by K.N. Lee
She smiled as she watched a father pick his young daughter up and place her on his shoulders. She giggled and held onto his ears. Such a thing was foreign to Rowen. Her stepfather barely ever revealed a genuine smile to her, and the pirate, Captain Westin, most certainly wanted her killed. She sighed, and her smile faded.
It seemed that the whole world wanted her dead.
Once she stood in front of the shop, she noticed that the wooden door was ajar. She peeked her head inside.
“Hello? I’m looking for the cartwright who owns this shop,” she called as she pushed the door open to nothing but silence. Stepping inside, she looked around for any traces of the shopkeeper.
There was a forge at the far right of the room, and all sorts of hooks and horseshoes hung from the rafters of the ceiling. Shelves with wooden boxes and small crates lined the walls, and yet there was no trace of the owner.
“Feyda sent me.”
A creaking of the floorboards caught her attention, and before she could blink, the door was slammed shut and she was grabbed by the shoulders and pressed against it by two strong hands.
“Hello, love,” a familiar voice said. Deep, husky, and melodic enough to make any woman swoon.
Rowen found herself frozen into submission. Her eyes widened as he pressed his body against hers. He pressed his lips to hers in a bruising, yet passionate kiss.
She held her breath. There was something odd about his kiss. It wasn’t offensive or vulgar. There was a deep-seeded affection there that caught her completely off guard. Enchanting green eyes looked back at her from beneath dark lashes. He smelled just as she remembered him, too intoxicating to be natural, with a disarming touch. He was even more handsome than when she’d last seen him in the Dragon court. His beard was gone. Now, smooth sun-bronzed skin was revealed on his square jaw. He kissed her gently on the forehead.
Not even Lawson’s touch had elicited such wild desire within her, and the thought alone confused her.
She licked her lips and swallowed as she placed her hands on either side of his face—to feel if he was real.
This was the man she hated. The man who accused her of awful deeds. Yet, a part of her was relieved to be in his arms.
She spoke softly, desperate to not withdraw from his soothing, powerful grasp.
“Prince Rickard?”
Chapter 7
Just weeks ago, Prince Rickard had threatened to seduce her on a daily basis. Now that his hands glided up her arms and along the back of her neck, it was more of a lovely promise that she wished she could resist.
“That’s right,” he said and looked up from her eyes to her hair as he ran his fingers through her tangles. “What have they done to you? Are those humans not treating you well?”
Rowen frowned at the mention of Perdan and Feyda. “How do you know about the humans?”
He pressed his forehead against hers and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Have you not figured it out, yet, my clever little half-blood?”
Why was he being so tender? His brother was dead, and he accused her of doing it. He had every reason to drag her from the shop and back to Withrae where she’d suffer the hanging she’d been sentenced to.
Fear rose in her throat as she looked at him. She knew him to be sly, and calculating. Every action could be false, and she refused to fall for it.
“What game are you playing, Rickard? Why are you here?”
That grin she knew all too well came to his lips. He tilted his head and searched her eyes. “Come on. Don’t pretend to be the victim. You’ve always been good at that, but I could see right through you from the start.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He lifted her by her thighs and pressed her back into the door. He was so close that she could feel his heart beating against her own. His voice lowered to a soft drawl that made her skin prickle with need.
“You think you’re the only one with secret ambitions. I’ve been masterminding greater schemes than you can ever dream of. Tell me, you’ve figured it out by now, haven’t you? Show me you’re much cleverer than any ever gave you credit for.”
Rowen swallowed, hypnotized by his gaze and weightless in his arms. “I’ve been too busy trying not to get kidnapped, tortured, and killed. So, no. I haven’t figured it out. Why don’t you just tell me what you’re going on about? I don’t have time for riddles and mysteries.”
He kissed her again and she let out a whimper as he took her bottom lip between his teeth and glided his tongue along it. “You’re playing the victim again, half-blood. You know I don’t like when you do that,” he whispered.
Something about his kiss overwhelmed her with emotion. She could feel the hardness between his legs as it pressed against her pelvis. To make matters worse, as he cupped her buttocks, she felt her own arousal. Why hadn’t she grown hot with desire when Lawson kissed her? Why didn’t her most secret spot warm and throb when he touched her?
Lawson. This suddenly felt wrong. Very wrong.
“Stop, Rickard. I loved Lawson. You know that,” she said, despite her desperation for him to continue his seduction.
He pulled back. The look of anger and hurt on his face shocked her. When he let her go, she fell to the floor with a thud.
Rickard turned his back on her.
Rowen came to her feet and rubbed her bum where she’d fallen. No words formed on her lips as she watched him pace the shop. The heat from his fury was palpable, and she stepped as far away from him as possible.
“Rickard?”
He spun around and pointed a finger at her face. His eyes narrowed. “Prince Rickard to you.” He walked toward her, his boots loud on the wooden floor. “I’m only going to tell you this once, and I can only hope it’s enough to get it through your thick skull. You are not a victim, Rowen. You are a key. Do not get caught. Get…lost.”
