He’s fighting with them.
Then I’m flying over Belterre, my heart thundering joyously as we swoop over the land. Feathers tickle my cheek.
I awaken with my hands curled into claws. The blanket is halfway to the floor and the book is lying face-down, its pages bent. Guiltily, I restore order to my bedding and set the book aside.
This time, I put my hand between my thighs and take my time revisiting all the delicious things Killian did to me with his wicked, wicked tongue. The way he licked and sucked, reveling in my climax. The pinch of pain when he thrust his fingers inside me.
So close to what I wanted, yet I’m still suspended between an empty ache and satisfaction. Release comes with difficulty, a tepid shadow of the forceful climaxes he coaxed out of my body.
I need more of him.
Damn Alistair for locking me away. Why doesn’t Killian come to see me? What is he doing now? Surely the gryphon’s body has been removed from the ballroom by now…
When my maids arrive in the morning, it feels as though I hardly slept. My eyelids feel like sandpaper as they scrape open. While I’m still half-awake, the women attempt to truss me into another pink gown.
Alistair wants me draped in pink and red. I prefer blue, but roses don’t come in that color and thus I am denied my preference in favor of symbolism.
Today, I’m overtired, worried about Killian, and pining desperately for the dark knight’s touch. I am in no mood to indulge my husband-to-be’s preferences.
“The blue one,” I insist, pointing.
“You already wore that one,” one maid frowns. I suppose I ought to learn their names, but I remember from my first time as a princess in this castle that they’re more like spies than potential sources of friendship.
I should be thankful Killian had the presence of mind not to leave any marks yesterday. These women would have noticed. They would report to Alistair. Killian was wise not to leave evidence of what we’d done on my skin, but that only makes me want to mark him. Score his back with my nails. Leave bite marks on his skin. But he kept me at bay, always under his power.
What will it take to unleash him?
This unquenchable need for his touch only grows more unbearable by the hour.
“I’ll wear it again. I don’t need a new dress every day.”
The maids exchange speaking glances, as if they’re daring one another to remind me that I am a princess now, and royalty do wear a different fancy gown every day. Her clothing isremembered. A mark of status.
“It’s too plain, my lady,” objects the second maid. “This would be a more appropriate selection for today.”
The gown she offers me prompts a full-body shudder.
“It’s pretty!” she insists, holding it to her front. “I would give my right arm for a gown like this.”
“Keep it, then.”
She gasps. “I can’t, Your Highness. That gown was custom-made for you. It wouldn’t fit me even if I did have an excuse to wear it.”
“Yes, it would fit you,” the other one snaps, almost viciously. Her figure is riper than her slimmer companion’s, and this isn’t the first time I’ve heard them taking potshots at one another. I have no patience for their bickering this morning. Birds are singing outside my boarded-up window. I need to get dressed and get out. See the sunshine. Clear my head.
But I’m determined to wear blue.
“A compromise, then.” I stick my arm into the overflowing wardrobe and pull out the bluest dress I can find, a reasonably slim creation of silk that’s closer to white but at least this is a battle I can win. Instead of waiting for their assistance, I pour it over my head and start crawling up to the opening.
“You cannot wear that,” the first maid says in dismay.
“Watch me.”
I yank the black laces comfortably tight. The woman I offered my unwanted dress to assists me wordlessly.
“It suits you,” she concedes. The other huffs and turns up her nose.
I take comfort in this small victory. If I have to fight every single step of the way to claim some degree of independence, then it’s a battle I’m willing to fight.
