Chapter 22 #2
Grigory stopped, his sinuous body wrapped halfway around my shoulders. Iggleboddle jerked his head up.
“Is something funny?”
Infectious laughter bubbled in my throat. Knowing I couldn’t laugh only made it worse. As my shoulders shook and my eyes started to water, Lorcan looked at Iggleboddle.
“The princess skipped breakfast,” he said. “She’s feeling a little faint.”
Iggleboddle narrowed his eyes, suspicion in his gaze. Then he grunted and returned to his parchment. “Keep going, Grigory.”
The rest of the measurements passed without incident. Grigory gave no reaction when he stretched across Lorcan’s back, touching one end and then the other to Lorcan’s scarred shoulders.
“The red wool,” Iggleboddle said after several minutes, and Grigory re-formed into a dog and raced for the shelves.
“No,” Lorcan said, his deep voice carrying. Grigory slid to a halt. Around the workroom, needles stopped. The scissors paused mid-snip.
Iggleboddle frowned. “The red is for—”
“I know what it’s for,” Lorcan said, pinning the diminutive man with a stare. “And I’ll wear my own robe. You can dress me in whatever you wish. You can put me in a crown or a dunce cap for all I care, but the robe is nonnegotiable.”
Grigory whined, tucking several of his tape measures between his legs.
Slowly Iggleboddle inclined his head. “As you wish.”
“I do,” Lorcan said. “Now, if you’re finished, I’ll see the princess back to her chamber.”
He helped me dress, his fingers brushing my back as he tightened my laces.
“Clothes will be ready later today,” Iggleboddle grumbled without looking up from his table. Grigory plopped at his feet and rested his chin on his paws.
Lorcan offered me his arm, his voice like a river in my head. Let’s get out of here.
L orcan didn’t speak in my head again as we moved through the Drakhold. I was so busy contemplating his scars that I didn’t realize we were going in the wrong direction until he steered us toward a pair of glossy black doors.
“I need a book,” he said out loud, then entered Vander’s study without knocking. I got a glimpse of hobflies and an empty desk before Lorcan pulled me into the corner and said, “ Zid .”
Blue light zipped around us. Lorcan rested a hand on the shelf behind me, trapping me against the bookcase.
“You saw my scars,” he rasped, his eyes intense and searching.
My throat went dry. His scent surrounded me, notes of soap, leather, and dark spices invading my lungs.
“Was I not supposed to?” I asked, my voice emerging just as low as his.
He gave his head a little shake. “Only a few among the Drachvi can see marks like mine.”
Oh. I licked my lips, then sucked in a breath when he looked at my mouth. “Well,” I said, my voice catching, “I’m not Drachvi. At least I don’t think so.”
“You’re not. I would feel it.” He frowned, the intensity in his eyes growing.
My heart sped up, and I knew he saw the vein fluttering in my neck.
“Your scars…” I began.
“Yes?”
“They look like burns.”
“They are.”
“From the dragon you killed?”
Lorcan lowered his gaze, his thick lashes dusting his cheeks. The furrow between his brows deepened. As close as we were, I saw every line, every bit of strain.
Every hint of sorrow.
“I can’t speak of it,” he whispered.
Something inside me loosened. I cupped his cheek, and he lifted his gaze. “We don’t have to,” I said.
He gave a tight nod. Then he pulled his hand from the shelf and pressed it over mine. Lowering his eyes again, he held my palm against his cheek, his skin so hot it was almost uncomfortable. But not quite. Not quite hot enough to burn—or cause me pain.
Dragon lord , Ruvien had called him. But perhaps not for the reason I’d thought.
Lorcan pulled my hand from his face, but he kept his grip on my fingers. “We have to talk about something else. Boddles are exceptionally fast tailors. That’s their magic. Iggleboddle is capable of making clothes within minutes, yet Rasimir ordered him to sew our wedding clothes today.”
My stomach tightened. “You think Rasimir will force us to wed sooner?”
“I can’t say for certain, but we need to be prepared for that possibility. He’s increasingly unstable and suspicious.”
My mind carried me back to the dungeon. Rasimir had pinned Lorcan to the wall, his fingers tight enough to fracture the bones in Lorcan’s throat.
Rasimir had summoned Lorcan to attend him after the ball.
He’d done the same after dinner each evening.
And Lorcan went. What did he witness when he was alone with Rasimir? What did he endure?
“What do we do?” I asked now, panic gathering. I didn’t possess a single vor . Sure, I could see magic, but I couldn’t use it.
