Dragon Heat (Dragons of Perralt Book 2) (5 page)

Laila woke from her nap with the same troubling thought. ‘What would happen to her when they found out the truth?’ Would they kill her immediately or send her to the mines first?

The thought of fooling a prince and all of his retainers. No, it was impossible. Her stomach clenched up as sweat beaded on her brow. Surely, they would know. One look at her and they could tell. A mason’s daughter. A gutter snipe. Unworthy to be in the same room as them.

She reluctantly rose from her bed and began making herself semi presentable. She studied herself in the mirror. Looking for any clue that it might work. Flint said it would. Heaven knew, the man could accomplish a lot of things. But, could he convince an entire class of people that she belonged with a prince?

And, what then? What if, by some miracle, she did marry a prince?  It would be a cold, loveless marriage. A long life of loneliness.

‘But, you will never go to bed hungry, again,’ she thought. She wouldn’t have to constantly worry about being robbed, arrested, or worse. She would gladly trade happiness for security. Who wouldn’t?

Sighing to herself, she tore her gaze away from the mirror and went downstairs. It was dinner time, and something told her that princesses were not the kind of people who were late. What was more, something told her, Flint was not the kind of man who easily tolerated tardiness.

The delicious aroma of cooked meats and fresh bread greeted her as she approached the dining room. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation.

Laila pushed the fear and the thousands of sad thoughts away before she entered the dining room. She gasped immediately when she saw the beautiful woman at the far end of the room. Her hand resting casually on Flint’s arm as if it belonged there.

The woman was dressed in a gorgeous, soft lavender. Stately, erect, with a heart shaped face and a body made for bedding. This was a woman who knew what she wanted and always got it. She appeared only a few years older than herself, but, Laila could see a world of experience in her dark brown eyes.

At that particular moment, as the woman looked up at Flint. It appeared as if he was to be her next conquest.

Laila studied them for a moment, the quick messages they sent back and forth. She had been wrong. The woman had already conquered Flint. Now, she was returning for a repeat match.

The thought sent a cold pain to Laila’s heart. For some reason, the thought of Flint being with this woman reminded her of how much she didn’t belong.

This was the kind of woman who should marry a prince. Beautiful. Secure in herself. Intelligent. And, about as far from a baker’s hovel as it was possible to be.

“Ah, there you are,” Flint said as he moved away from the woman. He didn’t even have the awareness to act embarrassed to be found so close to this woman. The man was as dense as a brick wall.

The woman’s eyes narrowed into a brief frown. Obviously, upset at being interrupted. Just as quickly, her eyes shifted. Becoming pleasant, welcoming. Laila balked for a moment. How was that possible? She was positive she had seen disdain in those eyes. Yet, the woman hid it immediately, and welcomed her like a long lost friend.

“Laila,” Flint said with a slight bow. “May I present Lady Emily Marks. She has agreed to help us get you ready.”

Laila’s mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. Had the idiot actually told someone of their plan?

“I assure you. Emily can be trusted,” he said when he recognized the fear in her eyes.

She didn’t care if he’d slept with this woman. That was no reason to trust her. Didn’t he realize what she was risking?

“Please call me Emily,” the woman said, as she stepped forward to take Laila’s hands.

Laila remembered to close her mouth as the woman examined her from head to foot. She glanced down at Laila’s hands resting in hers and tisked twice before glancing over her shoulder at Flint, and shaking her head.

“One week? We have to have her ready in one week?” the woman said to him.

“It is the best I could do,” Flint said in response. “The prince is only in the city for a short period this time of year. He will be returning to his father’s kingdom in a little over a week. We must work fast if we hope to have Laila accompany him home as his bride.”

Laila felt a slow anger building inside of her. They stood there talking about her as if she wasn’t even in the room.

This Emily woman continued to study her, twirling her fingers. Telling Laila to spin around like she was prize livestock.

Laila swallowed her pride and did as she was bid. She had promised to do what she was told. But her hand ached to reach for the dagger strapped to her leg and give this woman a lesson or two about what was real in the rest of the world.

