Page 4 of Dragons' Bride
“I’ve a notion or two. But it’s Hauck’s ideas I worry about more than my own.” I rub my face. “If you could possibly pretend that you didn't hear him mention anything about... you know..."
"I have no notion of what you refer to," Nora says quickly, her face changing back to its energetic self. “But I think I know the perfect outfit to go along with the jewels for tonight. Should we get you washed up for dinner?”
There she went with theweagain, as if I can’t do it myself. I open my mouth to protest, but Nora cuts me off.
“I’m getting a sense that you are about to tell me that your arms have not fallen off yet and you are capable of holding soap all by yourself.”
“Something like that.”
She thinks for a moment, then her eyes light up with an idea. “Then how about this? I rather like my job. And if you start acting like you can handle your own soap, I’m never going to be able to convince the royal family that they should keep me around. So, consider this a sign of your ladyship’s benevolence.”
I laugh.
She grabs my hands and tows me over to the brass tub.
An hour later, Nora has me bathed and dressed in a gown of sheer seabreeze fabric intermingled with darker blue silks that move like the ocean when I walk. Then she brushes out, braids, and pins up my hair, working in Hauck’s barrettes to match the necklace and bracelets hugging my wrists. Looking at myself in the mirror, I don't recognize the sensual woman staring back at me.
“You look divine.” Nora stands back and nods in satisfaction, admiring the same reflection that is taunting me. She catches my eyes and frowns. “Is something amiss, my lady?”
Many things. Starting with the fact that I am not a lady, but a dressed up fake. A pig with lip paint standing in for the real thing. I realize Nora is still watching me and give her an appreciative nod.
“You did a remarkable job,” I tell her. Then I pull my shoulders back and ready myself to live the lie I promised.
Nora leads me to the captain's dining room, where a pair of uniformed guards open the door for me.
"Lady Kitterny, Your Highnesses,” one of the two announces. “Captain."
I step forward into the spacious cabin. The males are already there, sitting in high backed chairs around the polished mahogany table that’s set with fine china plates set into little grooves that keep the plates from moving around. Behind Captain Dane’s chair, the flag of Massa’eve hangs proudly on the wall. A striking standard of a fierce dragon with its wings spread wide, matching the larger one flapping from the Phoenix's mast.
Chairs scrape as the room comes to its feet. Captain Dane stands first, flashing his polished uniform and grounding presence, then the rest of the officers. Then, finally, the four princes. I can tell the delay wasn’t due to royal lineage, but because, for the first time since I met them, the four of them were rooted in place.
Their awkward reaction confirms what I already suspect – that I look ridiculous. A pig with lip paint. A slave girl dressed up as a lady she isn’t, while everyone wears the colors of their true office. Never has the difference been more stark than now, with the dragon princes in their full regalia – one they hadn’t bothered to don when picking up Cordelia and kidnapping me.
But now, here, they have. Because this is their world.
In his billowing purple silk shift that bleeds into burgundy beneath the sun and dark pants, Tavias looks like a living flame which matches the aurora of power that crackles the air around him. Cyril wears blue to match his scales, his formal jacket tailored to his wide shoulders and taught waist, emphasizing the perfection of every line of his body. Quinton's outfit appears simplest, but the black shirt, pants and silver sash make him seem even more lethal. If not for the silver, which is also reflected in his cuffs, buttons, and an embroidered dragon over his left breast, Quinton would blend into the shadows. Last, but not least, Hauck is as gaudy as Quinton is understated, his golden shirt matching his rings and a wide cummerbund around his waist.
They are all different, and yet all regal and powerful and princely. The dragons of Massa’eve.
Cyril breaks free of his trance first. "You look exquisite, Lady Kitterny.”
I try a courtesy and nearly tip over. Hauck winces.
Cyril strides forward and offers me his arm. He guides me to an open chair between Tavias and himself. Just before Cyril could pull it out for me, Hauck steps back and presents me with his own spot.
"Take my seat, turnip. I think you’ll find yourself more comfortable here.”
Cyril tenses. "We aren't switching seats."
"Of course you’d say that,” Hauck shoots back, “what with you and Tavias scheming to have Kit all to yourselves. I think she should have options. Namely, me.”
“Stop making a scene, Hauck,” says Tavias.
“Pot meet kettle. I’m simply offering Lady Kitterny a chair,” says Hauck. “I propose we let the lady decide this for herself. Where would you like to sit, Kit?”
All the attention of the room shifts to me, pressing in on all sides. Captain Dane and his officers. The servants who stand along the walls. The princes themselves. Everyone is waiting for Lady Kitterny to take her place among them, to know what to do with all those forks on the table, and to carry on a conversation in a way that well bred nobles do.
Except that Lady Kitterny, doesn’t actually exist and never has. And no amount of training and lip paint and jewels can ever make me fit into this world. My heart quickens and I feel my throat close with the need for more air.
