Guarded by the Dragon

by Sofia Stone

  Guarded by the Dragon

  By Sofia Stone

  © 2019 Sofia Stone

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: Amelia

  Chapter Two: Gabriel

  Chapter Three: Amelia

  Chapter Four: Gabriel

  Chapter Five: Amelia

  Chapter Six: Gabriel

  Chapter Seven: Amelia

  Chapter Eight: Gabriel

  Chapter Nine: Amelia

  Chapter Ten: Gabriel

  Epilogue: Amelia

  Notes from Sofia

  Other Books by Sofia

  Sneak Peak: Guarded by the Griffin

  Chapter One: Amelia

  A melia paused at the entrance to the Royal Gardens. It was the kind of glitzy, ornate hotel that no doubt housed wealthy, beautiful members of high society, and Amelia was exactly none of the above.

  Especially right now. She looked down at her skirt in frustration. Of course on the day she wore her nice skirt, it got splashed, and the dark outline of dirty street water was still visible near the hem. She patted at it ineffectually, cursing the bus driver who had pulled away from the curb too fast over a puddle just after she disembarked.

  It was that kind of weekend, she reflected glumly. Get fired on Friday, be so upset you forget to pay your rent on time and have to pay the late fee on Saturday, and become wet and bedraggled right before an event on Sunday. She’d never considered herself an unlucky person, but this weekend was pushing it.

  Worse, she didn’t even have anyone to talk to about it. Normally, this would be an occasion for a Girls’ Weekend with her best friend Sabine with ice cream, popcorn, and a movie marathon. Unfortunately, Sabine was out of town. She was a travel photographer; people literally paid her to travel and take pictures, which was the coolest job Amelia had ever heard of. Sabine would know just how to cheer her up—which she usually did by making fun of Amelia.

  She was tempted to just call it a night, before something else happened to make things worse.

  Her phone buzzed, distracting her momentarily from her discontentment as she answered. It was her mother.

  “How’s the cruise?” Amelia asked.

  “Wonderful! We just docked at Reykjavik.” The connection was a little shaky, but her mother’s warmth came through clearly.

  “How’s Iceland so far?”

  “Not covered in ice, it turns out. I feel a bit let down.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” Amelia responded dryly. “Why would they call it Iceland? Very disappointing for all the tourists who want to stare at giant blocks of ice.”

  Her mom chuckled. “We have to wait a bit before we can disembark. I thought I would check in on you. How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  Her mom didn’t know Amelia had gotten fired yet, and Amelia didn’t want to put a damper on her vacation. So she forced herself to say, “I’m doing great!”

  “Mm-hmm,” was the response, which sounded a little skeptical. “Have you met anyone recently?”

  Amelia had a feeling she knew where this was headed but only said, “I meet people every day, Mom.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean.”

  “Do I?” Amelia asked innocently.

  Her mother made an exasperated sound. “Men, of course. It’s been a while since you were seeing someone, so I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Sorry, Mom, grand-babies are not on the horizon.” Not that she didn’t want any, but circumstances conspired against her, and Amelia was thinking her dream of having a family was destined to remain a dream.

  “Grandchildren would be nice, that’s true, but I’m more concerned about you.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me, Mom. Single is the new black, or so I’m told,” Amelia said cheerily.

  “Hmm. You know what you should try, sweetie?” her mom asked.

  Amelia braced herself.

  “Speed-dating,” she finished with authority.

  Amelia couldn’t imagine a less fun way to spend a Friday night. She would rather Netflix, chill, and dwell on her failed romantic history. “I am not going speed-dating, Mom.”

  “It’s a nice way to meet new people!” she protested.

  “Have you gone speed-dating?” Amelia asked. It was the kind of thing her mom would do, and it was right about time for her to introduce a new boyfriend, of whom Amelia probably would never hear again. They never lasted long.