With that, he opened the door, letting in a breeze that was cool and thick with the scent of a coming storm. He paused in the doorway and sighed. He took one look back at her. “Don’t let all of my hard work go to waste, Rowen,” he said, and left the shop.
Alone, and confused, Rowen rubbed her face. What was happening? What did he mean she was a key?
The cartwright came from the back room, chewing a piece of sugar cane. He was a tall, lanky man that looked to be in his sixties, with a bald head covered with white fuzz. “What’ll it be, miss?”
Rowen stood there and shrugged, barely hearing his question as her mind raced with several of her own. She’d forgotten what she’d come for, where she was going, and what she would do next.
She felt cold and alone, and the effects of Rickard’s touch, kiss, and words left her more lost than ever.
The day she’d met Prince Rickard had been in Princess Noemie’s private quarters. It was her first day in the palace as a lady-in-waiting to the princess and she could barely keep her heart from beating out of her chest. This was the first step in executing the duke’s plan to secure a spot as mistress to the crown prince of Withrae.
Nervous, frightened, and exhausted from the long journey from Harrow, Rowen watched him enter the room from her place in line with the other ladies-in-waiting. The first thing he’d done was to look them over as if they’d been brought there for him. Princess Noemie lounged on her chaise, sipping wine, a half-smirk on her lips as her brother walked down the line, examining them like cattle.
He joked about some of the girl’s, right in front of their faces, and Rowen instantly knew she was not going to like him. Nonetheless, the others all batted their eyelashes and smiled at him.
Perhaps that was what made Rowen stand apart. She forgot to wear a smile, and so, he singled her out and stood before her.
“What’s wrong with this one?” Rickard asked Noemie.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Prince Rickard,” Rowen said, with a curtsy.
The other girls all turned to look at her.
He rubbed his chin and grinned. Something about his green ey
es always enchanted her, but she fought it even then.
“Why such a serious face? Aren’t you thankful to be here with the others?”
Princess Noemie sat up and came to her feet. “She’s fine, Rickard. This is the half-blood from Harrow. Her mother is the Duchess. You know of her. She used to be mother’s lady-in-waiting.”
Realization filled his eyes and he nodded. “I see. The half-blood. This should be interesting,” he said, tilting her chin to get a better look at her face.
It was with that first touch that Rowen knew she should stay as far away from Rickard as possible. With that touch, a tingling sensation ran along her skin, her body yearned for him, and her heart begged for him. From the look in his eye and how he snatched his hand back…he felt it too.
Dangerous.
Rowen did not come for the young prince. She came for the heir. And so, she built a brick wall around her heart and resisted him at every turn. But, one thing remained.
Rickard never gave up.
Still, as she remembered those days and walked from the cartwright’s shop back to the inn, she always knew there was something powerful about Rickard’s touch.
Chapter 8
A storm started to brew as Elian and Siddhe had their breakfast at a little circular table under the window in their room. He didn’t mind the coming storm. He welcomed it. The smell alone reminded him of better days at sea. He should be grateful that he still had his life. A beautiful woman sat across from him in nothing but a shirt, her mahogany hair braided over one shoulder. If only he could be content to live like this.
Soon, they’d leave their comfortable room and set off into the world again. There were many roads to travel, yet Elian was only interested in one. A stinging pain in his chest reminded him that he was running out of time.
Chunks of fresh cheese, bread, and roasted ham were devoured as he and Siddhe discussed what was next.
“Are you going to be okay if we go to Malcore?” Elian asked, examining the dryness of her skin. The further from sea they ventured, the weaker Siddhe became.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve never let you down before,” Siddhe reminded him as she rubbed her bread on her plate, sopping up the grease and juices from the ham.
“Right. If you’re certain, we can go. I just need to figure out where to go once we are there. That damned girl is the key to finding out the next clue.”
Rolling her eyes, Siddhe chewed and swallowed her last bit of bread. “Forget the girl. She was a snobbish brat, and we don’t need her. We never did.”
“She was my daughter,” Elian said, meeting her eyes. That meant something to him. His blood ran through her veins.
“No, she wasn’t. She was a trouble. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Of course, Siddhe didn’t like Rowen. She was a reminder that Elian had once loved another. Perhaps she was right. Rowen was trouble. But, he needed her.
He sat back in his chair as Siddhe came to her feet and walked around the table to stand behind him. She rubbed his shoulders and leaned down to kiss his right earlobe.
“We’ll make it work, Elian. We always have, haven’t we?”
Elian patted her hand and nodded. “We have.”
“Once we find the Red Dragon, all of our dreams will come true.”
She was naïve to think it, but he didn’t contest her. Instead, he pulled her around and into his lap. She wrapped her slender legs around his waist and the back of the chair and took his face into her hands.
A deep kiss woke his manhood even though they’d made love just moments ago. Her tongue tasted sweet and her full lips were soft as the plushest pillows. She opened his shirt and ran her warm hand across his chest. He imagined bending her over the table, her hair wrapped around his fist as he parted her legs and—
A knock came to the door, interrupting his fantasy. Elian blew a breath through pursed lips. He knew immediately who it was.
