Dragons Among Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice) (6 page)

“Damn,” she said through gritted teeth. “I must have tweaked my ankle worse than I thought.”

“Shall I tend to it for you, miss?”

As ice-warm as the woman had been to her from the start, did “tend to it” mean she’d be put down like a crippled horse? “You mean…wrap it or something?”

The old woman sighed. “Yes, miss.”

“Oh, sure, that’d be great. Just, uh, let me hit the bathroom first.” She limped gingerly away.

“Be quick about it, miss. The prince has his own travels to attend to and would not appreciate being delayed.”

“He’s not going with me?” Addie asked from the small powder room tucked into the guest suite’s corner. She’d discovered it last night after she eventually picked up an oil lamp and hobbled around her confinement. It was an odd little space, with nothing more than a simplified toilet and raised wash bin for a sink. In place of running water, each was fitted with a hand pump, which supplied water as needed. That wasn’t so bad, but the scratchy, rustic-looking toilet paper sheets sure made her miss the Quilted Northern back home. And light switches. Apparently they didn’t believe in those or electricity in general here, either.

“Merely to the border,” Emeline said. “The prince is not yet welcome on Forathian soil.”

“Oh.”

Addie finished in the powder room and limped back, surprised by how the idea of bossy Zayne not joining her for the whole trip back bothered her. And hadn’t he been all insistent on her proving she was who she said she was last night? Maybe they secretly had Wi-Fi tucked away in another room of this place and he’d looked her up online and discovered the truth behind her story after all.

The smell of fresh bread teased her senses as she drew near the room’s small side table. Tea, fruit, some kind of meat also awaited her. “Wow, thanks so much. This looks wonderful.”

Emeline took her elbow and helped her into the table’s adjacent seat. “Eat, child, so I may get you dressed.” Impatience rang with every word. “We must not keep His Highness waiting.”

Addie didn’t realize how hungry she was until she had the small feast in front of her. Even so, she did her best not to make an absolute pig of herself while Emeline knelt and produced a long narrow strip of linen.

“Do you always carry bandages with you like that?” she asked around a mouthful of warm bread.

“No. But as you could barely hold yourself upright without Prince Zayne’s assistance last night, I thought it best to bring them along. The tea will further your healing as well. I shall not have you throwing yourself at him like that again today.”

“Wait, you think I…?” Addie shook her head and swallowed. “No, you’ve got me all wrong, Em. I most definitely do not want to keep falling into his arms.”

A shiver raced through her at the thought of his warming touch. Those topaz eyes and bronze skin. Zayne was the kind of man who would turn heads anywhere he went. Trouble was, she got the sense he knew it too. Probably had used it to his advantage more than a time or two.
Men.

Addie took a drink of tea to wash any lingering lustful thoughts of him away. “In fact, I’d prefer to stay out of his arms entirely from here on out. I don’t have time to date in my line of work. Too much traveling.”

Though the older woman’s gaze remained fixed upon her work, the perma-scowl diminished slightly from her brow. “And what exactly is your trade, may I ask?”

“Photography.”

Emeline pulled tight on the wrap around Addie’s ankle with a grunt. “I have not a clue as to what that is, but so long as it does not involve the prince, I wish you well.”

“You’ve never heard of photography? You know, taking pictures? With cameras?”

“Sorry, miss. Such words are unfamiliar to me.”

That wary feeling she’d had the night before when Zayne acted like he’d never heard of London before returned now, and Addie squirmed in her seat. What was it with everyone around here? Had she stumbled into some kind of cult? A technology-rejecting sect buried in England’s interior? Maybe it would be best to change the subject to something she better understood.

“You seem awfully protective of him.”

Emeline leveled her a stern look. “I have tended to Prince Zayne since he was a lad. He shall one day make a fine king, perhaps the best this land has ever seen. As such, I will not stand by and watch some strange, uninvited maiden distract him from his royal duties.”