  “As a matter of fact, I did just the other day, here on the cruise ship,” she said brightly. “His name is Herman. Have I told you about him?”

  Mission accomplished: she’d successfully distracted her mom.

  “Not yet.” Her mom’s boyfriends were not her favorite topic of conversation, but they were better than Amelia’s own non-existent dating life.

  “He’s a lawyer. We’re going into town together today. It’s our very first date! We’re planning to . . .”

  Amelia let her mother ramble a bit, oddly comforted by the flow of words she was only half-listening to. Her mother’s periodic flings were, ironically, a constant in Amelia’s life. She rarely met the men her mom dated; the relationships were measured in weeks.

  There’s just no one like your father, she’d told Amelia once with a tinge of sadness in her voice. It’s the kind of thing you only experience once in a lifetime. It was both sweet and a little sad.

  By all accounts, her parents had had the grand romance people could only dream about or see on a silver screen. As the story went, her mother was working as an au pair in Portugal at the age of twenty. One day she was out and didn’t check before crossing the street. She was almost hit by the car and would have died—if she hadn’t been saved at the last second by a handsome stranger.

  This was followed by a whirlwind romance lasting all of two weeks before they got married and eventually moved to the States, utterly and blissfully in love. It was a story made of the stuff romance novels aspired to. Amelia had aspired to it, too, as a child; but now, at thirty-two, had a feeling would never happen to her. It didn’t happen to many people, after all.

  Amelia’s eyes wandered. She had pressed herself into a nook in the hotel’s wall while she was listening to her mother, and she was well-positioned to watch people come and go. First, there was a group of friends, embarking on a night on the town. A little further away was a couple debating where to have dinner.

  A tall man strode by, out to the edge of the street. He glanced around as though looking for someone, bringing his face into profile.

  Amelia was struck by his handsomeness, even from several yards away. He had thick, dark, touchable-looking hair and the kind of chiseled jawline that belonged on the covers of magazines. He was quite tall, too, with broad shoulders and a trim waist that would make even Captain America jealous. Amelia looked most men in the eyes, especially on the rare occasion she wore heels, but she estimated that the top of her head would only come up to his chin. Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she found herself straightening up in anticipation of his gaze.

  He was frowning a little. Then, he touched his ear and spoke a few words. She was too far away to hear them, but the low, masculine timbre of this voice carried over to her ears.

  Her knees went a little weak.

  Down, girl, she told herself.

  He swung around and headed back into the building. Irrationally, Amelia was disappointed—though it was a nice view from behind . . .

  “Amelia? Amelia? Are you there?”

  Abruptly Amelia tuned back in to the sound of her mother’s voice. She’d been so distracted she had half-forgotten her mom was still on the phone.

  “Sorry, Mom, zoned out for a minute.”

  Her mom chuckled. “I’ll say. I
was asking if you had any plans tonight. It would be good for you to get out a little more.”

  She took in a deep breath and let it out. “As it happens, I do. I’m about to go to a Zavinian heritage social.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful!” her mom enthused. “Is there going to be food? Their food is very good.”

  “Dinner, the invitation said. I didn’t even have to pay for a ticket or anything . . . I guess they really want Zavinian-Americans to socialize. Or something.” It was odd, actually; the invitation had been so fancy-looking, embossed in gold and promising a multi-course meal. It definitely seemed like the kind of thing one paid to attend. But then, maybe she was wrong and it wasn’t. She didn’t exactly have much experience moving around in high society. For all she knew, this was completely normal.

  “They have incredible seafood. It’s right on the Mediterranean coast, you know. And figs. And pork. They do such things with saffron that you wouldn’t believe. And these amazing squash flowers, they fry them . . .”

  Amelia’s stomach rumbled. “Thanks for making me hungry.”

  “You’re about to eat, aren’t you? I’m just getting you ready,” her mother teased.

  “Ha ha.”

  Her voice softened. “Your father would be very proud of you, you know. I’m glad you’re connecting with him like this.”

