Fool's Gold: a Fantasy Romance (Daughter of Fortune Book 2)

by Vivienne Savage

  “Your High—”

  “Call me by my name.”

  It was ludicrous. Harem girls did not become queen-consorts. And assassins did not become wives to their marks.

  “Tell me you feel the same for me as I feel for you, Dahlia. There can be no other. Already, I neglect the other girls. I care for them, but not as I feel for you. I could never feel the same way for them as I feel for you.”

  “This is rather sudden.” She wet her lips and tested his name. “Gregarus.”

  “I have had months to contemplate my desires. I know what I want, and I want you to stand alongside me. You possess every quality I could want in a wife; wit, intellect, and beauty. Even a blind man could see you are the ideal mate all women of Enimura should strive to emulate. Bring me the highest honor and say you will be my wife.”

  Swallowing didn’t help her parched throat. She reached for the wine and brought it to her lips, draining the glass but wishing for more. He watched her closely. Waiting. She worried he could hear her pounding heartbeat and the desperate pulse beating behind her breast.

  “Forgive me. I understand your reluctance. Take the time to—”

  “Yes.” Even as she spoke the words to assuage his pride and smooth the worry lines creasing his brow, Dahlia knew she could never remain in the kingdom as his wife. Tonight had to be the night she accessed the Royal Vault and stole the mirror.

  In four words, Gregarus advanced her time table from having no definite time limit to a matter of immediate emergency.

  Because she had, despite all efforts otherwise, fallen irrevocably in love with him.

  7

  Truth and Lies

  Rosalia didn’t speak to Xavier long after they returned to the hoard, not because she was angry at him, but because all of her fury and pain had boiled up to the surface, and she didn’t want to take it out on him. He wasn’t to blame for her angst, and he didn’t deserve her temper.

  He let her be, appearing much later to study her through the entrance to the sitting parlor where she’d claimed a seat on an oversized pillow, both knees drawn against her chest while she watched the smoldering coals in the warming pit.

  She couldn’t see him, as he stood behind her, but her blossoming magic felt the dragon’s arrival, the sheer enormity of his presence large enough to fill the room.

  “Will you be all right here while I report the news to Queen Morwen?”

  “What is there to even report. We know nothing. We have nothing.”

  Despite expending so much effort to infiltrate Sonacello’s gallery, they’d still come away from it empty-handed, no closer to reacquiring the mirror than they had been in Ilyria.

  The spymaster remained far ahead of them.

  Xavier crossed the room and knelt beside her at arm’s distance, close enough to speak in a conversational tone without invading her personal space. “That isn’t true. We may not have found the mirror or a means of reclaiming it, but we’ve learned valuable information. We have a new lead. We already guessed that your mother pried all five of the jewels out and scattered them to protect it, but that’s now confirmed. I’d never seen the thing before it came into my possession, only heard tales of it from my father, so it never occurred to me to ask Dahlia about the empty divots.”

  “Even if you had, there’s no guarantee she would have told you.” Rosalia raised her chin from the top of her knees. “She anticipated the mirror might find its way into the royal family’s hands again.”

  “Yes, and she guaranteed it wouldn’t be easy for them to use it. Now we must acquire these stones before they’re recovered and joined to the mirror. Without the gems, it’s nothing more than a shiny trinket.”

  “He called them the Legacy of the Divine Order. I’ve never heard of them before.”

  “You wouldn’t. They’re from a period before the rise of the Saudonian Empire when there were only five kingdoms ruled by the temples of the five divines. As the story has it, each gemstone belonged in the staff of a high priest, but after the temples were overthrown, the gemstones were lost.”

  “Not so lost if they found their way into the mirror.”

  Xavier’s grin widened. “According to the lore, each gemstone had been handed down by the gods themselves. But such precious items often find their way into a dragon’s hoard. As the old bastard is dead, I can’t ask him how they came into his ownership, but I imagine he acquired them by fucking someone else over.”

