Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition (11 page)

W
hy did
the gods curse him so? What had he done to deserve it?

Ualan held his breath, listening to the forest. He heard people walking, heard the shuffling of feet. Dragon-shifters had excellent hearing and one of them could have overheard his conversation with his wife, no matter how he’d tried to mask it with the sound of running water and by pulling her away from the festival grounds.

Already she’d embarrassed him greatly. His father had to scold him like a child on stage.

What is this talk of leaving?
the king had demanded.

It’s nothing. I’ll straighten it out,
Ualan had sworn.

See that you do, son,
the king’s words stung even now.
I won’t have our family name soiled by an unhappy marriage. There are those who wish to see our line ended and I will not grant them the contentment of seeing my house divided, even in my son’s marriage to a New Earth woman.

Ualan lifted his immobile wife more comfortably in his arms. He resisted the urge to shift to clear his head. Other brides might be roaming the trees and he did not want to scare them before their husbands had a chance to reveal their dragon-shifting ways. He smelled his wife’s continued desire for him. She wanted him. That fact was indisputable.

A crushing fear overcame him, but he kept it from his features. His kind only had one chance at marriage. If she took it back…

He shook his head. That wasn’t going to happen.

He had seen the crystal haze leave her serious dark brown eyes. Whatever magical help the crystal had given him was gone. Now the real work of a marriage was to begin.

S
he was the new maid
.

Morrigan cringed, not daring to wonder who had changed her into the plain gray tunic and full white apron she now wore. It felt like she had blacked out for only a second. But, when she opened her eyes with a wheeze of anger ready to fight, she was lying on the couch in the middle of a large open suite—without Ualan.

At least it isn’t a tent.

The home had a gorgeous floor plan with a lot of space. Morrigan frowned, wishing the man lived in a hovel she could at least mentally tear apart and ridicule him for. Then again, maybe it wasn’t his home. It would make sense. Ualan the caveman didn’t seem like the cultured, refined type. With his build and his physical prowess he was more suited to the working class, or with his commanding behavior, possibly a military man.

The suite walls were made of red-tinted stone, which were covered with blue and silver tapestries. Shivering, she looked away from the gruesome battle scene depicted on the wall hanging. She recognized the Draig by their tall build and bulging muscles on one side of the battle, but she didn’t want to think about the furry, upright beasts on the other side trying to run from them. The creatures had fiercely long claws and the faces of cats. For embroidered material, the craftsman managed to depict fairly realistic battle wounds and casualties.

“Let’s just hope those hairy man-beasts they’re chasing into the forest are a myth,” she mumbled under her breath. They would have to be. The Draig men wore no armor in the depiction, so it couldn’t be too realistic of a portrayal.

“My lady?” a servant asked, his gaze following hers. The man tried to hide his frown of disappointment, but she saw it.

Morrigan stiffened, almost having forgotten about Mirox. She recognized him from the feast the night before as the servant with the scar across his nose. He seemed younger than the rest of the men, but was still respectably large in size. Sheepishly, she shrugged and lied, “What? I didn’t say anything. And stop calling me ‘my lady’.”

The enormous room had a high-vaulted ceiling like the cathedrals in the religion district on New Earth. At the very top, a domed window encased much of the ceiling. A switch drew blinds over the glass to block out the light of the three suns. It was the only window and the main source of light. Torches on the walls made for a kind of lamp that would fire up with a push of a button if more light was needed in the room. Mirox explained that they had no need for lighting, as all but one day a year was shrouded in sunlight.

On the first level, where she found herself upon waking, there were two circular gray couches curving around a gigantic pit fireplace in the middle. The couches parted at each corner so one could pass through to the center. Blue throw pillows with the embroidered insignia of a dragon lay neatly on the suede material. The black grates in the center surrounded a fire that was left burning. Morrigan looked, but she couldn’t see any wood or ore blocks in the bottom of it. She wondered what kind of fuel they used.