  Amelia squinted at the setting sun, her eyes feeling suspiciously wet. “Thanks, Mom. It’s about time for me to head in. I’m a little late already.”

  “Have fun, then. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone tonight.” Her tone was suggestive. “Love you, sweetheart.”

  Amelia doubted that, but she said anyway, “I love you too, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

  After hanging up, she checked her skirt once more. It was still noticeably damp. She sighed. Oh, well. What did she have to lose?

  Heck, maybe she would meet someone. Not in the way her mom meant—Amelia knew how unlikely that was—but she did need to find a new job. This could be an opportunity to network, she told herself as she entered the hotel.

  The lobby was lavish and luxurious; Amelia felt out of place just standing there awkwardly. She looked around, expecting there to be some kind of sign advertising where she was supposed to go, but she didn’t see anything. Surely she wasn’t that late.

  She headed toward the front desk, but the sound of murmured French caught her ear. Zavinia was nestled between the borders of France and Spain, and French was an official language there.

  The source of the voice was two young women. They had to be sisters, Amelia decided; one was blond and the other had black hair, but they had the same eyes, the color of which was either green or blue or something in-between, she couldn’t decide. She was reminded of the brilliant color of peacock feathers.

  The one with dark hair must have felt Amelia’s eyes on her, because she glanced up and met Amelia’s gaze.

  “There you are!” she said warmly, clapping her hands.

  Amelia blinked. “Who are you?” she blurted out.

  “Oh, my name is Trees. This is Lise, we were just talking before we went in. You are here for the Zavinian social, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m Amelia.” She extended her hand, and Trees—surely she couldn’t have heard that correctly—squeezed it. Then she turned to do the same with Lise, who was older and blond. “How did you know that’s what I’m here for?”

  “You have the Zavinian look about you. Very traditional,” said Trees.

  Amelia touched her auburn hair self-consciously. “Really?”

  “Yes, not like us.” The sisters shared a glance.

  “Are you from Zavinia?” Amelia asked. They had perfect American accents, if so. “I heard you speaking French.”

  Lise answered. “Oh, no. We both grew up here in the U.S.”

  “I bet you’re wondering if our parents were tree-hugging hippies. Naming your kid Trees!” Trees said, a gleam of mischief in her eye.

  “Okay, yes,” confessed Amelia.

  Trees burst into peals of laughter. “No, our father is just a Dutch expat. My real name is Theresia, but that’s so boring. Can you imagine being named after a saint? And I wanted to be just like my sister when I was young, so my parents called me Trees and it stuck. Lise and Trees, you see?”

  “They rhyme!” exclaimed Amelia.

  Trees beamed. “Exactly. Here, let’s go in.”

  They obviously knew where to go, leading her through the hotel’s hallways.

  “What do you do, Amelia?” Lise asked.

  Her answer was distinctly less exciting. “Event planning. Although . . . I did just recently lose my job, so who knows what’s next?”

  Lise made a sympathetic sound. “You never know what’s going to happen. Maybe something new is right around the corner.” Next to her, Trees had a coughing fit.

  “I certainly hope so,” was Amelia’s heartfelt response.

  They arrived at their destination. The only marker of it was a small white placard on the double doors that announced Zavinian Heritage Social. You could easily miss it.

  You’d think they would make it easier to find, Amelia thought, annoyed.

  “Here we are,” said a satisfied Trees, opening the door for Amelia.

  Inside was a small dining room with a table that seated perhaps a dozen guests. Amelia could count the number of people in the room on two hands.

  Everyone’s gaze turned toward her at their entrance. “Am I really that late?” Amelia blurted out before she could help herself. There were only a couple of chuckles, one of them Trees.

  “You’re right in time for dinner,” said an authoritative, female voice. The people around her parted, so that Amelia could see her: a short, older woman, in her sixties perhaps, with a gray cat draped around her neck. There was a sense of gravity about her, and about the way people moved around her; Amelia knew immediately she was the most important person in the room.

