“Stop it. You need to look presentable for Master. He already doesn’t understand why Devon Bluewing would deal with trash like you, and honestly, I share his disbelief.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What Master? Where am I?” Gemma asked, her words running into one another.
More out of instinct than conscious thought, she tried to undo her hands from the ties that bound them, but they were too tight. They felt like leather, and her fingertips could barely reach a metal buckle that must have fastened them together. She was still wearing the V-neck tee and dark jeans she’d been clad in when she was reading in the bedroom.
“You’re with better men now, much better than any Bluewing ever could be. Those flying rodents never knew what true greatness looked like. Not like the Redblades,” he said, wiping the blood from her hair and skin until he seemed to be pleased with the outcome. He pushed back her honey-gold hair, giving her a disgusted look.
“Well, I guess you are pretty enough for a Bluewing. They always had awkward tastes, but you, you’re just the last drop in the proverbial bucket. I can’t believe that my ancestors stomached working for the Bluewings as long as they did… What revolting creatures. Stealing my ancestors from their true masters and making us stoop and bow for them as if we were no better than the dirt under their shoe.
Never again. With you as my offering, Master Redblade has seen how devoted I am, and finally, things will be put right again. There will be no more of this nonsense with the Bluewings as the Head of Council. No. Remington Redblade would never allow it.”
The little shifter grinned his toothy grin, looking more like a lizard than she’d ever seen him. The specs of gold in his eyes seemed to shimmer with glee, and his whole being oozed satisfaction.
“Why would you do this to me? And what has Devon ever done to you?” Gemma asked, disbelief ringing in her words.
This couldn’t be happening, right? Just a few weeks ago, she’d come back home, looking forward to a calm, happy kind of life. And instead, she’d somehow got dragged into some kind of dragon turf war, complete with betrayal and violence. What was even more surprising than the fact that something like that could still happen in the 21st century, was that she was as outraged by Jolly’s betrayal of Devon as she was at being knocked over the head with a book that weighed at least four pounds and being abducted.
Her gut twisted with anger and resentment for the short, stubby betrayer, and if she hadn’t been quite so thoroughly incapacitated, she would have lunged at him and shown him what a princess she really was. Damnable little imp.
And why do I care? But I do, don’t I…
The realization was staggering, and Gemma made a mental note to file it away for later. Could it be that she was developing real feelings for Devon? Hell, or not even just developing, had them already? Another absolutely superb thing to figure out and worry about when you were being held by a crazy madman and his dragon overlord.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Jolly scoffed, throwing the now blood-soaked rag back into the bowl. “Dayton Bluewing had his flaws, but at least he knew how to follow tradition. When he had to choose a bride, he did it the right way – having Gold Valley offer all of their virgins for him to choose from and picking the fairest of them. Devon, he is barely worthy of the Bluewing name to begin with, even if it is a weak name in comparison to the Reblade’s.
Between the rest of the brothers drinking and making fools of themselves across the world and Devon’s choices, I couldn’t stand it any longer. And you… You mean nothing in this. You’re just a pawn, although the pawn that set forth the destruction of the little Bluewing kingdom.” Jolly smiled toothily, an almost predatory grin that she hadn’t thought was in him.
“Devon isn’t worth my worship or the time my ancestors gave him. And you certainly aren’t. You’re no princess.” With those words, he stood up, taking the basin so roughly that the bloody water sloshed over the sides and onto the plush black and crimson carpet in front of the bed.
“I never claimed to be a princess!” Gemma railed weakly, her eyes prickling with tears. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. She didn’t feel weak or powerless. Incapacitated and stripped of her capabilities – yes, but not without any means to fight. It was just that the way Jolly had said those things, as if she were the reason why Devon’s dazzling life was crumbling into bits, somehow struck the wrong nerve in her.
Gemma Teeley had never wanted to be a princess, and now here she was, bringing down kingdoms and cutting down kings where they stood just with her presence. It was all a bit overwhelming. And, most of all, she wished she could be with Devon right now. He would know what to do.