“Oh trust me, sister.” Addie popped the last bite of bread into her mouth. “This uninvited maiden plans to do nothing of the sort.”

* * * * *

Zayne stood with his small band of soldiers and their saddled horses beneath the pink glow of dawn. After speaking with Emeline last night, he’d taken her words to heart—she had never steered him wrong before. Today he intended to return Adelaide to her village, then return home himself to make amends with both his father and his betrothed. The decision should have brought him peace, closure. Instead, he was plagued by anxiety each time he envisioned Addie’s departure.

What spell had the nymph cast upon him that caused him such worry?

With a shake of his head, he turned to Brom. “I have notified King Robert of my plans and requested he send a scroll ahead to King Jarin of our intentions. Once you pass through their gate and cross the river, turn north. The clearing where I found her will be a kilometer more. If my memory serves me, a small village lies just beyond there at the base of the foothills. That must be from where she hails.”

Brom made to reply, then stopped as his gaze shifted to something past the prince’s shoulder. Zayne turned to see what had silenced his warrior friend and became dumbstruck as well. Emeline stood atop the manor’s front steps, her drab attire and plump figure a stark contrast to the petite, angelic creature beside her.

Adelaide.

Zayne’s heart stuttered in his chest as he took in the sight. She looked radiant this morning with her golden locks pulled neatly up off her neck and dressed in a gown fit for a princess. Its fabric was the palest of blues and the perfect match to her unusual crystalline eyes. The bodice fit her supple bosom like a glove and wrapped perfectly around her trim waist. Had the skirt not been ridiculously long on her, anyone would have thought the gown had been made with Addie in mind, not his future bride.

It took but a moment for the other men in the yard to stop and stare as well, and jealousy flashed in Zayne’s heart. A jealousy he had no right to harbor, yet one he was helpless to resist. Emeline threw the lot of them a dark look, while Addie fussed with her skirt, seemingly unaware of the attention. After a moment, she started down the steps, a grimace on her face and those odd purple slippers peeking out from under her hem.

“Morning,” she called, sounding happy as a lark. Her gaze remained fixed upon the steps until she reached the courtyard. When she looked up once again and found them all staring at her, Addie’s cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. “Sorry,” she added hastily and attempted another of her untrained curtseys. “Good morning,
sire
.”

There was something about the manner in which she moved, not quite reckless but certainly unrefined, that called to Zayne. Intentional or not, Addie was bold. Too bold to be a spy, for she behaved in a manner so unlike the cautious feminine puppets he often encountered. Puppets that seemed to glide carefully from room to room, their faces demure and hands clasped before them.

But the prince was tired of puppets. He longed for someone real. Someone unafraid to be different.

Someone like…Addie.

Someone you cannot have
, whispered a small voice in the back of his mind. A voice he chose to ignore as he offered her a full bow and smiled—Emeline’s wound-remedy ointment had worked once again. “Good day, my lady.”

“Oh, I’m no milady,” she said with a wave of her hand, which elicited several grunts from his men. “Just a miss, from what Emeline keeps saying.”

Zayne closed the distance between them and took her cool, soft hand in his. The scent of lavender soap washed over him, testing his restraint further. If not for the audience, he would have swept her up and quickly bedded her. The thought both startled and intrigued him.

“You are a lady if I say as much.” He pressed his lips to her hand. “And as I just did, well, the matter is settled.”

Addie’s gaze shifted from his. Before he could say more, she gathered up her skirts and limped past him to stand before his snowy-white steed.

“He’s so beautiful.” She reached a tentative hand out to stroke the horse’s velvety muzzle. “What’s his name?”

“His name?” asked Brom with a snort. “We do not name our livestock round here, miss—oof—
my lady
.”

Zayne withdrew his fist from Brom’s thick side. “’Tis true, he has no name.”

“A horse with no name,” she echoed with a grin and reached to stroke the coat between its eyes. “Then I’ll name him Will. He looks like a Will to me. Is he yours?”