“We continue the plan,” Lorcan said. “Vander and I keep training you for as long as we can. We have to hope we can unlock at least some of your magic. We make you as strong as possible. And you should continue acting reluctant about the wedding. You did a good job in front of the knight yesterday. Keep doing things like that.”
“Why should I act reluctant? Rasimir wants us to marry.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t want you to be happy about it. Lilawen broke his heart. He’s never forgotten it. Rasimir can’t abide the idea of anyone finding the kind of happiness he had within his grasp and lost.”
For a moment, something like sympathy stirred in my chest. Then Duncan’s face flashed in my mind, and the feeling evaporated.
“He doesn’t deserve happiness,” I said. “Not after everything he’s done.”
Lorcan offered a weak smile. “Harness that sentiment and use it for fuel. But direct it toward me, not Rasimir. Let him see how much you hate me.”
The loosening feeling moved within me again, like a knot unraveling. He still held my fingers, his palm warm against mine. His smile shone in his dark eyes. Like the one he’d given me in the forest, it was small but genuine.
So were a lot of other things he’d done. Like speak warnings in my head to keep me safe. Like mourning Alon among the trees. Like claiming all of my dances at the ball so no one would mock me for not knowing how to dance. Like making me laugh in Iggleboddle’s workroom.
Lorcan was good at pretending. But he didn’t fool me anymore.
“I don’t think I hate you,” I said. “Despite my best efforts.”
Lorcan’s smile softened, chasing the shadows from his eyes. Slowly, tentatively, he brushed his thumb over my cheek, trailing heat in his wake. “That’s the nicest thing a woman has ever said to me.”
Something just as tentative as his touch shimmered between us. Without being totally aware of what I was doing, I pulled in a deep breath. “Do women often speak to you, Your Highness?” I asked, my voice more breath than sound.
But Lorcan heard just fine. His smile faded, leaving only intensity.
“Not often,” he murmured, “but if I found the right one, I would welcome her words.” He leaned in, his eyes going to my mouth. “Princess,” he whispered, pressing his lips to mine.
His past kisses had been hard. Possessive. This was different. He wasn’t putting on a show. No, this kiss was for us alone.
He didn’t demand or force his way inside.
Sliding a hand around my nape, he speared his fingers into my hair, cradling my head as he licked along the seam of my lips.
When I opened them on a soft moan, he answered it, his deeper sound of desire curling through me.
At last, I had my answer. Lorcan desired women.
He desired me.
Our tongues met in a slick, hot slide, both of us giving and taking.
Moving in harmony as we had in the ballroom.
And like the ballroom, our coming together was a dizzying, whirling rush.
But Lorcan held me steady, his body heat caressing mine before he stepped into me, easing me against the books at my back.
The proof of his desire pressed between my legs, the hard length nudging the ache between my thighs.
And I knew exactly what he looked like there—how long and large, his shaft traced with plump veins my fangs ached to pierce. The forbidden thought put another moan in my throat as I curled my fingers into his jacket and pulled him closer. Kissed him harder.
I kissed him in the same corner where I’d kissed Vander, our bodies protected by Vander’s ward.
My body hummed just as readily for Lorcan as it had for Vander…
and for Vander and Lorcan together. Maybe that made me wanton, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Not when the pressure of Lorcan’s body against mine felt so good.
Nocta had offered me nothing but fear and bitterness, but this was sweet.
Lorcan was…sweet. And earnest. He pulled back and rested his forehead against mine, his breathing uneven.
“I’m not going to apologize for that,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t ask me to regret it.”
I swallowed, tasting him. “I won’t ask you to be sorry for something I don’t regret, either.”
He lifted his head, worry in his eyes as he cupped my face. “We have to keep pretending. It’s more important than ever.”
Fear crept back, my lack of magical ability like a weight in my gut. “I know.”
“And we can’t linger here.”
“All right.”
Lorcan reached behind me and pulled a book from the shelf. Turning it in his hands, he gave a humorless laugh before showing me the cover. “ The Battle Strategies of the Drachvi ,” he read. A wry smile touched his lips. “More like a treatise on how to lose a war.”
My heart clenched, and questions formed in my mind. There was a story behind his scars. But for now, at least, it was too painful for him to share.
He straightened, arrogance settling over him like a cloak. “Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” I didn’t have a choice. Neither of us did.
“ Rix ,” he said, stepping from the corner and striding to the door. When he left without waiting for me, I hurried after him.
His boots echoed, the clipped footfalls like a clock ticking as we moved through the corridors. Within minutes, Lorcan stopped before my door.
It swung open on its own.