Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “She did.” Ualan had been incensed the moment he’d found out. For someone who claimed to know nothing about their marriage customs, she appeared to know a lot about avoiding wifely duties. However, that was until he had seen her confusion. His heart had relaxed the tight squeeze on his chest and he was again able to breathe.

  “By all that is sacred.” Queen Mede turned her troubled eyes away from her son. Directing her words to Mirox, she commanded, “Mention this to no one, loyal servant, and go.”

  Mirox bowed, quickly running from the hall as if relieved to have no more part in these events.

  The queen turned back to her oldest son, clearly satisfied nothing would be said by the servant. She did not wait for Prince Ualan to come forward, but stood and went down to him. Touching his cheek, there was great sorrow in her eyes. “I am sorry, my son. There is nothing I can do for you.”

  “Mother,” he leaned and kissed her cheek. “It is not over yet, and you have raised a warrior. Warriors do not run from a fight.”

  The king, who did not show affection as readily as his wife, nodded in agreement and with clear pride in his son.

  “She has agreed to be my slave,” Ualan said. “And I am a hard taskmaster.”

  “What?” the queen asked. “Why would she try to deny you only to indenture herself to you? Is she mad?”

  Ualan smiled, as did the king, who seemed to understand his son’s thinking better than his wife.

  “I don’t think she knew she was denying me,” Ualan said.

  “Then, by all means, bring her forth and let her be pardoned from it, if she will give no protest,” Queen Mede said, her color returning. She was relieved that her son wasn’t going to be cursed to a lifetime of loneliness, for he could never find another wife.

  “No,” Ualan said.

  “What, you wish to be alone?” his father asked.

  “No, let her be indentured to me, father,” Ualan said. “Do not pardon her yet. This bride of mine has too much spirit. I would see some of it broken before I pardon her. She will learn to obey her husband.”

  “Well considered,” King Llyr agreed. “It would not do for the family to be embarrassed by this woman’s defiance of you. Between you and your brothers and your cousins, this morning was almost too much. If you hadn’t claimed her like you did, the other houses would besiege our gates and our people might have opened the doors to let them in. For if the future king cannot control his wife—”

  “Llyr,” Queen Mede’s tone was soft, but held a bit of warning in it. She frowned and waved away her husband’s words with a grimace. It was well known in the family circle that appearances were deceiving. The queen as much ruled her husband as he did her.

  “I didn’t mean you,” King Llyr amended. “You’re a dragon. You don’t count as a woman.”

  Queen Mede arched a brow.

  “A normal woman,” the king amended.

  The queen narrowed her eyes.

  “Ah, by all that is sacred,” the king said in a half pout, “you’re not making me Lady Grace’s sugared biscuits now, are you?”

  Queen Mede shook her head in denial. Lady Grace was her mother, now gone, and she’d passed down a secret recipe to her daughter that people clamored for. The queen refused to give her mother’s prized recipe to anyone—not even the palace chef.

  Ignoring her husband, the queen warned her son, “Ualan, it is a dangerous thing you play at.”

  “The best things always are,” he answered, kissing her cheek. She rolled her eyes heavenward at his overconfident statement.

  “Just be careful, son. Your wife is not a cat-shifter soldier to be conquered. Be sure you don’t break her heart in this quest,” Queen Mede said. “Once broken, that organ will not so readily beat again. I don’t have to tell you how angry the gods can get and how they can punish in ways you can’t imagine.”

  Ualan nodded stiffly, not liking the words for the truth they held.

  “I go to train,” Ualan said, intent on exercising with his brother Zoran. Anything would be better than watching Morrigan as she bent over cleaning his floor. The image brought to mind many sordid ideas. As he leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek, he whispered, “Do not worry. You are too beautiful to carry a frown.”

  “You might save your charm for your wife,” she answered. “You’re going to need it, son.”

  * * *

  When they were alone King Llyr looked at his wife. Shaking his head, he said, “I fear for the kingdom.”

