Chapter 5 #2
“That depends. What’s in it for me, George?” he drawled.
Her pretty pink mouth fell open. He expected her cheeks to redden as well, but they didn’t change.
Shockingly, he was shoved back several feet. An invisible set of hands held him firmly against the stone wall, the pressure painful on his ribs.
“If I could put my hands up in surrender, I would,” he croaked.
The force lessened and he took a deep, shaky breath.
“Who the fuck are you?” she rasped.
“You first.” Isahn sent a tendril of water magic, not even trying to conceal it, directly at the princess. A crystalline serpent, it slithered through the air at eye level.
She slapped it with her hand and leapt back, scrambling for the door. The invisible hands, her touch magic, barred Isahn to the wall again. The silent guard, the mirage, stepped forward, menace in her eyes.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Isahn withdrew his magic rapidly, letting it curl and twist in the air between them. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise, Princess.”
She spun to face him, her back pressed against the door and a knife gleaming in her left hand, produced from some hidden pocket in her robe.
She slashed at his magic, but the blade passed straight through before the cord re-formed.
Pointing the weapon at him, her hand shook slightly, the only tell of her nerves.
“My name’s Isahn Yaranbur, Earl of Midlake,” he offered outright, needing to earn her trust. He truly wasn’t planning to hurt her. He’d intended to touch her arm, maybe her hair, to see if he couldn’t get her to drop the mirage she insisted on keeping in place.
“Who do you work for?” She brandished the knife, ready to slash at his magic again, should the tendrils move any closer. It wouldn’t have done anything.
“Myself?”
She scowled.
“You can drop the act, you know.”
“What act?”
“The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the decidedly Selwassan visage.” If Isahn could have gestured with his hand, he would’ve. As it was, he sort of wiggled his shoulder in her general direction.
“Excuse me?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Here... use your touch magic to slice through my water.”
A muscle in her jaw tensed.
Slowly, he eased a cord of magic toward her.
An invisible knife whizzed down and sliced off the tip. Droplets splashed to the floor as Isahn hissed in pain.
The princess’s eyes snapped up from the small puddle. “That hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you let me do that?”
He blinked.
She pursed her lips before relaxing. Her hands dropped to her sides, fingertips brushing the patterned silk of her robe as she leaned against the closed door.
“Do you mind if I use my magic to clean up?”
“I’m not uncuffing you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Then, go ahead, Lord Yaranbur.” The princess unfurled her fingers, swooshing them gracefully—and flippantly—through the air.
Isahn smirked. She didn’t believe him.
“You know,” he began, winding his water magic over his body without holding the liquid back from drenching his clothing and skin. “I would’ve been able to prove I’m the earl, if you hadn’t stolen me away from Sorhaven.”
Her narrow lips pressed into an almost invisible line.
“My signet ring, along with the rest of my belongings, are back at the Djemirian.” He gave her a look. “I had no opportunity to retrieve them.” Using a high-pressure stream of water, he cleaned the dirt from his boots and his feet while he was at it.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Under what name?”
“A local one to Gramenia, Einarr Strom.” He sent pulses of water to cleanse his hair.
“Fitting.”
“Thank you. Are you going to cut that charade?” Isahn shook his head out like a dog, splashing water all around the room.
George wiped droplets from her cheek and narrowed her eyes.
“Come on, you look like my sister. It’s weird.”
A bubble of laughter burst from her little mouth, and with it came a vision of space, of flying through the stars.
He grinned and wrung out his cleaned clothing with magic, sending a spray twenty times the size of the one he’d shaken off his head sailing across the room.
The space mirage vanished as quickly as it had come, and Isahn found himself standing, shackled, before one woman. Not a guard, but the true Princess Georgetta of Domos. She was dripping wet.
His stupid heart stuttered.
She was breathtakingly beautiful. Something about the beauty mark on her cheek, the frizz escaping her top knot, and a million other tiny details told Isahn this wasn’t more of her vision magic.
Coily black hair was piled on her head in a decidedly un-princess-like manner.
Spirals fled and flew out in every direction, some soggy and clinging to her cheeks.
Her lips were plump and pillowy. Frustration shimmered in her eyes, a deep burnt umber, a shade darker than her skin.
George was smaller in stature than he’d expected, but by no means tiny.
