Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition (13 page)

God’s bones, he wanted to say yes to that stipulation.

“No, little rebel. You will not be permitted there. The bed is for a wife. Are you ready to be a wife?”

Morrigan shook her head in denial.

“Very well.” Ualan didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

“Then you would have me where?” She glanced at the table and then at the couch.

His mind answered silently with all the things a man like him could do to a beautiful, fiery temptress like her, and all the ways he could easily bend and lift her in lovemaking. The images made him tense as he tried to control the raging desire that had already lifted his cock beneath his tunic shirt. It seemed to point in her direction, begging its master to let him out to play.

“Slaves are too low to take to bed. I cannot lower myself. Honor forbids it. Unless you agree that you are my wife and I your master husband, then there is nothing I can do…to you.”

He felt the heat of his lust burning in his gaze when he looked her over. The maid uniform seemed a little too snug, but that wasn’t a bad thing as it clung to her curves.

Morrigan’s cheeks pinkened at the inspection. “So if I agree to be your slave, then…?”

“You will only have to clean my home and cook my meals, unless you choose to serve me in other ways. What was it you suggested, Rigan? Rubbing my feet?”

“I told you,” she answered carefully. “I don’t know how to do those things. What happens if I make a mistake? What happens if I…what will you do to me?”

“I will punish you.”

“Oh. All right, I will do that.”

“What?”

“I’ll stay here and clean this up. How hard could this one room be?”

“There is only one problem,” Ualan responded, stepping forward.

Morrigan’s mouth opened, sucking in a deep breath. Her head was forced back to look at him as he towered over her.

“You haven’t asked me if I wanted a slave,” he said in a low, sultry tone. “Your list of skills is very lacking. You might be more trouble than you are worth.”

“Do you…?” Morrigan stared at his mouth again, her lovely eyes fixated on it. She began to lift up on her toes and lean toward him, but then held back.

“Why would I consider it?” Ualan inched closer. His breath fanned over her neck and she shivered in response. “What would be in it for me?”

“What do you want?” Morrigan closed her eyes. Her lips pursed slightly, begging to be kissed.

“No,” he said softly, pulling away. It was hard denying her, denying himself. “I don’t know that you have anything I want.”

Morrigan looked as if he’d slapped her.

“I will give you a trial, slave, because I do not wish to embarrass my name with your mistakes before the queen.” Stepping away from her, he took up his sword and slid it into the scabbard at his waist. “Have my home clean by the time I get back tonight. Then we will speak more on it.”

T
hough he had not held
her upright, Morrigan felt as if she was going to fall at his departure. She wanted to believe she acted like she wasn’t bothered by him, but in truth her heart stuck in her throat. Her skin stung with the memory of his intimate touches in the wedding tent.

Ualan glanced back when he reached the front door. His gaze studied her so intently she felt as if she was on fire. The warm scent of him still lingered in the air around her, a cologne of soap and flesh. When he was near, she wanted to fall against his broad chest and be enfolded into his arms. When he spoke, his words were low and sultry, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her senses.

Blast it all, but he was a fine barbaric specimen.

She saw the piercing color of his blue eyes as he stared at her from the doorway. His gaze moved over his home, to the mess she had childishly made of it.

Morrigan trembled and was almost sorry she’d destroyed his home. Almost. But what choice had he left her? Had she not had the unfortunate slip of the tongue to put the word “slave” into a ranting sentence, her plan might not have backfired.

Now she had to clean it up. She grimaced to think of how she hated cleaning and cooking. She was terrible at it and had gotten lazy since she had maid units to pick up after her. Although this one home was certainly a better offer than the whole castle…

Morrigan shivered. She had to figure this cleaning thing out or risk being thrown to the soldiers. Being made to repeatedly pleasure a regiment of warrior men wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time. Better this handsome warrior than the whole Draig guard.

Her hands trembled with the effort it took to hold back the memory of his mouth against her, of his whip teasing her flesh, of the unfulfilled ache that even now simmered below her skin’s surface. Without the mist of the crystal, she had no excuse to feel such a way.

At the same time she was fighting the spine-tingling thrill of his nearness, she wanted to fight him. One look at his smug face and she wanted to irritate him. It was reckless and foolish and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. To get the story, confrontation was often a part of the job. Arguing and baiting was pretty much in a journalist’s genetic coding.