In the corner was the longest row of curving stairs she had ever seen. Climbing their marble height, she reached the top, only to discover a huge bed. It was rectangular in design, set atop a large fur rug on the marble floor. A gigantic mirror acted as a headboard. Morrigan bit her lip as she thought of Ualan sleeping there—if this was really his home. She turned a little red and needlessly looked behind her to make sure Mirox wasn’t watching her.

“My lady, do you have a preference where you would like me to…” Mirox called, his voice from below becoming lost as he presumably walked into another room.

“No,” she yelled, not really caring what the question was.

“But this is your home, my lady,” he said, his voice closer as if he’d realized she’d wandered away upstairs when he wasn’t looking.

“Don’t care,” she answered before mumbling, “And stop calling me ‘my lady’.”

So, apparently this was Ualan’s home.

Wonderful,
she thought sarcastically.
Of course the guy I have to run away from has money and means. Let’s just hope the cost of living is low here.

As much as she wanted to tell herself that Ualan was a gardener, or military man, or a member of the working class, it was becoming obvious that he was a man of means. The dragon emblems on the decoration matched what had been on her gown’s bodice at the ceremony. The blue color of the pillows and banners matched the same shade of blue of the wedding tent.

And Mirox insisted on calling her “my lady”.

She took a deep, worried breath, trying not to panic. Her heart raced. Who was this man who claimed her as a wife?

Morrigan frowned. With her luck, he’d be some kind of mining mogul with intergalactic contacts.

“Hey, Mirox,” Morrigan yelled. “Does Ualan run the mines?”

“My lady?” The servant’s voice sounded much closer. She walked over to the stairs and arched a brow as she peeked down. He stood at the bottom pretending to brush nonexistent dust off the corner of a tapestry.

“Ualan,” Morrigan said. “Does he run the mines?”

“That would be Lord Mirek.” Mirox stopped and gazed up at her. “You don’t want to go into the mines, my lady. They’re no place for—”

“I think you missed a piece.” Morrigan pointed at the tapestry and disappeared back into the upstairs bedroom. She eyed the bed, tempted to take a nap and wondering how long she could get away with doing nothing.

The upper level was much bigger than she had assumed from the first floor. It had been built back from the stairs with its own smaller globe ceiling to let in light. The ceilings were closer to the floor, but were still what she would consider high. There was a barren fireplace in the wall. It too was oversized. Looking around, she noted the wide, tall doorways and she suddenly realized how large Ualan actually was to need so much space. It made her shiver.

A black dragon was again embroidered on the gray coverlet of the bed. A hall led through a walk-in closet, half full of Lord Ualan’s belongings. He mostly had tunics, many pairs of leather boots, and some vicious weaponry. The other side was empty, except for her bags. She slipped the emerald ring off her finger and took the opportunity to get the itchy eye camera out before moving on. The closet further proved that this was Ualan’s home.

At the end of the hall was a viewing platform. When she pushed a button, wide curtains swept back to reveal the mountainous forests of Qurilixen. The platform was very high, above a steep cliff. If she leaned to the side, she could see the wooden platform where she had been introduced to the royalty. Funny, she had not seen this balcony from the ground. Next to the platform, the rows of pyramid tents were being dismantled. She quickly turned, not wanting to remember the night spent in the campsite.

How wrong she had been to think these people were primitive and lived in tents. The height made her nervous and she backed away from the view to go downstairs. With the memory of their night together fresh in her thoughts, she changed her mind about the bed. She made a point of not looking at the inviting mattress. It was hard enough keeping sexual thoughts out of her mind without the aid of visual stimuli.

The main level had three doors. One led to a bathroom, whose shower looked more like a rocky waterfall than a typical shower. Set next to the waterfall was a natural hot-spring tub, which she was told bubbled constantly with hot water and automatically cleaned and renewed its water supply. It had something to do with the mineral from the mountain the home was built upon. Mirox was happy to inform her that the natural springs were all over the planet.

The toilet, she didn’t even want to think about. It wasn’t a spaceport, but actually required the flushing of water to get the undesired waste from the marble bowl.