“Let me see you smile,” Lady Emily said with a hesitantly raised eyebrow.

Laila tilted her head slightly and tried to give her impression of what a princess would look like if she smiled.

Emily laughed. “At least she’s got all her teeth. That is something.”

Laila gasped internally, the condescending bitch.

Pulling Laila’s arms wide she continued to examine her. “Plus she’s got wide hips. Royalty like wide hips. Makes for good child bearing.”

Unable to take it any longer, Laila pulled her hands from the woman’s grasp and started to reach for her dagger.

Flint stepped forward and took her arm before she could retrieve the weapon. He looked at her sternly and shook his head slightly. Not now, he seemed to be saying, not here, not now. But, a small smile of merriment danced behind his eyes.

Laila let out a long breath and stood erect. If she couldn’t stab this woman, then she would beat her at her own game. She was taller than Lady Emily, younger, and maybe with some help prettier. This woman wouldn’t last ten minutes in the back alleys of the town.

Then a bolt of understanding shot through her. The one thing this woman would understand is if Laila could take Flint away from her. The thought would drive her crazy.

Smiling to herself, she reached out and gently rested her hand on Flint’s arm. Just as she had seen this woman do earlier.

Pulling herself to her full height, she looked down her nose and said, “Why, thank you, Lady Emily, I have been told that men do find my hips rather enticing.” She then glanced at Flint and gave him a knowing smile.

The look of concern that flashed across the woman’s face was priceless and even more enjoyable than stabbing the bitch in the belly.

“Yes, well, it might work,” the woman said, as she continued to study her. “The eyebrows need work. And, that hair.”

“What’s wrong with her hair?” Flint said. “I like it.”

Laila felt her cheeks grow warm. Flint liked her hair.

“You’re a man,” Lady Emily said. “What do you know? It isn’t just the prince we have to convince. It’s his mother, his aunts, and sisters. The wives of his friends. If any of them suspect the truth they’ll put a stop to the wedding so fast, it will make your head spin. They cannot afford any family scandal. They don’t want to look stupid in front of the other royal families.”

Laila’s insides clenched up. How was she going to pull this off? She couldn’t be a princess, it was impossible.

“The hair we can fix,” Emily said. “It is the hands I am worried about. They look like she’s been laying bricks all her life.”

Laila winced as she looked down at her hands. She’d never noticed before. It had never been important. But, the woman was right. The back of her hands looked like they had been rubbed with sandpaper, the nails were cracked and jagged. Her palms were worse, as rough as a cow’s tongue.

These were not the hands of a princess.

“Can we fix them in time?” Flint asked. She wanted to slap him. Why couldn’t he like her hands? The feeling of joy at his happiness with her hair disappeared in an instant. He didn’t like her hands.

Emily shrugged. “I don’t know, we can try.” She said to Flint. Turning to Laila, she said, “I want you to soak your hands every morning in palm oil and every night in goat fat. One hour each. Just before the party, we will do them up. You’ll see. It might work.”

Laila turned to Flint, silently asking him his opinion.

He smiled encouragingly and said, “You can do this, Laila. I am positive.”

She felt her insides grow soft at his simple smile. If he thought so. Maybe she could.

“Shall we eat?” Flint asked, as if they hadn’t just spent the last few minutes tearing her apart.

Laila’s stomach threatened to rumble at the thought of food. She quickly placed a hand over it to try and calm it down before she embarrassed herself even more.

Stepping to the first chair to the right of Flint’s, she pulled it back and began to sit down.

“No, Laila,” Emily exclaimed. “You are a princess. You always wait to be seated. Either by a servant or the highest ranking male in the room. Do you understand?”

A flash of shame washed through Laila as she fought to hide per burning cheeks. How could she be so stupid?

Flint shot her a look of pity then quickly moved to pull her chair back.

“My mistake,” he said. “I should have been quicker. It won’t happen again, Princess. I assure you.”

Her heart grew with wonder. The man was taking the error for himself. Trying to save her from the embarrassment.