  “Our son is a good man,” the queen returned, moving to take his hand. She looked lovingly at him, an expression she saved for these private moments. He knew he’d stepped into trouble with his earlier comment, just as he knew she would easily forgive his boorish tongue. This woman knew his heart, knew everything about him. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t still punish him for it.

  “It’s not the future king I’m worried about,” he answered, kissing her soundly. No amount of time would ever change how much he loved her. Such was the beauty of a dragon’s heart.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Morrigan Blake.” The queen smiled, as if she carried some secret woman knowledge he wasn’t privy to. “Our new princesses are strong, but they are not dragons. I don’t think they are strong enough to resist a Draig prince.”

  “No woman who ever lived has been strong enough to resist a Draig.” The King grinned. He’d already lost his sugared biscuits so there was no reason to behave. His eyes flashed a daring green and gold as he leaned forward to prove his point. “Just like you instantly fell into my arms the moment we met.”

  “Not exactly how I remember it.”

  “Come closer. I’ll remind you.” The king leaned to kiss her and she did not deny him.

  * * *

  Morrigan’s cleaning was almost as bad as her mess. Righting the cushions and hanging the clothes had been easy enough, but crawling around on the floor to pick up crumbs of dirt was killing her back. Suddenly, she wished she had spent more time watching the maid units, instead of just turning them on as she walked out the door. She really had no idea what those little things did. She just came home and her place was sparkly.

  If it killed her, she was never going to make another mess again. And she was buying all her maid units puny husband droids to boss around.

  “Urgh,” she groaned, crawling on her hands and knees across the stone floor. She was trying to use her gown to sweep the dirt toward the plant. The hard marble was bruising her knees and palms, but it was the only way she could think of to efficiently collect the tiny specs.

  The muscles of her arms kinked, her neck ached, and her temples throbbed and she was lightheaded from lack of food. A handful of grape-oranges were all she’d had to eat since she woke up. This was definitely the lavapits of hell. Standing, she stretched her back. The floor still looked dusty.

  “Water,” she mused, knowing it had worked for the counters. Going to the kitchen, she noticed the countertop was still wet. She figured it would dry on its own. Finding a bowl from the cupboard and filling it with water, she then eyed the soap sitting on the edge of the sink. Uncorking the lid, she smelled it. It was nice and lemony. She shrugged and poured the whole bottle into the bowl causing instant suds. What harm could it do? It smelled clean.

  When the bowl was full, she looked at it and then at the floor. Perhaps it wasn’t enough. Just to be sure, she filled another bowl of water and carried them out to the front hall one at a time. Seeing that the worst trail of dirt was before the stairs, she dumped the first bowl of water with a big swoosh. The liquid went everywhere. Then, turning, she dumped the other bowl of water in the other direction.

  “There,” she sighed, proud. The dust was already lifting off the floor and disappearing into the water. Plus, as a benefit, the room smelled lemony fresh. “We’ll just let that dry and it will be good as new.”

  Picking up the bowls, she didn’t bother to rinse them as she stacked them back in the cupboard. The soap would have cleaned them just fine
and they would dry on their own. Morrigan sighed with a sense of great accomplishment. She was finished.

  Chapter 13

  “Gods’ bones!”

  Ualan stepped into the water pooled on his marble floor and slid across the soapy surface, nearly crashing into his couch trying to right himself. Water soaked into his muddy boots and he cursed.

  “Rigan!”

  Morrigan came running out of the kitchen. Seeing the dirt trail his sliding feet made, she cried out, “Oh, I just finished that. Look what you did!”

  The look on her horrified face was priceless and did much to calm his irritation. Ualan carefully waded through the watery mess heading for drier ground. He was splattered with mud from head to foot. The soldiers had been practicing swordplay with his brother in the lower swamps near the borderlands. It had been great fun.

  “Stop,” Morrigan yelled. “You’re getting it dirty.”

  Ualan looked around at the puddle. Wryly, he said, “It is hardly clean.”

