let them show her around the tiny one-bedroom apartment, as if there’s anything of interest to look at. But Alina plays along, nodding and smiling as Gilda shows her the doll I purchased for her last year.
“She’s beautiful,” Alina says, holding up the doll, which has certainly seen better days. It was pristine when I bought it, but now its fabric is slightly worn, and it looks to be missing a small patch of hair. “Your brother got this for you?”
“Yes. That’s why she’s my favorite.”
At Gilda’s words, Alina’s gaze flicks to mine from across the small space. I return her stare and am thankful when she breaks eye contact first.
Mama clears her throat as Gilda drags Alina away again, though to show her what, I’ve no idea.
“She’s... special,” Mama says, voice low so as to avoid anyone overhearing.
My gaze finds hers. “Yes.”
This is the first time my mother has met the princess; she met the king ten years ago, when he first took me in, and she was present in the throne room at my knighting ceremony, but Alina has only ever been a distant figure, someone you knowofbut don’t trulyknow. Yet here she is, in our tiny apartment, entertaining my sisters as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Come,” Mama says, pushing up from the table. She leads me to the front door, and we step out onto the landing at the top of the narrow stairs. Once thedoor has closed firmly behind us, she turns to look up at me. “I’m worried about you, Raelan.”
I reach up to scratch the back of my head and realize my hair has grown out a bit. I’ll need to have it cut again soon. “Why?”
My mother’s gaze flicks to my neck, where I’m sure she can see my burns. “This isn’t good for you.” She lifts a hand as if to reach out and touch me, but I capture her fingers with mine and lower them, squeezing affectionately.