Morrigan shivered. That was so twentieth century Old Earth—
no thank you!
She understood wanting to live simply, but there were definitely some things it would be wise for this backward race to adopt. Decontamination lasers would be a really good start. Instead of paying for trays full of Lithorian chocolate, they could invest in some upgrades.

The second door led to a large kitchen. It took on the same look as the rest of the house and did not have a food simulator. The kitchen had a marble sink with running water, a matching marble countertop—both in creamy white—with the black insignia of the dragon inlaid on the top. There was a stove, a brick oven, and a variety of appliances she would never know how to open, let alone use.

Again Mirox was right behind her, happy to inform her that almost everyone took their main meals in the common hall. Well, at least she wouldn’t be expected to cook. Thinking of food had made her stomach growl in vicious protest, but the only thing her new “master” had in his alien refrigerator was healthy food.

“What happened to the plates of chocolate,” she grumbled, vaguely remembering the way the chocolate had melted in her mouth. Choosing a handful of oranges the size of peanuts, she looked at Mirox. “Have you ever had a problem with space parasites?”

Mirox looked confused.

“Anyone ever get sick from eating local fare?” She raised her hand to show what she held.

“The fruit is fresh, my lady,” he said, clearly confused by the question.

“Never mind.” Morrigan was too hungry to debate for long. It took a while to peel the skins off the little fruits, but they weren’t so bad. She left the peels messily on the countertop and moved on.

The last door led outside the home. It was locked, though she tried gallantly to open the iron giant. Again, there was Mirox, telling her the doors only opened to voice activation and her voice had yet to be programmed into it.

“That’s not fair,” she muttered.

“It is for security, my lady,” Mirox supplied, “so that none can enter without being invited.”

“Stop calling me ‘my lady’,” she answered automatically, before continuing the conversation, “So if I set this place on fire, I’d die before they let me out?”

“Yes, my lady, if there wasn’t anyone to open them for you.”

“Stop calling me that,” she muttered warningly, glaring at her new prison walls in growing displeasure. “I’m the new maid.”

At that Mirox laughed. “I don’t know what it is like on New Earth, my lady, but here the servant actually cleans.”

He gave a meaningful look at the mess she had been systematically making of his lordship’s rooms as she explored. Ualan’s clothes had been scattered over the floor of the second level, crumpled into a pile and tumbling over the stairs. Furniture was bumped out of place. Trinkets were tipped over.

Throwing dirt from a potted plant over the nice, clean marble floor, Morrigan smiled in satisfaction. “Then I guess his lordship can just go ahead and fire me,” she said, throwing more dirt with a look of mischievous pleasure.

“Can I ask why would you wish to be set on fire, my lady?” The servant did not lift a hand to stop her tirade.

“Stop calling me that!” Morrigan glared at him in irritation. “I am not a lady. I am a slave.”

Mirox froze, his face turning pale. Bowing graciously, he turned away from her with as much dignity as he could muster. His movements were stiff and Morrigan wondered what she had said to make him in such a hurry to get away from her. It wasn’t like she’d suddenly turned surly. She’d pretty much woken up like that. He shouted a command at the front doors and rushed out when they automatically opened.

“Hey,” Morrigan hollered, running after him in chase. She tried to get through the heavy metal doors, but they slammed in her face before she saw anything but the red wall of the outside hallway. She hit the metal hard. “Come back, Mirox, let me out!”

He didn’t obey.

Frowning at the doors, she said to them sarcastically, “Well, I guess now I can deduce I live in an apartment and not a house,
‘cause that weren’t no front yard
.”

Spinning on her heels, she looked at the home. There was no getting out of this prison hold unless Ualan let her out. She sure wasn’t about to scale the side of the cliff accessible from his upper level.

Smiling, she inspected her dirty handiwork. If he didn’t want to let her go now, then she would just have to make sure he wanted her out by tomorrow morning. Her smile widened. She would bet her favorite eye camera that she could get herself evicted from this nightmare life by that very evening.

Laughing like a vixen, Morrigan’s eyes lit with her scheming. “Welcome home, my lord, and welcome to your new living hell.”