  “You awful caveman. I spent all day on that floor.”

  “All day?” He gave his home a doubtful look. It appeared as if she had spent nary a minute on it, but to dump water on the marble. He sniffed. Correction, but to dump hand soap and water on the marble.

  “Ah!” Morrigan held out her hands. The palms looked red. “Look at my hands. I have been crawling around on them all day, trying to sweep that dirt with my apron. I swear someone should invent a tool to make it easier.”

  Ualan tried not to laugh. Her apron was filthy, attesting to her words.

  Thinking he didn’t believe her, she continued, “My back is on fire. My body aches. And you just sashay over my hard work like it’s nothing.”

  “I don’t know what this sashay is, but I can determine by your expression it is meant to insult me.”

  She lifted her skirt past her bruised knees. “See my knees are even killing me.

  This time he did laugh a little while he took full advantage of the view she presented by lifting her skirts to prove a point. “I can’t see,” Ualan said with a dark, sensual dip to his words. “Lift it higher.”

  Morrigan grimaced, dropping the skirt. She was obviously not impressed with him.

  “Look what you did,” she commanded with a point. “Take off your boots.”

  Ualan didn’t bother to look at her evidence against him. His anger had completely faded. She was just too earnest. He began to chuckle.

  “Oh,” she mourned. “You’re probably going to blame your mess on me, aren’t you, caveman? And look at you. You’re filthy.”

  “Spoken like a true wife,” he answered with a secretive smile. Her expression dropped.

  “I am not your wife. I’m your slave, caveman. There is a huge difference.”

  He remained quiet.

  “Well at least to me there is,” she continued. Her wide eyes challenged him. “Here I bet you treat your wives like slaves.”

  “Only when they deserve it.” His body was stretched with a good hard day of mock battling. That, and her beautiful face flushed red with anger, put him in a delightful mood. “And usually they are only made to be bed slaves. If you are interested, declare yourself my wife and then we can take turns being the master. I have some rope. I know how you like to be tied—”

  “Caveman,” she warned. That single word stopped him from finishing the thought. She stomped away. Her hands flopped in the air as she walked trying to avoid the puddles of her hard work. “I don’t care what you do, I’m taking a shower. And I am not picking up after you, so you can just forget it. I don’t care if I have to sleep with a hundred soldiers so long as I get to lie down and do nothing.”

  Ualan smiled, following her toward the bathing room. This was too much. For the moment, he didn’t care that his home was wrecked or that water was matting his expensive fur rugs. He could afford to buy a hundred more of them.

  Ualan put one hand on the bathroom door when she would slam it shut. Morrigan glared at him. She tried in vain to push him out. His hand was enough to stop her progress. He stood, waiting for her to expend her energies.

  He closed his eyes briefly. Already the sweet perfume of her desire filled his head. This was going to be the kind of torture even the most war-hardened warrior might not survive.

  “That wasn’t an invitation, caveman,” she grumbled at last, giving up on trying to keep him out of the room by force.

  “A slave never bathes before her lord,” Ualan said, stepping past her. Sitting on the edge of the natural hot spring, he tossed his dirty hair over his shoulder in challenge. Her lips parted, begging him unwittingly for his kisses. She had a mouth that deserved to be kissed and often. But she had started this game and he was going to be the one who finished it as the victor. “But, she does bathe her lord.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in. Morrigan shook her head and tried to run out the door. “Oh, no, you—”

  Ualan caught her by the long tail of hair knotted at the base of her neck. She gasped in surprise at the suddenness of her capture. Frowning, he pulled her back to him gently. Morrigan huffed and mumbled under her breath about barbarians and cavemen, and beating them all over the heads with clubs.

  Ualan moved her so she was standing in between his massive legs. Squeezing her into place with his thighs, he softly combed his fingers through her hair, unknotting it. Her hair spilled in waves down her shoulders like dark silk. Morrigan held very still, barely even breathing, as if she were afraid to move.

