A Shade of Dragon 2(22)

He tore his lustful gaze from my body, and his back stiffened. His gaze hardened.

“He once told me that I would be required to kill, and that I did not understand the severity of that… But I have already died a thousand times for my birthright. I’m much stronger than my father thinks,” he went on, though he seemed to be speaking more to himself now. “He has no idea what I am capable of. Then again…” His gaze slanted to me and his body turned, closing the space between us, pressing our torsos and hips against one another. “No one does,” he finished, his hands sliding up my arms and onto my chains. His lips descended to kiss me fully on the mouth.

Even against my own wishes, my body responded to a shocking degree. Was it the trauma and despair which made me so emotionally vulnerable? Stability and security were like water to me, and without them, I was thirsty for even the wayward affection of a mad prince.

His hands trailed up my arms as his tongue played over mine, and when his fingertips reached my manacles, they became slowly encrusted in frost. As we kissed, and his excitement became increasingly obvious, I even hoped that he might still relieve me of my chains.

But as he pulled away, his blue eyes trained on me, I knew such was not the case. His expression was one of deep remorse. “This is why you must stay where I cannot see you,” he whispered into my ear, before grazing it with his teeth and receding from me, leaving me manacled by frozen chains.

He had reached the stairs when he turned and added, “But I will ensure you receive your own cell, at the very least, my lady.”





Theon





When I awoke at daybreak, my body had stiffened into a state of extreme vulnerability, but I supposed I should have expected that. During our sleep, our temperature naturally dropped, and we became susceptible to the cold.

Michelle was tangled around me, fast asleep. It was obvious that she was used to long and languid rests, while my body typically maintained a sunrise-to-sunset schedule.

I cleared my throat. I would not be able to rise with her atop me. It was questionable whether I would be able to rise at all.

“Michelle,” I addressed her firmly. “Michelle, wake up.”

In response, Michelle shifted slowly, luxuriating in the motion, and wrapped her arms tighter around me. I grimaced.

“Morning, Daddy,” she purred.

“Don’t call me that, first of all.” Augh. “Second of all, I need you to help me get up. I seem to have stiffened in my sleep.”

Michelle giggled. My grimace deepened.

“Could we be adults about this, please?” I requested acidly. “We must check the weather outside. If the snow is not falling too heavily, and has not become too deep, we can make movements toward the castle again… even in the sunlight.”

“Oh?” Michelle extracted herself from me, propping up onto an elbow. I was jealous of how supple her own muscles appeared to be, in spite of the cold. Although her body temperature was much lower, the cold also damaged her much less—or so it would seem. “Because the last time I checked, you were still the most wanted prince in this village.” Her eyes trailed over me. “I already know you’re the most wanted prince in this bed.”

Dammit. We were clearly going to need to discuss that kiss at length before things could return to normal… not that any of this had been normal. Did she not consider the possibility of context playing a role? Circumstance? That perhaps last night’s kiss hadn’t been about her as much as it had been about me?

Not considering herself the central axis in all human motivations was not one of the lady’s strong points.

When one became invested in the heart of a dense girl, perhaps they deserved the repetitive conversations about “us.”

“Look… Michelle…” I took a deep breath and forged ahead. The way she was stroking my chest made it quite clear that this was not avoidable. “About last night.”

At the mere phrase, the woman recoiled.

“I knew it!” she wailed, leaping off of the bed. At least that would give me the space to slowly work my muscles back into order. It required several minutes of gentle, then deeper, massage, followed by an intense set of stretches. “So many rebound red flags, but do I ever listen, nooo,” Michelle berated herself, scrambling out from beneath the bearskin mantle we had shared. She was still wearing no shirt—it was after she had peeled it off that I’d recoiled, and informed her that the men of fire culture did not move with the speed so oft associated with the element.

“It has naught to do with you,” I reassured her. At least, I thought I was reassuring her.