  Her brows popped up. It wasn’t the first time Xavier had referred to his deceased kin with negativity. With outright disdain. “Your grandfather wasn’t a good man, was he?”

  “No. He wasn’t. My father spent much of his life atoning for Grandfather’s mistakes. You’re welcome to read about the gemstones in my study if you want while I handle this matter. For now, I need to make myself presentable.”

  “All right.”

  He kissed her brow, the tender brush of his lips filling her soul with warmth.

  Long after he left, her body remained abuzz with sensation, and her awareness of Xavier moving around in his personal bedchamber only a few rooms away left her restless, her curiosity unsated. He’d started something that evening in the cabin, and now, with the events of Ilyria behind them, her mind wandered back to the night spent stretched alongside him in bed.

  Rosalia abandoned her seat on the cushions and navigated the hoard until she reached the wardrobe, as Xavier didn’t keep a personal bedroom belowground, preferring to sleep among the golden coins of the vault instead. Golden lantern light shone against his torso, his body stripped from the waist up, muscles defined and carved to perfection beneath bronzed skin.

  In this wardrobe spanned rows and rows of clothing upon mannequins and racks, styles dating back more than a hundred years maintained in pristine condition. Glossy boots, shiny buckles, vibrant cloths, and conditioned leathers.

  Allowing herself a moment to admire the beauty of him, she lingered in the doorway and studied his straight nose, the breadth of his shoulders, and the flawless beauty of what she’d always thought to be elven heritage. Were all dragonkin so handsome, or was he merely the one who broke the mold, an ideal specimen of masculinity and elven grace imbued within one weredragon body?

  Xavier twisted at the waist to face her. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’ve saved me, given me the tools to save my friends, and you even comforted me whenever my doubts and insecurities arose. You’re…” Licking her lips didn’t help much since her entire mouth had gone dry the moment she saw the half-dressed dragon-man standing there before the wardrobe.

  It wasn’t fair that he could be so attractive.

  “I’m?” he encouraged, a half-smile on his lips.

  No matter how she tried to conclude her praise, nothing but inadequate words swam through her thoughts. Nothing would suffice but one thing.

  Rosalia crossed the room to him, ignoring the rapid flutter of her heart, the dampness of her palms, and the anxious knot tightening her midsection.

  Now or never.

  The words became a mantra echoing through her thoughts, pushing her forward until her tunic skimmed his abdomen, until there was nowhere else to go but onto her tiptoes.

  He met her halfway.

  In one kiss, she was lost, surrendering to the taste of his mouth and the demanding pressure coaxing her lips to part. She moaned against him and wrapped both arms around his neck, and then his tongue stroked hers, igniting a fire in the pit of her belly.

  A man shouldn’t be so damned delicious. She sighed into his mouth and pressed closer, tighter, grinding their hips together until the long, hard length of him became an unmistakable bulge. She stroked it, quite satisfied with what she’d stirred in only a few kisses.

  “Godsdammit, Rosalia.” He huffed a quiet laugh, warm breath ghosting over her skin in a gentle caress.

  “Hm?”


  “I have to go. This isn’t the best time to start something you can’t finish.”

  “Must you go right this moment?”

  “I should.” Despite Xavier’s words, his mouth traced a path along her jaw. He kissed the pulse point below her ear then nipped. Shivers danced down her spine and raised goosebumps over her skin.

  “A few minutes won’t delay you too long.”

  He withdrew and straightened, but his arms remained around her. “Darling, when I have you, when I cease resisting the urge to take you to my bed, we’ll need more than a few minutes.”

  Rosalia shivered. A powerful promise lingered in those words. Appearing very torn between finishing what they were doing and making his report to the elvish queen, he dropped his arms and stepped back. “I do have to go, but when I return, we will speak.”

  “All right.”