  “Turn,” Ualan ordered, keeping his voice low. He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep this game up, only that he needed to try.

  * * *

  Cursing herself the entire time, Morrigan obeyed his command to face him. Her scalp tingled from how he’d stroked her hair. By the time he’d finished finger combing her locks, she’d been breathless. Turning around between his legs, she tried not to look at his face and failed. His eyes were level with her breasts and completely focused on them. Reaching over, he kept his gaze on her chest as he pushed the door closed, trapping her in. The gesture brought his dirty face closer, so close that his nose brushed dangerously close to a nipple. His thighs locked down tight as if she might try to escape. Morrigan didn’t think her legs could move, let alone aid in an escape.

  Her hair framed her face now that it was down. She looked downward, thinking to hide behind its veil. The movement brought her eyes to his lap. The manly interest was right there in front of her.

  “Undress me, slave,” he bid softly.

  Morrigan was too enthralled to think. Her hands had been itching to explore him since the moment she saw his half-naked body standing in the bachelor line. Biting her lip, she carefully drew her hands to his shoulders. She trembled as she ran her fingers along his tunic. Her chest heaved with deepened breaths, drawing his steamy gaze back to her breasts.

  “You’ll have to stand up,” Morrigan said, her voice huskier than she would have preferred. Ualan stood.

  She was almost sorry she suggested it. He dominated the bathroom and everything in it, including her. Licking her lip where she had bit it, she reached to lift his tunic. She pulled it over his head with much effort. He refused to help, even when she struggled. Seeing his naked chest, she faltered. When his hands came back down, he purposefully grazed a breast with the back of his fingers. The nipple instantly exploded with awareness.

  “Uh?” She looked at his pants, wondering how she should handle her current situation.

  “The breeches, slave, or I will have to send you to the queen.”

  Morrigan gave him a wry look. He didn’t have to sound like he was enjoying himself quite so much. She lost her voice as she slid her fingers down his skin, flesh that had dried with the sweat and dirt of his exercise. Reaching side laces that bound the breeches to his waist, she tugged them loose but didn’t push the material down off his hips.

  “Your boots,” Morrigan whispered, doing her best not to examine his delectable body, and failing miserably. Ualan kicke
d the boots off his feet, followed by his socks. Blushing, she turned her eyes away and quickly shoved the black material of his pants to his ankles, pulling them forward so as not to snag the waistband on his cock. Refusing to look, she stepped away. “There. All done. I’ll just get going now.”

  “You will bathe me, slave.” Ualan stepped forward, running his hand over a panel on the wall. Instantly, water cascaded down the rocks in the shower, forming a pool at the bottom. He stepped into the water, proud and unashamed of his taut nakedness.

  When she did not readily obey, he glanced at her. She shivered, automatically drawing her arms up to cross over her stomach.

  “Come and rinse, the water is warm.” He laid his hands against the rock wall beneath the falling torrent and rested his neck forward to let the currents of warm liquid glide over his head.

  Morrigan looked warily at his back, refusing to take off her uniform as she stepped into the waterfall shower. Every inch of him looked carved of stone, a thick gladiator body of hard muscle and tight bronzed flesh slick with moisture. The gold band on his arm glistened in the light from above.

  Reaching to his arm, she gently pulled the bracelet from his biceps and set it behind her on the floor. She noticed that his skin was the same color beneath the bracelet indicating he probably didn’t always wear it, but had maybe forgot to take it off after the ceremony. He lifted his arm back to the wall, rolling his head on his shoulders, and letting water fall and run out of his mouth.

  “Soap?” Her voice was rough with the effort it took for her to speak.

  Ualan smiled. Motioning his head, he nodded to the side. Morrigan blushed, seeing the bottle sitting in plain view.

  She grabbed it and lathered up her hands. Gingerly, she began to scrub him, running her fingers over his rigid back and shoulders. Ualan groaned as she rubbed at his neck, easing the tension from him with her fingers. The soaked skirt of her gown slapped the back of his legs as she worked.