Her smooth skin was brown like clay, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was as soft and pliable—she sure looked it, with her hourglass figure and wide, luscious hips.
Oh, my gods.
“Why should I trust you?” She perched a hand on one soggy hip, further emphasizing the curve of her waist. Her fingers squelched against the wet fabric of her robe and she grimaced.
“Because I think my uncle is working for the King of Domos, and I need to find out the truth.”
She stared at him as she tugged at the knot belting her mantle.
“I can dry that for you, if you’d like.”
Glancing down at her robe and back up at him, she yanked herself free of the thing. “Sure. I hate the texture.” She unabashedly tossed the offending fabric into a heap on the floor.
Isahn blinked slowly at the sight of her and dried her discarded robe, turning the damp to vapor in an instant, but neither of them really noticed.
She wore an extremely low-cut, slinky gown in a style he'd never seen before.
It was more of a shirt and skirt than a full dress.
The nearly translucent top pulled taut across her large breasts.
Little sheer sleeves puffed around her upper arms. The bodice stopped not far below her breasts and connected to her skirts with only a few crisscrossing ribbons along her sides.
The skirt was sheer, and with the flames flickering behind her, Isahn could clearly see her shapely legs, silhouetted in full.
A tiny triangle of light shone through at the apex of her thighs.
He swallowed with a groan. “What the fates are you wearing? Is this a normal Domossan style?”
Her eyes flicked down to her barely covered chest and back up to Isahn. “No.” The princess smirked. “I had plans.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, before you rudely called me out for being... me.”
He nodded slowly, wishing he’d held his tongue about knowing her identity.
His gaze dropped down the length of her again, sliding over each delicious curve as he went.
“I think we should probably stop this captor-captive game. What do you say?” Isahn turned his back to the princess and wiggled the fingers of his bound hands.
“We could work together, if you’d like?”
“I’ll pass. Turn around and face me,” she commanded. “I prefer my men under my control.”
Isahn did as she asked and leaned languidly against the wall. “I can work with that.”
One of her brows shot up as she used her magic to hold him in place, this time not painfully. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely.” Isahn pushed forth two cords of his water, heated to perfection.
They spilled through the air and wrapped around behind the princess in a hug.
With his magic clasped around her waist, he tugged her gently toward him.
She took several steps of her own volition, only halfheartedly resisting his pull.
Finally, she gasped, her gaze sharpening. “What are you doing!? I’ll scream for backup.” She took two more steps his way.
“There’s no backup. I know everyone’s out,” Isahn rumbled.
George froze, tensing, and he loosened his hold on her. He wasn’t in the habit of forcing his attention on women.
“How do you know that?” she rasped.
Smoothly, he shifted one of his cords to settle against her ear, then he whispered into his end, “Like this.”
Her mouth fell open.
A grin split his face.
“Are you fucking kidding me? This whole time?”
“The whole time.” He willed the water by her ear to nibble on her lobe ever so slightly, and she shivered. He felt it.
Then she swung her arm up and slapped his magic away—he’d expected nothing less.
Isahn thought she was about to leave, sick of his shenanigans. But George only walked across the room to retrieve her robe, toss it down in front of him, and plop onto it, settling on the floor.
Isahn slid down the wall, joining her on the stones with his legs wide and his knees bent.
She nudged him on the forehead with her magic, and he grinned.
“All right, let’s talk.”
He’d just finished explaining what he overheard from Peros and the men he learned were named Gianis and Marinos when a door clanged somewhere down the hall.
Leaping up and snatching her robe, George backed away as she slid her hands into the sleeves.
A shadow blotted out the candlelight in the corridor, and Isahn swore someone had stopped there, watching him from just out of view.
With her head tilted to the side like she was listening to someone, George’s eyes went wide.
“I’ll be back,” she announced, slipping from the room.
Footsteps departed, and all he could make out were hushed whispers, then the far-off door closed with a bang.
With his magic already revealed, Isahn took the opportunity to piss. He was just pulling his breeches back into place when the door thunked again and footsteps returned.
Soft, cozy, and fresh, George waltzed into the cell with a blanket, a pillow, and a warm loaf of crusty bread.
“For me?”
“For you,” she rasped, hanging back and tossing the bundle his way. “Sleep tight. We’ll talk in the morning.”
The bedding smelled of roses.