  She fought the sudden urge to curtsy. She wasn’t even sure she knew how to curtsy properly. Instead she strode up to the woman and held out her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Amelia,” she introduced.

  The woman eyed her for a long, nerve-wracking moment—Amelia had no idea what she was thinking—and then extended her own. “You may call me Madame Solange.”

  “And who’s this handsome fellow?” Amelia held her hand out to the cat, which regarded her in much the same way that Lady Nancy had.

  It felt as though everyone in the room was holding their breath to see what happened next. The cat sniffed her fingertips lazily, seemed to consider something, and then licked her index finger before losing interest.

  That broke the sudden tension in the room, as everyone relaxed.

  “Her name is Ernestine. You shall sit with me during dinner, I think,” said Lady Nancy, who regarded her for another moment, and then turned decisively to speak to someone in the hotel’s uniform.

  Oooookay then, Amelia thought, taking that as her cue to disperse.

  Everyone else was already moving toward the table, which was set with formal place settings, each with what had to be a dozen pieces of silverware. It was way more than she’d expected. Just looking at all that silverware set Amelia’s nerves on edge. How did people ever remember what to do?

  She and Lady Nancy were the last to take their seats—right next to each other, just as the other woman had requested. It was too much to hope that the other guests wouldn’t have heard, I guess, she thought. Eating with Lady Nancy was certainly going to be interesting.

  She went to sit down at the same time as one of the servers tried to pull out her chair for her. After an awkward shuffle, she found herself seated to the right of Lady Nancy, who was at the head of the table with her cat was still draped around her neck. Across from her were Lise and Trees. Next to her was a man with strawberry-blond hair and freckles who introduced himself as Edric, and next to the sisters sat a stately blond woman named Apolline.

  At the other end of the room she hea
rd someone else come in and sit down. At least I wasn’t the latest person, Amelia thought. But instead of feeling better, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, and a flood of sudden restlessness washed over her, setting her on edge.

  At that moment a waiter appeared over Amelia’s right shoulder, and she started. A small plate appeared in front of her, placed with the gentlest clink on top of the plate that was already there. It was an appetizer of three large, seared scallops over a light-colored sauce.

  The number of utensils was still intimidating, so Amelia covertly watched what everyone else did. They started by picking up the outermost forks and knives, so she did, too.

  “Seared scallops with a zimene-butter sauce,” announced the chef, standing next to Lady Nancy.

  Amelia paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. Zimene, which stubbornly refused to grow anywhere but Zavinia, was famously expensive. Small bottles of zimene juice were only sold at specialty shops, typically cost more than two hundred dollars, and were kept behind lock and key to deter would-be thieves.

  The seared crust was dark and crispy, something Amelia had never managed to produce on the rare occasion she tried to make fancy scallops for dinner, but they were soft and melting on the inside. The sauce was buttery and with a citrusy tang: one moment it tasted like lime, then it tasted more like grapefruit, and sometimes something else entirely. It defied description.

  “These are the best scallops I’ve ever had,” Amelia said fervently. “And wow—I’ve never had zimene before, it’s amazing.”

  Next to her, Madame Solange sniffed. “They are passable,” she allowed. “This is only the inferior bottled version of the zimene, unfortunately. Fresh, their flavor is exquisite.” She stroked her cat’s tail.

  If this was the inferior version . . . Amelia boggled. She wasn’t going to waste a single bite.

  “So, Amelia, what does an event planner do?” asked Lise.

  “I help people coordinate their weddings, baby showers, birthday parties, things like that.”

  “Oh, I bet you meet lots of people then, that must be interesting,” said Trees enthusiastically.

  “I do . . . although I guess I don’t right now, technically. I just got laid off on Friday,” Amelia explained, aware that the room was quiet enough everyone could hear her, then hurried on to ask, “What about you guys?”