Chapter 20
Soren regards the gem without emotion, reminding me not of the man who just whisked me through the night sky, but of the stone-faced one who met me at the docks.
The one who threatened to let my people starve if I didn’t come to him.
He’s retracted his wings, and so he stalks with ease through the tent, lowering the tray between Marta and me. With great restraint, I disregard the way his bicep bulges as he does.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Princess,” he says.
I fold my lips together. Feigning ignorance is hardly noble. “The meaning of your gift. When did you plan on making it known to me?”
“I believe that was my minister’s job,” he says, crossing the room to a brass teatable. Taking up the teapot there, he sets his palm to the bottom and conjures up a handful of flames, instantly forcing steam from the spout. I wonder if he expects me to be cowed by the demonstration.
I’m not.
“Tea, Marta?” he asks.
“Oh, yes,” she says with glee.
I shoot her a look as Soren turns back to the table.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers through a grin. “I’ve just never seen him squirm like this.”
I stare at her. Squirm?
“And you, Princess?” the king calls, keeping his back turned as he does. “Would you like some?”
I’m still looking at Marta in confusion. Nothing about Soren indicates squirming. If anything, he’s being stubborn, predictably so. Or do I understand men—drakes?—that little? Marta lifts her brows and gestures for me to say something.
“I would like an answer to my question,” I say, eyes on her. “Thank you.”
She nods approvingly.
Soren’s shoulders, already stiff, climb higher, but when he faces us with cups in hand, his features are schooled into perfect indifference.
“Perhaps this conversation is best had later,” he says as he bends to offer the cups. A sleek smile unfurls over his lips.
I match it with a sweet one of my own. “I don’t believe Marta minds.”
“Not at all,” she says, taking a sip from her tea.
A flash of annoyance crosses his face as he levels the smile at her. “I would hate to make a guest feel unwelcome, Marta,” he tells her through his teeth.
She sighs. “You’re right.” Setting her cup down, she turns my way and pats my knee. “I’d better be going, Your Highness. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Soren blanches. “You’re not leaving?”
She pushes to her feet. “As much as I love a hot cup of tea, I’m sure His Majesty would prefer his queen’s company to mine, especially after she’s had such a long, arduous day. I imagine water drawing requires a great deal of energy.”
When she looks to me for confirmation, I nod. “It does indeed. How thoughtful of you.”
Grinning, she curtsies to us both. “Then I’ll take my leave.”
Soren leaps in her way as she starts for the exit. “Are you sure you won’t finish your tea? I can fetch more chocolate.”
I glance at the untouched mound of chocolate in front of me. It’s enough to feed my mother’s entire household.
He is squirming.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Marta says, “but unless you require my presence, I’m going to share a cup with my husband before bed.”
I’m almost certain he groans. “Of course. Good night, Marta.”
“Good night, Your Majesty.”
He graciously holds the tent open as she leaves, leaving us alone with only the sound of the wind outside and the faint crackle of the lanterns within.
“If you’re tired,” he says, his back still turned to me, “I’ll have your attendants called to ready you for bed.”
He actually steps forward as if to leave.
“Minister Abely didn’t tell me about the stone,” I say, stopping him in his tracks. “You know he didn’t. Why didn’t you have someone else tell me?”
My words ring out with more accusation than I intend, and I sit there, pressing my palms against the warm sides of the cup and trying not to apologize. Soren doesn’t move.
“Are you rejecting it?” he says finally.
The words are so quiet that I’m not sure I heard him correctly. “Pardon?”
“Are you rejecting the stone?” The question is somehow both firmer and more ragged than before. He turns to me then, his hands fisted at his sides, his expression hardened as if bracing for a tidal wave.
My heart aches at the sight.
“No,” I whisper, and watch as a breath of relief shudders through him. Then he crosses his arms and glances aside.
“Then why is it important?” he asks peevishly.
How can I feel such sympathy for him one moment and such irritation the next? I muster all of my patience. “Because I am not a dragon. I’m human, and the implications of this...” I cradle the sapphire in my palm. “The implications are different for me than they are for you.”
“I thought you were aware of the implications when I gave it to you. Abely was meant to tell you.”
We’re talking in circles now. “Well, he didn’t, and I would have appreciated you remedying that.”
His jaw works. “I’ve been preoccupied, Princess.”
“I know that these challenges have been preoccupying, but—”
“Not with the challenges. With you.”
I rock back, the sting of this sudden attack startling. “I accept that my behavior hasn’t been exemplary, but your thoughts being elsewhere is no excuse to lash out at me.”
I gasp as he’s suddenly there, kneeling in front of me, cupping my cheek in one hand.
“Do you not understand me yet?” he demands.
I can do nothing but gaze back at him, speechless and still in his hold.
“My thoughts are all on you,” he says, tracing my cheek. “You are mine. I want to make you mine. Out of respect for your customs, I wait, but…”
My breaths come in shallow gusts as he tilts my head back, leans in, and presses his mouth beneath my jawline.
“A dragon has only one weakness, Princess.” He draws in a long breath, releasing it in a rumble against my throat. “You cannot always expect me to think clearly when mine is so near.”
I find myself completely unable to say anything, but a thought bursts forth in my mind—a wild, unbridled one.
A call comes from outside the tent. They’re calling for him, I think. The pulse thundering in my ears makes it difficult to tell, but as he kisses me once more, the wild thought rears up again, insistent on being spoken aloud.
“Marry me now, then,” I say before whoever calling him breaks this moment between us and I reclaim my sanity.
Soren draws back, his eyes as wide and wondering as a boy’s. “What?”
I gather my courage to say it again. “Marry me now,” I repeat, a blush stealing over my cheeks. “Well, not now as in right now.” I best make that clear before he sweeps me out of the room. “But earlier than we planned, perhaps.”
Why should we wait a month? The marriage will happen either way, won’t it? This is an arranged marriage, one where the terms are already negotiated and set down in ink.
Soren is still staring at me, and I begin to doubt my rash suggestion. I don’t know where such an idea even came from. I drop my gaze to my lap in search of any sand I can pretend to sweep away.
“It was only an idea,” I say.
He seizes my face between his hands, forcing me to look at him and the flames blazing up in his eyes. “It is an excellent idea.”
I fight back a grin.
Whoever is outside the tent calls again, and Soren, hanging his head, relinquishes his hold on me. “Enter.”
It isn’t Rally, as I expected. It’s Boyd, and he looks near livid.
“I apologize for the interruption, Your Majesties,” he says after a quick bow. “Lord Tallin is here. And he’s asking for an audience with our queen.”