Page 18 of The Lost Princess

KAIDA

Ihad a sick dragon man on my hands, and no food or medicine. I had no scraps with which to tend to the dirt and blood caked on his wings, unless I sacrificed more of my dress. Soon I’d be left with nothing, naked as the day I was born. I had nothing to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face.

Terror curled in my belly as I realized how truly vulnerable I was. What if soldiers finally managed to track me down? Suddenly, I wasn’t sure if that would be the best scenario. They’d only see him as a threat. They’d kill him.

There were other fears, I could fall out of the entrance and plummet to my death. Another animal could try to claim this cave as its own, and I wouldn’t be able to fight it. It could throw meandhim out of the cave entrance, and we could both plummet to our deaths.

My hands trembling, I realized I had to help him recover quickly. There was nothing for it. I may not have been here by choice, but he had saved me from exposure. And he seemed like he was trying, for all of the stomping feet and mood swings.

I started tearing the bottom of my dress off and making rags.

A few I dampened generously with the water from my canteen, now that I knew a hot spring was located just a small squeeze away. Having a source of freshwater made the situation feel somewhat more bearable as long as the water didn’t make me sick.

I wondered if there was another pool somewhereIcould bathe in.

Shaking away thoughts of myself, I dabbed the end of one rag gently on his face. I half-expected him to rear up and attack me, but all he did was turn his head toward me, his large lips parting slightly.

Figures he’d be the most tolerable while he was either kissing me or unconscious.

And boy, could he kiss.

I wasn’t experienced by any means, but surely every man wasn’t as skilled, were they? Or was I simply dazzled by the first man to actually get his hands on me, due to my father’s careful eyes my entire life?

I frowned and studied his face as I wiped it.

Strong cheekbones, large lips, and a straight nose. His brow was heavy, dotted with scales that were more visible around his hairline and his ears. It was dark now, so there was no sun to shine down on the skin, causing it to shimmer like it had when he’d first found me outside, the same way my skin shimmered.

A wave of unease passed through me. Father claimed my skin was a gift from the gods. I’d never met anyone else who had skin like mine. I shook my head. This dragon …manwasn’t like me. He was practically a beast, living out here in a cave like a wild animal! There was no way we were the same.

And yet, I had no other explanation.

He was intelligent. Clearly. He had tried to communicate with me. He’d saved me from a more terrible fate, of that I was certain. And his hands on my body had been the most free I’d ever felt in my life.

A bolt of something coursed through me just remembering it.

Well, I wouldn’t get any more answers until he felt better and we could figure things out, together. Silly man, flying out in a rage into a storm of all things.

I sighed, making a list of priorities in my head. He was laying on his side facing me, no doubt because of his wings since he refused to lie on his belly. I winced as I glanced at the scrapes and tears, and the sluggish bleeding that dotted the wing. I remembered how sensitive they’d been when we—

No, that line of thinking wouldn’t help me right now.

I needed to get his wings clean to stave off infection, and I needed to bind them so they could heal a bit. He had to be in an excruciating amount of pain if they were as sensitive as I suspected.

And yet he slept.

Carefully, I picked up a new rag from my dress and leaned down toward the damaged wing. I dabbed the largest wound gently, trying to delicately swipe away what dirt and grime I could.

He twitched and grunted, and I drew back. The rag had a bit of grime on it, and the wound looked cleaner. He remained asleep. I gathered myself together; I could do this. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do other than tend to the fire.

Slowly and methodically, I cleaned his wings, taking care not to wake him. I could tell it pained him, if the small growls and jerks were anything to go by, but he stayed asleep. He’d likely be a bear to handle if I had to do this while he was awake.

Once the wounds on his wing were mostly clean, I picked up new scraps with the intent to bind the wounds. I wasn’t sure how I’d manage it, but I had to try.

I laid one hand next to a particularly nasty gash, my fingers lightly skimming the skin around it. Even unconscious, he shuddered and went still. This cut was bleeding rather heavily, so I needed to just do it no matter what his reaction would be.

I pressed the rag hard onto the wound, seizing his wing in both hands to try and stop the bleeding.

He woke up, snarling, growling, and hissing at me. He sat up abruptly and pushed me away, his body curling around to protect the injured wing. I fell on my behind, tumbling with my skirts in the air.

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