  Before he could turn, she stepped in and stole one last kiss, managing to dart away from the playful swat he aimed toward her ass and dance beyond his reach. He smiled. “Blasted imp.”

  Placing a hand to her chest, she put on an expression of mock outrage. “Djinn, remember? Far better than a common imp.”

  His smile didn’t fade. “My mistake.”

  Unwilling to tempt him any further, she shut herself away in the study and began her personal research. With a collection of history tomes gathered in her arms, she crossed the room to Xavier’s desk and settled in the oversized chair. The leather upholstery surrounded her like a warm hug.

  As there was already an open book on the magnificent mahogany desk, she set her stack beside it, and gently raised the ribbon to tuck it between the cream pages bearing Xavier’s long and looping script.

  Were her name not the first word to catch her eye, she would have closed it.

  Rosalia is the key. Perhaps it is too early to take such a dangerous risk, but I’d wager my own hide that her body is capable. There is power in her, enough power to survive the ordeal.

  To survive what ordeal? A little voice in the back of her mind commanded her to leave it be and set the journal down, but the tiny voice of her survival instinct said she had every right to read what was there when her name was present on the pages.

  What was Xavier keeping from her?

  She started from the beginning of the thick tome, turning one page after another until she found the meat of not only his personal background, but the history of dragonkind. Line after line told a story of a once-proud race with dwindling numbers, their people so few Xavier feared he was among the last.

  If we are to have a chance at replenishing our numbers, I must take a mate with a magical bloodline capable of carrying a viable pregnancy. If I should fail, I may very well be the last dragon west of Utopia. I am certainly all that remains of the rainbow dragons.

  The journal fell from her numb fingers. She didn’t need to read anything more.

  That was why he wanted her.

  That was why he’d helped.

  Did he truly care about the danger posed by King Gregarus’s mirror, or was it all a ruse to get her to grow closer to him by the day until she relied on him, trusted him, and ultimately was inclined to accept him?

  It wasn’t her he cared about, and any fondness she thought she’d imagined had been borne of only one thing.

  8

  A Friend in Need

  Rosalia crouched in the darkness between two small homes in Silver Hollow, a residential area nestled between the docks and Gilded Quarter. Sailors loved it, both as an affordable location for citizens of middle income and for its convenient position near the shipyard.

  For the second time, her conscience talked her out of invading Adriano’s home.

  But the part of her desiring the honest company of a childhood friend told her to hell with the consequences, because he needed her as much as she needed him. Through a narrow gap in the window shades, she watched Adriano slouch at the kitchen table, his head down. He hadn’t moved in so long Rosalia counted his breaths, afraid the amber liquid in his glass contained more than liquor. The room was in shambles, a mess of dirty dishes and empty bottles.

  It would have been wiser to leave him be.

  But only an asshole would allow a friend to drink himself to an early grave.

  Stomach churning with anxiety, Rosalia let herself in through the bedroom window, familiar with each creaking floorboard to avoid from countless times she’d crept in and out of his home in the past. Unwashed clothing littered a bedroom reeking with the staleness of male sweat, a combination of his everyday clothing and naval uniforms strewn over the floor.

  The revenant at the kitchen table wasn’t the Adriano she’d hoped to find. Then again, what had she expected?

  A celebration? A grand party?

  Hadrian and Lacherra had been every bit an aunt and uncle to him, and everything he’d ever loved had burned in the Salted Pearl the night King Gregarus called for their murder.

  Out of the bedroom, she crossed the floor to him with silent steps, pulse gathering speed until it became a brutal rhythm against her ribs. She paused a few feet away and dared to murmur his name. “Adriano.”

  He jerked up to his feet and spun to face her, knocking the bottle aside.

  Rosalia caught it, even steadied it on the table.

  “You’re here.” He breathed the words with reverence, like Arcadian himself had descended from the clouds.

  “I am.”

  “I’m not imagining this? I’m not asleep?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m really, really here. And no, you’re not yet that drunk, though I suspect if I’d arrived an hour later you’d be well on your way toward it.”

