“Not when the fiancée has been recently imported from a nearby town, citing unpaid debts and obligations written in stone somewhere.”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that, Gem.” His mood seemed to sour, but Gemma couldn’t stop herself from pushing. It was her future that hung in the balance, after all.
“No, I think you owe me an explanation, at the very least. I think I deserve that much, if I am to become your wife,” she said, almost spitting out the last word because it sounded so ridiculous.
His blue eyes turned to her, and for a split-second, she could see that blaze of fire in them again that turned them from blue to gold and then blue again. Instead of freezing like last time, it just made her more curious now. Why the hell was he doing this? Devon Bluewing could have any woman he wanted, so why her? And why this way?
“You came to remind me that I can’t pick, which traditions to follow and which to ignore. You’re right about that. It seems that everyone’s been on their game lately as far as showing me what I’m supposed to do is concerned. So, if it makes you feel any better, you were the right woman at the right place at the right time. That’s the best I can offer you,” he said, his tone terse as if he were talking to a petulant child.
In his defense, Gemma was considering throwing herself on the floor and having a massive tantrum until he’d back out of his decision due to sheer annoyance.
“So do I have any say in this?” she queried, her appetite forgotten.
“No,” he said simply, finishing off his glass of whiskey.
“Great.”
“I think so.”
Gemma felt deflated. Her hope of reasoning with him seemed less than promising now, and as far as she could tell, the dragon was set on his decision. Frustration and a mild note of hysteria took hold of her. At least the view is nice, she thought glumly, eyeing the sunset as it dropped behind the mountains. Devon moved to stand up, but paused, both hands on the table. She could see him cursing under his breath as he reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out a blue suede box.
“Oh no, I’m not accepting any ring from you,” she said, putting her hands up defensively. It was enough that she had to live with all of her hopes for a reasonable conversation about their hopefully unshared future squashed – she wasn’t going to deal with no family heirlooms on top of that.
“It’s not a ring,” Devon said quickly, his expression unreadable. He slid the box to her across the table and motioned for her to open it. When she popped open the lid, she was faced with a black sphere, barely larger than a thimble, hanging onto a thin gold chain. It didn’t look like a necklace, and considering the breathtaking number he’d left for her in the bedroom, she had to admit that at first glance, it was a little underwhelming at best.
Gemma lifted it out of the box, letting the obsidian orb spin on the chain a bit. It seemed as if light grew dimmer around it, eaten up by the faintly glowing sphere, both illuminating and darkening at the same time. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Gemma frowned, looking at Devon.
“What is it?”
“It’s a dragon stone. It is custom for a dragon to give it to their… princess.” His expression grew wryer as Gemma couldn’t suppress the giggle building in her chest, breaking out in a fit of laughter.
“A princess? Am I the princess in this tale?”
He looked at her, pausing a moment too long.
“You certainly look like one.”
Well, that killed her giggles immediately. A slim smile spread on his lips, and her breath caught as he gave her that look. Oh no.
Don’t you dare like him! Goddammit, Gemma!
“Yes, as far as traditions go, you are now a princess. And this stone is meant to protect you. When you need me, you can put this stone in your palm and think of me. I will have to come to you. I can’t stay away. Take it as a peace offering, if you will. To signify that as much as you are in this with me, I am in this with you as well.”
“That’s very romantic of you,” she said, finding her voice again, if a bit shaky.
From a man, who had been anything but romantic so far, it was a bit of a shock. Still, she slipped the stone back into the box and palmed it. Rationally, she wanted to push it back to him, but somehow, it felt like it was the worst thing she could possibly do. Gemma watched his stony expression soften a bit as she kept the box near her, and with a bit of triumph, felt that she had perhaps done something right after all.
Not that she cared about how he felt. Nope. Not one bit. She hadn’t even noticed that her heart was beating wildly in her chest and her core was throbbing with unexpected excitement. Just more side-effects of not caring. At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.