Siddhe pulled back with a growl. “Can that boy go an hour without bothering us?”
“Come in, Gavin,” Elian called.
Gavin walked in, eating a banana. “Morning, Captain,” he said, with a mouth full. “Siddhe.”
Siddhe left Elian’s lap and placed her hands on her hips. “What is it? Can’t you do anything on your own?”
“I can,” he said. He took one look at Elian and Siddhe’s compromising position and a mischievous grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “But, pestering you two is so much more fun.”
Elian rolled his eyes and buttoned his shirt. His fantasy could wait. “Since you have so much time on your hands, how about you go to the village livery and get us three horses?”
“Well, I was going to visit the innkeeper’s daughter…but, I guess I can do that, too,” Gavin said.
“Horses? I’d rather walk or ride in a carriage,” Siddhe said, frowning. “Tried it once, and my thighs ached for days.”
“You’ll be fine, Siddhe. We’ll even get you a saddle,” Elian said as he stood. He handed Gavin a few coins from his coin purse. “Buy them, and get them ready. I want to leave here before noon.”
Gavin accepted the money and nodded. “I’m on it. Anything else? Maybe a…straight blade for that forest growing on your chin.”
The glare Elian sent to Gavin shut him up, but he could tell he fought a smirk. There was something odd about the young man. It was as if he didn’t truly fear him like others. He couldn’t put his finger on it, and instead exhaled.
“No, just be quick about it, and keep your mouth shut to any nosy villagers,” Elian warned.
“Right,” Gavin said. “I’ll let you two get back to…whatever it was you were doing.” He winked at Siddhe and slipped out into the hallway.
Elian pressed the door shut and closed his eyes. “That boy is going to make me snap his neck one day.”
“No, you won’t. He’s too much like you.”
He raised a brow, and looked over his shoulder. “He is not.”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying, he’s snarky, crass, and knows he’s attractive. Just like someone I know.”
“You think he’s attractive?” Elian raised a brow and turned to her as she pulled on a pair of pants.
Such a shame. He still had hopes of taking her on the table.
“What of it?”
He grunted and went to the window, cracking it open for fresh air. He rubbed his beard, which thickened with each day. Maybe he should shave before they left.
“Hurry up, Perdan! I’d like to settle in before the storm,” a female voice shouted from outside.
Elian froze. He knew that voice. Once he leaned out of the window and saw the covered cart and the woman and young man unloading chests onto the ground.
She must have sensed him, for she shot a look his way. The color drained from her face.
Feyda Barnick.
The woman who sold him the treasure map.
Chapter 9
Elian strode up to Feyda, crossing the inn’s small courtyard, and clasped his hands before him. There was a knowing smile on his face. This was a welcome surprise for him, but it was clear that she was uncomfortable by the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She whispered something to Perdan, and the young man nodded and turned away to continue what he was doing. Elian found it interesting that Perdan had taken out two chests from the back of the cart, only to put them back inside.
With a forced smile, she greeted him. Her usual rosy-red cheeks had paled at the initial sight of him. He knew how people feared him, but suspected there was more going on inside her head.
“Captain Elian Westin,” she said, with a nod. “What’s an old fraud like you doing this far inland? Encounter a bit of trouble, aye?”
Elian chuckled. He’d always admired Feyda’s spunk. He had planned on killing her after she sold him the map, but the woman hexed him with one of her spells before he could execute his plan.
“No. I’m doing better than ever. What’s a bitter old hag like you doing this far from high soc
iety? Isn’t that your new clientele since I paid you a fortune for that map?”
“Of course. We’re living quite the lavish life. Thanks to you,” she said.
Perdan kept his distance and continued unloading their cart.
Thunder cracked above them, lighting the gray sky with flashes of color. Elian glanced up, breathing in its scent.
“Well, isn’t that just lovely,” he said. “I’ve never met a luckier pair than the two of you.”
“That’s why you hired us to find the map of the Red Dragon, isn’t it?”
Elian’s smile faded. His eye twitched. “What are you doing here, Feyda?”
The seriousness of his voice did not go unnoticed. She swallowed.
“There is a private sale of antiquities in Kabrick’s capital. Ancient scrolls, runes, and maybe even a few soul crystals to add to my collection. You know I can’t miss such an outstanding opportunity to get my hands on such things.”
Rubbing his chin, Elian nodded. “Right. Makes sense to me.”
She was lying. That much was certain. He could tell from the way her heart beat sped. He could hear it, even over another crack of thunder followed by lightning.
“And, what about you, Captain Westin? We’ve heard rumors of Dragons, and ships being burned…and your supposed death. Yet, here you stand,” she said, opening her arms before him. “In the flesh.”
Elian shrugged. “Rumors are funny that way. Never believe what you hear in taverns, miss.”
“So, what are you doing here?”
“I’m on holiday.”
“Holiday?” she repeated, lifting a brow.
“That’s right. To the countryside.”
“Sure, you are,” Feyda said.
It was clear that neither believed each other, but they didn’t come out and say it. It was a dance of pleasantries, and they were both skilled at it.