“Aye. Though you shall be the one to ride him on your journey back today, as he is our kindest steed.”

“Ride him?” Addie’s gaze shifted to Zayne’s. “You mean he’s not going to pull a carriage or something?”

“There is no carriage, woman,” snapped Brom from several paces away. “If you wish to be escorted home, you will ride like the rest of us.”

Addie looked from him to Zayne. “You’re kidding, right?”

The prince lifted one brow.

“Oh no. Seriously, Zay—uh, Your Highness. I—I don’t know the first thing about horses.”

“Save how to name them,” Emeline grumbled from the foot of the steps.

“And how the heck do you expect me to get up there in all this?” Addie continued, raising two fistfuls of skirting.

“Then it appears you will be traveling on foot.” Brom mounted his massive ebony steed. “Be sure to keep up.”

Addie’s eyes grew wide as saucers.

Zayne couldn’t bear to see her fret and came to stand at her side. “Pay no mind to Brom,” he whispered into her ear. “His mother dropped him one time too many when he was but a child.”

With that, he placed his hands around Addie’s slim waist, lifted the slight woman—who issued a startled shriek—and set her sidesaddle onto her new friend, Will. Stiff with fright, she laced her fingers tightly into the horse’s mane while Zayne placed a boot in the near stirrup and swung up onto the steed as well. As he settled into the saddle behind her, Addie’s scent washed over him anew. To have her so near for the long ride ahead would be both pleasure and torture, he knew as he slid an arm around her waist. And while he could have ordered another to share their steed, Zayne found himself unwilling to let go. Instead, he tightened his hold.

“Do not worry, my lady. I shall not let you fall.”

“Don’t worry?” She leaned away from him, unwilling to release the mane from her grip. “Easy for you to say. You’re probably not afraid of heights. Or giant beasts.”

Laughter burst forth from Zayne’s chest. The sound echoed through the courtyard as he nudged his horse forward.

Chapter Seven

Addie had always thought horseback riding looked like fun. Riders and their mounts weaving together through the landscape, taking in the beauty of nature at a leisurely pace. What was there not to like? Her experience, however, was nothing like she’d imagined. Their small caravan traveled fast and furious, her body, full of sore muscles, jostled over and over as the ground streaked by in a blur of greens and browns.

Her being trapped in the grasp of Mr. Wonderful did little to relieve her anxieties. At first she tried to maintain a reasonable distance between his rock-hard abs and her backside—she had her pride to maintain, after all—but soon gave up. It took too much energy to hold herself apart from him and, if truth be told, it felt amazing to be cradled in his warm, strong arms. He’d held firm to his promise not to let her fall, pulling her closer each time she felt herself slip.

Since sidesaddle seemed synonymous with losing her balance, a short ways into the ride, she’d hiked her blasted skirt up and swung a leg over the stallion’s long white neck. The last thing she wanted was to have to hold onto Zayne or Will’s poor mane the entire ride. She felt weak and helpless enough as it was.

At least in this position, she was unable to see the prince. Or stare. Good golly, did he look scrumptious in a white shirt—this one a bit puffier and more regal looking than the one he had on yesterday—chaps, and fitted riding boots. His shirt nearly glowed against the bronze of his skin and seemed to electrify his topaz-colored eyes. And the chaps, well, they left little to the imagination and hugged the most amazing butt she’d ever seen.

But staring would lead to drooling, which might distract her from being pissed off. And she wasn’t ready for that, as her hopes of getting to her photo shoot diminished by the minute. Galloping for the majority of the journey thus far or not, they had yet to reach Watford, London, or any other signs of civilization. Gorgeous royal or not, the man was making Addie miss out on her first international gig.

“Comfortable, my lady?” Zayne called over the sound of his thundering steed.

She threw him a scowl over one shoulder. “Hardly.”

He pulled her closer to his chest. “Pure torture, is it?” he asked in that smug, velvet voice.