She allowed herself to be seated, then watched Emily like a hawk perched above a chicken coop. Every move was analyzed, categorized, and memorized. The way the woman unfolded her napkin and gently laid it in her lap. The way she sat erect, not allowing her back to touch the chair.

Laila copied each move. The gentle smile of thanks to the servant serving her. Which fork she used for which course. The way her arms never touched the table. The woman was perfection.

Emily glanced over, perfectly aware of what Laila was doing, giving her a slight nod of approval each time she accomplished something.

Flint, at the head of the table, was oblivious. He ate with gusto. Rested his arms on the table and sometimes used the same fork for two different courses. Why did he get to act like a heathen? she wondered. Why did society have two different rules for women and for men?

The meal progressed, Laila was beginning to feel comfortable. She almost believed this might be possible. It wasn’t so hard. Just new rules. Heaven knew her old life had a million and a half rules. These were just different rules. Break them, and you stood out. Follow them, and a person could blend in.

Reaching over her shoulder, the footman poured a deep ruby drink into a goblet in front of her. She watched Emily daintily grasp the crystal cup and bring it to her lips.

Laila, followed suit, bringing the wine to her lips, she took a long sip and immediately spit it out across the table. The crap tasted like spoiled laundry.

Flint's eyes grew as big as toadstools. Emily simply smiled and shook her head.

“Jesus,” Flint said. “Even I know not to do that.”

Laila’s heart sank, things had been going so well. Her feet yelled at her to run, but she was frozen in place. How could she have been so stupid?

Emily laughed and said, “Oh, how many times I have wished I could do the same thing. Don’t get me wrong, Flint. Your wine is very good. But, it is an acquired taste. I should have warned her.”

Laila looked across at the woman. Was she making fun of her, or was the woman really trying to be kind?

“It appears you don’t like wine, dear, not everyone does. Especially the heavy wines of Caylan,” Emily said. “In the future, just bring the drink to your lips. That is enough.”

Laila said, “Thank you,” and tried once again. This time, letting the liquid barely brush her lips. She then smiled at Emily, and gently returned the glass to its place on the table.

Emily nodded her approval and then turned to Flint. “She did very well. She learns fast. But, there are a thousand more things she must know before the Ambassador’s party. I’m not making any promises, mind you, but this might work. Maybe.”

Laila’s heart soared, she had passed her first test. Even more, this woman of high birth had given her praise. Granted, the bitch didn’t deserve to be forgiven. But, she’d hold off on stabbing her in her sleep for a while.

Flint unbuckled his sword, removed his hat, then coat and gloves, before handing everything to Sharp.

“Where’s the Princess?” he asked his butler, his eyes drifting to the stairs. 

He had instructed everyone to refer to Laila as Princess. It was the only way she was ever going to believe it herself. His staff had quickly acquiesced. No rolling of eyes or disparaging remarks behind closed doors.

“In your study, Sir,” the butler said, as he put away the coat. “The Princess said she would wait for you there.”

Flint nodded. The day had gone longer than he had planned. It seemed the Ambassador wanted the party to be perfect. It was amazing what happened when people learned he was the brother-in-law to the Queen of Lushcany.

Shaking his head, he mumbled to himself. It will be over soon, and you can return home and leave this wretched city. He would return to the valley as hero. Alone, but a hero.

Stepping into his study he halted for a moment as Laila looked up at him. Their eyes locked for a long second. A burning need flared up inside of him. He had to push his beast back down. Now, was not the time nor the place.

She sat behind his desk, her hands in bowls of white goop. He frowned at her, questioning what she was doing.

“Goat’s fat,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I think it’s working.”

“I thought that was a joke,” Flint said.

“No,” Laila exclaimed. “Even Mrs. Peabody said it would work. She said I could do it here, while I waited for you.”

Flint nodded as he walked to the decanter and poured himself a glass of whiskey. What was it about this woman that made him uncomfortable? It was like being in a room full of traps. As if any mistake could cause him to make a fatal error. The wrong word or the wrong look between them and he’d have her on the rug before the fire.

Swallowing a deep drink, he asked, “How much longer?”

“Oh, I could have stopped a while ago, but I thought more was better. Don’t you? Emily says that a lady is always judged by her hands.”