  “I…they said you were dead by fire.” He licked his lips, face gaunt and ashen when he should have been fit, tanned, and hale. “That a dragon incinerated you to the bone until almost nothing remained.”

  “A ruse.”

  “But then I thought I saw you one night aboard a ship. I thought…” He laughed, raking his fingers through his dark, curly hair before he spun and paced a few steps in the dingy kitchen. “Gods, I thought I was insane. I told myself again and again if it were you, if you were truly alive, you’d have come to me and assured me you were well.” Then those blue eyes turned accusing and brimmed with betrayal.

  “I couldn’t come to you until this moment. There was far too much at stake to risk it. I shouldn’t even be here now, considering the king ordered my death.” Her gaze darted to the windows. She’d only been able to see inside because she’d had her face practically pressed against the glass. “Trusting the wrong person could mean my life.”

  “I lost everyone I cared about only a few nights ago, and you speak of trust?” He slammed a fist on the table. The bottle bounced, as did the single glass.

  “I do. Can I trust you, Adriano? Gregarus owns you. You’re a lieutenant in his damned navy. Can I trust you to keep my secrets no matter what?”

  His hurt was unmistakable, but she preferred hurt and fire over the apathetic wretch she’d seen through the window. “When have I ever let you down?” He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “Do you remember when we were children and you stole that pie Lacherra baked for Mum’s birthday?”

  She couldn’t help the grin that came to her face. “West desert dunepeach.”

  “The rarest of fruit, plucked from the western oasis. You stole it, gave a slice to me, but when Lacherra came out and saw me eating it—”

  “She thought you’d taken it, and you were the one in trouble.”

  “I couldn’t sit for a week, but I never told.”

  “No, you didn’t. Though I suspect they always knew I was involved and respected your silence. After that, whenever Lacherra baked a pie, she had Hadrian place wards around it.” A moment of thoughtful silence passed before she added, “You would have made a good thief.”

  “Mom always thought so, as many cookies as I always filched from her no matter how she tried to hide them.”

  Rosalia giggled. After so many days o
f death, struggle, and grimy ships with irritable thieves, it felt good to laugh with an old friend. Then her thoughts returned to Xavier. “There’s one more important thing I should tell you before we delve deeper into this. Something you deserve to know.”

  Adriano chuckled. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. You know I hate it when you drag out a story.”

  “I…” She wrung her hands together, hating that anger wasn’t enough to diffuse and deteriorate her attraction to Xavier. “I met a man.”

  Adriano’s smile fell. “I see. Your mystery rescuer, I take it? Then…I’m happy for you.”

  “It isn’t like that, Adriano. I’m telling you because…he was dishonest and helping for all of the wrong reasons. And I don’t want to encounter that again. I don’t want you to help me because this is your way to—”

  “So many years of friendship and this is what we’ve become, Rosalia?” His low murmur trembled with fury, both fists clenched at his sides and a flush surging over his face. “You think so poorly of me, that I’d aid you and go against every vow I’ve ever taken before the king, because I want to get laid? This is twice you’ve wounded me. I’d exercise a touch of the dramatic and ask you to just put the knife in my heart too while you’re at it, but only Frederico could pull that off with a just performance.”

  “Adriano—”

  “No. We are friends, and as I’ve told you a dozen times, we’ll always be friends. To be honest, Rosalia, I’d rather you live and be my friend, and only my friend, than lie to you for my personal gain. This man who hurt you, who is he?”

  “He didn’t hurt me.”

  Adriano snorted. “Bullshit.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “Fine. You don’t have to share the sordid details with me, but I would appreciate knowing what the fuck happened between the crown and the Thieves Guild. No one knows anything. There are men in the royal guard, the navy, and the army who have lost loved ones to this bullshit, but we haven’t received answers, only more mysteries and orders to shut up or be hauled before our respective superiors.”