Chapter 52 Eyes on Me
~ brEN ~
The first days in the castle of Emberholt were a blur of intense and demanding evenings that turned into very late nights, followed by mornings that passed slow as molasses in winter.
At first, Donavyn and I both struggled. Accustomed to early mornings and constant activity, we’d wake with the sun even though we’d been up until the early hours.
But emerging from our bedchamber only revealed wide, empty halls and servants hurrying in silence.
It seemed the noble classes of Emberholt believed mornings were for sleeping.
The morning of the third day, having slept a little later, I convinced Donavyn to take the dragons out to fly. They’d been forced to remain close to the Emberholt stables while Donavyn was stonewalled by the king.
‘He acknowledges we’re here to discuss herd exchange, yet he waves me off when I ask for an appointment with the Furymaster, making excuses that we need to rest from our travel and can conduct business later.
I wasn’t expecting them to open the Eeyrie the first morning, but this is growing suspicious. ’
That morning, we found the stables almost as empty as the castle halls. But we enjoyed a flight with Kgosi and Akhane, knowing we’d been invited to a formal ball that night. I returned to the castle with renewed energy to engage these vacuous people.
Donavyn, however, seemed only more disturbed, and growled that if he didn’t hear from the Furymaster by the following day, he’d go on the hunt for the man.
I didn’t like seeing him so tense, but his eyes always softened when he looked at me. And there were some advantages to all those hours alone. We spent every night—or very early morning—when we returned to our rooms, debriefing and sharing everything we’d learned. Then we got lost in each other.
But that night we were almost late to the ball because we’d gotten so caught up, so I hurried dressing, and Donavyn had to help me, cursing and muttering about the small buttons. Once he’d clasped the final button, he turned me around and I asked him how the dress looked.
His eyes went wide and I was convinced it must be awful. It was one of the dresses the seamstresses of the Quartermaster at the Keep had made for me from the first, ice-blue gown the queen gave me. It was a little tight at the top and I worried it might be ill-fitting.
“Donavyn, how bad is it? Will the nobles see it as a—”
Without answering, Donavyn grasped my shoulders and turned me to face a large mirror over a dressing table in the bedchamber. I could only see myself from the waist up, but my jaw dropped.
The neckline of the bodice was a wide sweep from point-to-point on my shoulders, plunging lower than the other dresses I’d worn, which was why it felt tight. The edging of the bodice pressed into my breasts, making them bulge.
I’d thought this dress would be more modest, because it had long, fitted sleeves. But covering my arms only succeeded in emphasizing the bare skin of my chest.
My cheeks colored immediately. “Oh dear.”
“Not, Oh dear… Bren, you’re stunning. The men will be enthralled,” he said with a wry twist of distaste on his lips.
I met his eyes in the mirror, a flash of worry coursing through me at the rough gravel of his voice.
We’d just made love. I sent a wave of love and need to him through the bond, but he just shook his head and clawed a hand through his hair, which he’d left down in contravention to the style of the Fyrehold nobles, who all seemed to slick back any hair long enough to hang, pasting it against their skulls until they looked like sleek otters.
“Donavyn…?”
He dragged his gaze up from my chest to my eyes and I saw that flicker of a shadow there, but he nodded. “Stay close to me tonight.”
“I will.”
Then he kissed me for so long I worried my dress would be wrinkled, and we were even later to the ball than we should have been.
It was a relief, hours later, when Donavyn bowed in front of me and offered his hand to take me to the dance floor.
I didn’t know the more complicated dances, but my mother had taught me to waltz when she thought I might have captured a Furyknight for a husband, and would be called to attend balls at the Palace.
I’d never had the chance to dance with Donavyn before, so I couldn’t stifle a smile when he pulled me into his chest and swept me into the twirling masses on the ballroom floor.
It was lovely to move with him, to ignore these people for a time, and give him my focus without having to hide. Our eyes met and warmed and broke and then met again. Over and over. But every time he turned me, or we broke gazes to still our hearts, I noticed the same thing.
I wasn’t the only one drawing attention this evening.
Donavyn had been right that the men enjoyed my gown.
I’d almost knife-handed a couple of them who didn’t even bother to try with manners and spoke directly to my breasts.
But no one had touched me, and Donavyn remained close at my side, a protective, looming presence that only the more powerful men were willing to risk.
But he looked incredible as well, dashing in his full Vosgaarde General’s uniform, the dragon scales on his shoulders making them appear even broader, and the black coat giving his steel body the appearance of a svelte predator’s, swift, powerful, and graceful.
The women had noticed.
While the men might eat me with their eyes, the women feasted.
Donavyn had pulled me onto the dancefloor, in part to escape the increasingly familiar hands that kept finding a way to rest on his arm, his thigh, or his back.
Turn-after-turn on the floor, I met feminine gazes that were haughty, or edged with jealousy—or the women ignored me completely and drank in the sight of Donavyn.
With his hair down, the rugged, predatory impression was complete. I reached up to tuck one strand behind his ear and to cup his jaw for a turn, my stomach thrumming with hot need.
Donavyn felt it. He tugged me closer in the next turn and leaned down to growl in my ear.
“I need you. Again.”
I leaned my forehead on his chest for a moment, but it wasn’t appropriate, so I lifted my chin to meet his eyes. “This is harder than I thought it would be, watching them all flirt with you and want you. Because I know they’re right to want you.”
A series of emotions crossed his face in quick succession, and I knew he searched for a way to dismiss his own value, while increasing mine, so I shook my head and spoke first.
“I still think you should be more careful about being so open in your admiration of me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Donavyn—”
“They see my obsession with you as an immoral lust, because you’re beneath me.” He raised one brow to let me know what he thought of that. “This is exactly the kind of affair and mild scandal they all seek out. It increases you in their eyes, and suggests that I’m one of them.”
“You aren’t, though. You’re so much more.”
“I would say the same of you. You stand out in this field of flowers, Bren. That’s why the men are jealous of me—as they should be.”
I wanted to protest, but Donavyn pulled me in tight for another turn, just as a small movement caught my attention among the glittering sprawl.
I turned my head to find Hanson standing at the side of the dancefloor—a position I’d never seen him take before.
He usually leaned against walls, or sprawled in chairs at the back of a gathering.
But here he stood, resplendent in deep, blue velvet that emphasized his muscular arms and chest.
But it was his eyes that made my heart pound.
He stood, staring at me unabashedly, his gaze near-black. And when Donavyn and I moved, that shadowy gaze followed.
I tore my attention back to Donavyn, licking my lips. “I’m struggling with this level of scrutiny,” I said dryly.
Donavyn huffed and looked over my shoulder, noting Hanson. His lips drew down and his eyes shadowed.
“As am I. Purely because I can’t fault them for it,” he said quietly. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Then he looked down at me, and I felt the thrust of fear in him that fought with determination.
True to his word, he hadn’t criticized me or grown overprotective in the days since we’d arrived. When he’d caught the men’s attention on me, he’d offered advice on how to deflect while still implying that they were welcome.
But I hadn’t missed that every day—or rather, every night—his ardor for me grew.
Even now, with me safely in his grasp, apart from all the other men, his arms were iron bands of tension.
I patted his chest. “I’m so glad you’re mine,” I whispered, meeting his eyes so he’d see the truth in me, along with feeling it in the bond. “I’m so grateful for you, Donavyn.”
His gaze went darker then, and for a moment I thought he’d seen something that made him angry. But, in a move that shocked half the ballroom, he took my chin in his hand and kissed me, right there on the dancefloor.