He looked at this young woman and smiled to himself. A few days ago, she was a hair’s breadth from being stabbed and raped in a back alley. Today, her greatest fear is what another woman would think about her hands.

Taking a seat by the fire, he draped a leg over an arm rail and studied her. Something was different. He squinted for a moment. Yes, her eyes. They had done something to her eyebrows. They looked bigger, more innocent.

She was beautiful. Even more beautiful, if that was possible. His heart lurched with need.

“So, tell, me what did you do today?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm, casual.

Laila smiled. “Emily is so smart. She taught me how to stand, how to walk. How to curtsy and how to shake hands. She knows everything. Did you know that the King’s first minister’s wife is having an affair with the second minister’s assistant?”

Flint laughed. “And, that is important to know. Why?”

Laila looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. How could someone be so stupid, she seemed to say?

“Because, if things like that happen in the high reaches of government, then that means they’re no different than the people of Fifth Point. They want the same things, money and power, so that they can get what they really want, sex. More power, more sex. This world isn’t really different.”

Flint laughed out loud as he nodded in agreement. “Things are the same the world over. People are people after all. Interested in one thing only.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, the talk of sex hanging between them like a silent cliff edge. Not to be approached, less they fall off together.

“Where are you from, Flint?” Laila asked with a curious frown, as she looked down at her hands resting in their bowls. “Emily said that you moved here only last year. Where from?”

“So you spent the day talking about me?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

The young woman blushed and looked away, then looked back and dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Just a little. I need to know about you if you are going to introduce me to the court. And, no changing the subject. Where are you from? Your accent is different.”

“I don’t have an accent,” Flint said, giving her a haughty look as he took another drink.

“Yes, you do. Slight, but it is there. You still didn’t answer the question.”

Flint sighed and looked off into the distance. “The mountains,” he answered. “Deep in the mountains.”

“Ah, the land of dragons,” she said with a smile. “That explains so much.”

His heart jumped. “What do you know of dragons?” he asked, as he sat forward. Her answer was important. More than she would ever know.

Laila shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much. Just that you remind me of a dragon. Big, powerful, commanding.”

“So, you think I am a monster?”

“No, no,” she said, as she shook her head. “Believe me. I’ve been around monsters. You’re not one of them. You may be arrogant, and insufferable at times. But, you’re not a monster.”

Flint laughed. “And, what about you. Have you always lived in the Fifth Point part of town? Why do they call it Fifth Point, anyway? I’ve always wondered.”

Laila sheepishly nodded her. “Yes, always. The name of the city is Quaster. Right? It means four pointed star. Our part of town was too embarrassing to be included. Therefore, Fifth Point.

Flint nodded his head, he understood the whole not being wanted feeling. He still remembered the shot of pain and loss when he learned of his exile. That sense of not belonging, not being needed.

Taking another drink, he studied the young woman. There was something about her. Something more than the beauty and the pure sexuality she exuded. There was an inner strength. A sense of being her own woman. Not beholden to anyone. He admired that about her. Of course, he also admired those delicious curves of hers. What man wouldn’t?

“So, family?” Laila asked, pulling him from his internal rambling.

“Mother, two brothers, a sister,” he answered. Where was she going with all of this? He didn’t like talking about his history. He didn’t like people knowing things about him. He had too many secrets to keep everything straight.

Laila smiled weakly, he wondered if she was regretting not having siblings. Or, was she sad about having lost her parents?

“So, you never married?” she asked.

That was where this was going, he realized.

“No,” he answered simply. She looked up at him, waiting for more, but he remained quiet. The tension between them growing.

At last, she blinked and looked away.

“What? You were never in love?” she asked teasingly.

He laughed, “Once. Leslie Wringer. I was ten, she was twelve. She kissed me in the apple orchard. I thought I had gone to heaven. I would have died for that girl.”

Laila smiled as she drew the picture in her mind. “And?” she asked. “What happened?”

Flint shrugged his shoulders. “She grew tits. The older boys found her interesting, and she forgot about me in the blink of an eye.”

