Page 40 of Bride of the Black Dragon
Or possibly something more?
I don’t know. I only know I want to see him again—to hear his voice…to feel his warmth beside me. I want his company—even if it’s just going on a ride together. Even if it’s just to pretend we’re something close to free.
I consider going to his rooms and asking if he’d like to come along. But…I feel shy when I think of it. What if he’s gone back to being gruff and growly again? What if he doesn’t want my company the way I want his?
Last night I was able to brush off his rudeness when he kept me waiting for ages before he let me in and then told me he didn’t even want me there. But today, after what we did together last night—after how close we got—I’m not sure I could show the same indifference.
I fear it might wound me deeply if he turned me away with a sharp word—or simply ignored me as I banged on his door.
No, I’ll go riding by myself and not bother him, I decide reluctantly.
I have no idea how much I’m shortly going to regret that decision.
20
ELAINA
The Royal Gardens are quite beautiful this afternoon.
The sun filters through the canopy of flowering trees, dappling the stone path ahead of me. Bees hum lazily among the lavender hedges, and I pass a cluster of sun-bright golden poppies bowing in the breeze. It all looks so perfect, like something from a painting. So serene…so harmless.
But nothing in this place is ever truly harmless.
I quicken my steps, my soft leather riding boots crunching over gravel. My split skirts swish around my ankles—light linen in a summery shade of rose, cinched with a soft leather belt. My riding cloak is draped over one arm, and my gloves are tucked neatly into the sash at my waist. I’ve dressed carefully, practically. It’s a clear, crisp day, and all I want is to ride across the fields—just for an hour or two, just to breathe without eyes on me.
I just want to feel free, even if it’s only an illusion.
I’m nearly to the gate that leads to the stables when a rustle in the hedgerow makes me pause. I’ve just passed the Queen’s prized blood-dark rose bushes—twenty feet of wickedly beautiful thorns and velvety blossoms so dark they’re nearly black. She calls them Bleeding Hearts, a name as dramatic and cruel as the woman herself. The scent of them clings to the air—rich, almost cloying, like crushed cherries and iron.
And then I hear it.
“There she is—the nasty, spying little bitch!”
The familiar voice stops me cold.
Dorian.
I turn instinctively and see him step out from the shadows of the hedge. He’s wearing court casuals—black trousers tucked into tall boots, and a high-collared white shirt with a crushed velvet sapphire vest.
Henri follows close behind, his ever-faithful shadow, lips twisted in a smirk. Behind them are half a dozen young Nobles—lords and ladies alike—all of them with the glittering eyes of jackals who’ve scented blood.
I feel my heart stop for a moment—then start pounding.
Every face is unfriendly. Hostile.
And I’m all alone.
“You little bitch,” Dorian snarls, stalking closer. “How dare you stroll around the Royal Gardens as if you had every right to be out in public after the way you lied about me?”
I try to keep my voice even, though my stomach twists with unease.
“I didn’t lie.”
“You did!” His voice rises in pitch. “You told the Queen that I stole her ruby pendant.”
I can see that he wants me to beg his pardon for “lying” but as frightened as I am, I won’t do that. There’s a hard core inside me that refuses to bend to this spoiled man-child.
“You know I didn’t lie,” I say in a low voice. “The Queen’s favorite ruby pendant was found in your private jewelry box. Who put it there if not you? You have the only key—I heard you say so yourself.”
