Page 19 of Taken By the Dragon Prince (Dragon Lords 4)

That wasn’t . . .untrue. “If not this, then what else might you have been looking for?”

She swiftly glanced down at her cuffs and back at him. “I . . . nothing.”

“Of course,” he said. “The key.”

She pursed her lips and huffed, “Would you please get dressed.”

His lips twitched. “You never used to be uncomfortable around my naked body. In fact, there was a time you would have showered me with kisses until I nearly went mad from wanting you.”

She flinched as though the memory pained her. “That was when I lo . . . uh . . . liked you. Obviously that is no longer the case.”

“As if I believe you ever did,” he replied and grabbed for his clothes. “And nor do I . . . like you, that is.”

“Wonderful,” she sneered.

“Great.” He snapped back, stabbing his feet into his breeches. While he finished dressing, she gave him her back, her shoulders tensed with anger. Furtively, he checked his pocket to be sure the key to her restraints was still in his possession. He’d practically forgotten about it until this moment and was rather surprised it hadn’t slipped out while they were in the ocean.

Wouldn’t matter if it had. He’d never release her. Those enchanted cuffs were the only reason he was able to keep her captive. Without them, no amount of strength would stop her should she want to go. But he would hold onto the key as a proverbial carrot. She’d be more pliable to his commands if she thought the key to her salvation was within her reach.

He studied her back, irradiated that his body still responded so readily for her. He’d always found her attractive—the witch was bloody gorgeous—and her time in Garnath’s dungeon hadn’t diminished her appeal. Impossibly, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. And her luscious body, gods help him, seemed to have filled out even more. Would those supple mounds feel familiar under his touch? Or would it be like learning her all over again? Would her nipples tighten under his tongue as they once had?

Sensing he was now fully dressed, she spun to face him, her gaze still simmering with indignation, but her expression fell when she caught him leering before he could school his features. Had she perceived the longing in his face?

Gods how he wished he’d never met her. Never kissed her. How much simpler life would have been? But there was no changing the past. She had thundered into his life with all the ferocity of a summer storm and sundered his heart in her fury, leaving it adrift. The moment he’d set eyes on her, he was forever changed. In a lightning flash, his mind was flung back to the day he realized he was utterly lost for her.

The witch invaded nearly every second of his thoughts. He could scarcely focus on little else. Her alluring scent seemed to permeate the halls of Garnath, beckoning him like a siren’s song. He found himself struggling to keep his distance. A dragon prince lusting for a witch was not considered appropriate, especially where his father was concerned—or where he used to be concerned. The king was spending an unnatural amount of time with Elora these days. He never thought to see the day his father would befriend a witch.

Perhaps witches weren’t as evil as he’d been led to believe.

Today he found Celeste in the southern garden, nestled under the shade of anangoratree. She was engrossed in a thickly bound book with gold filigree. At his approach, she closed the book and glanced up, using her finger as a placeholder. Her smile hit him like a hammer to the chest.

“Your Highness,” she greeted.

“Lady Songbird,” he replied with equal formality.

She laughed warmly, the sound washing through him like a cool drink on a summer’s day. “Please just call me Celeste.”

“Then you must call me Khalstorm,” he returned.

A touch of rose-pink filtered into her cheeks, the sight endearing. She nodded. “Very well, Khalstorm.”

Gods, the way she said his name in her delicate accent made his every molecule awaken with desire.

There was a small part of him that wondered if she was bespelling him even now. Another part of him didn’t care a whit.

For who would begrudge the attentions of such an enchanting creature? Aside from her beauty, she was kind and compassionate. He’d witnessed her kindness toward his dragon kin, even when they were not always so kind in return.

He’d watched from the shadows when she had discovered a pixy in the castle, seemingly lost and disoriented, one of its wings had been broken. After using her magic to heal it, she had cradled it gently in her hands and carried it outside to set it free.

He’d always been told witches use creatures such as pixies in their dark spells, killing them for their hair, nails, and bones, much as they reportedly did with dragons. Celeste had saved it instead.

He’d listened with fascination as Celeste had openly debated the millennia-long strife between dragons and witches with his father at the dinner table, appearing undaunted when the king’s opinions grew nearly belligerent, and his prejudice become glaringly clear at best; downright rude at worst . . . making Khalstorm wonder once again why he’d invited two witches into the castle in the first place—he never did get a straight answer.

Both Khalstorm’s mother—who had begun to tolerate the witches with haughty reserve and grace—and Elora typically recused themselves from these heated debates, though Elora was unable to regulate her disgust with the king’s impertinence. Some of the King’s harsh comments even made Khalstorm cringe. However, Celeste never appeared to take offence, showing more curiosity than anything. It was just another thing that forced Khalstorm to rethink his own opinion of witches—seemed as though they weren’t all deceitful, conniving, and power hungry. Perhaps their two factions just needed a better understanding of the other in order to mend the fences of their turbulent past.

He was bolstered by the idea when he read the title of the book in Celeste’s lap: The History and Legends of Dragons.

She was making the effort to learn about his kind.

---