Laila laughed and shook her head. “Believe me, Flint. I doubt she ever forgot about you. It is hard to imagine any woman forgetting about you.”

Flint smiled, “You didn’t know Leslie Wringer. The girl was as cute as a three-day-old kitten, and as spoiled as a month old fig.”

“That was the only time?” Laila asked. “You never fell in love again?”

Flint shrugged his shoulders once more. “There was one other time. But, it turned out to be indigestion. A bad bit of beef.”

Laila rolled her eyes. “You are impossible.”

He sobered for a moment, the smile dropping from his lips. “Laila, there is something you need to understand. Men like me, we don’t fall in love easily. And, when we do, it is for life. It consumes every part of our soul. It becomes the reason for living. So, no, I haven’t fallen in love. I pray to God, I never do.”

She froze in place as she stared at him, her eyes searching his, as if unable to believe what she had just heard.

“You don’t want to fall in love?” she asked, unable to believe what she had just heard.

“No, not really. Why would I? I’ve got everything I need, wealth, freedom to do what I want, when I want.”

“But, what about …”

“What, sex?” he asked. “That hasn’t really been a problem,” he said with a cocky smile.

“No,” she blurted out. “Not sex, believe me, I am perfectly aware of how easy you obtain what you want. I spent the day with Lady Emily, remember. The stories she told me about you were shocking.”

Flint shook his head. “Why is it perfectly acceptable for women to talk about men and their adventures in bed? But, considered bad form for men to tell about their conquests.”

“Maybe because you view them as conquests and not partners,” Laila said with a frown.

Flint just smiled. He liked this woman more and more each day. She was quick on her feet and could hold her own in any discussion. She would make a good princess.

The thought disturbed him, he realized. The idea that she would soon be another man’s, sent a strong bolt of pain to his insides. Ignore it, he told himself. The coin, always remember the coin.

“And what of you, Princess? Have you ever been in love?”

“Ha!” Laila blurted out before she could stop herself.

“What?” Flint asked. “No secret liaison. No stolen kisses in the starlight. No expressions of undying adoration.”

Suddenly, all the color dropped from her face, revealing a white, sad expression. “No,” she said sadly as she shook her head. “Nothing like that. Things like that don’t happen in Fifth Point. Not to girls like me.”

“What do you mean girls like you?” he asked. “You’re beautiful, intelligent, brave, and pretty good with a dagger. What isn’t there to fall in love with?”

She looked at him for a long minute, stared into his eyes with a burning need to know. Did he really mean that? she seemed to be saying.

Sighing, he put both feet on the floor and leaned forward.

“Understand something, Laila. You are one of the most desirable women I have ever known. And believe me, that is saying a lot. You will wrap this prince around your little finger, and he will fall madly in love with you.”

She blushed and looked down at her hands, obviously embarrassed at his praise. He smiled inside. He liked making her blush. He liked making her feel special.

Looking up at him again, she haltingly said, “Really, you think I am desirable?”

Uh, Oh. He’d really stepped into it this time. Standing up, he grabbed the fire iron and poked at the fire for a second.

“What I think isn’t important.” He said. “What you know, is important. A princess is always sure of herself. Always in command. You need to know that you are special. It is the only way to ensure that everyone else thinks you are special.

He looked at her for a moment. Looked into her eyes. He needed her to believe this. He needed her to accept that she was special. And heaven knew, there wasn’t a more beautiful woman in the Twelve Kingdoms.

Laila returned his look for a long moment. At last, she broke eye contact and removed her hands from the white goop.

“Thank you, Flint,” she said, wiping her hands on a towel. She rose from behind the desk. “I will take these back to Mrs. Peabody. I am sure it has been enough time for the day.”

Their meeting was coming to an end, he realized. A sadness settled over him. Would it always be like this, formal, chaste? Neither of them able to allow their inner desires out. Neither able to do what they so desperately wanted to do.

Flint sighed as he poured himself another drink and watched Laila leave the room. She stopped at the door and looked back at him for a moment, throwing him a quick, sad smile.

His heart ached.