Morrigan kicked at a stray tunic shirt near her foot and sent it flying to the wall. Well, the cleaning had to start somewhere. She kicked a stray boot in the same direction. “What in all the firepits was I thinking? I should never have gotten up from the feasting table. I should have taken my pictures, wrote the accursed romantic story, and left.”

“
W
ell
,” the king asked of his son. They had been waiting anxiously for his return to the hall. Mirox still sat, pale and worried, on the lower seats, where he had been ever since he ran to inform the royal family of Ualan’s wife’s charge. “Did she indenture herself?”

The main hall had steep, arched ceilings. The center light dome was larger than the one in his room. Lines of tables reached across the floor for dining. The red stone floor was swept clean and the hall was all but empty. Banners of the family crest lined the walls, one for each color of the family lines—blue-gray for Ualan, purple for his parents, and green, black and red for each of his brothers. Each had the silver symbol of the dragon. Seeing the dragon reminded him his position as a prince. Some days that burden seemed heavier than others. He wondered if marriage would be this hard if he’d been a simple farmer. Maybe then the gods wouldn’t have felt the need to test him.

“She did.” Ualan had been incensed the moment he’d found out. For someone who claimed to know nothing about their marriage customs, she appeared to know a lot about avoiding wifely duties. However, that was until he had seen her confusion. His heart had relaxed the tight squeeze on his chest and he was again able to breathe.

“By all that is sacred.” Queen Mede turned her troubled eyes away from her son. Directing her words to Mirox, she commanded, “Mention this to no one, loyal servant, and go.”

Mirox bowed, quickly running from the hall as if relieved to have no more part in these events.

The queen turned back to her oldest son, clearly satisfied nothing would be said by the servant. She did not wait for Prince Ualan to come forward, but stood and went down to him. Touching his cheek, there was great sorrow in her eyes. “I am sorry, my son. There is nothing I can do for you.”

“Mother,” he leaned and kissed her cheek. “It is not over yet, and you have raised a warrior. Warriors do not run from a fight.”

The king, who did not show affection as readily as his wife, nodded in agreement and with clear pride in his son.

“She has agreed to be my slave,” Ualan said. “And I am a hard taskmaster.”

“What?” the queen asked. “Why would she try to deny you only to indenture herself to you? Is she mad?”

Ualan smiled, as did the king, who seemed to understand his son’s thinking better than his wife.

“I don’t think she knew she was denying me,” Ualan said.

“Then, by all means, bring her forth and let her be pardoned from it, if she will give no protest,” Queen Mede said, her color returning. She was relieved that her son wasn’t going to be cursed to a lifetime of loneliness, for he could never find another wife.

“No,” Ualan said.

“What, you wish to be alone?” his father asked.

“No, let her be indentured to me, father,” Ualan said. “Do not pardon her yet. This bride of mine has too much spirit. I would see some of it broken before I pardon her. She will learn to obey her husband.”

“Well considered,” King Llyr agreed. “It would not do for the family to be embarrassed by this woman’s defiance of you. Between you and your brothers and your cousins, this morning was almost too much. If you hadn’t claimed her like you did, the other houses would besiege our gates and our people might have opened the doors to let them in. For if the future king cannot control his wife—”

“Llyr,” Queen Mede’s tone was soft, but held a bit of warning in it. She frowned and waved away her husband’s words with a grimace. It was well known in the family circle that appearances were deceiving. The queen as much ruled her husband as he did her.

“I didn’t mean you,” King Llyr amended. “You’re a dragon. You don’t count as a woman.”

Queen Mede arched a brow.

“A normal woman,” the king amended.

The queen narrowed her eyes.

“Ah, by all that is sacred,” the king said in a half pout, “you’re not making me Lady Grace’s sugared biscuits now, are you?”

Queen Mede shook her head in denial. Lady Grace was her mother, now gone, and she’d passed down a secret recipe to her daughter that people clamored for. The queen refused to give her mother’s prized recipe to anyone—not even the palace chef.

Ignoring her husband, the queen warned her son, “Ualan, it is a dangerous thing you play at.”

“The best things always are,” he answered, kissing her cheek. She rolled her eyes heavenward at his overconfident statement.

“Just be careful, son. Your wife is not a cat-shifter soldier to be conquered. Be sure you don’t break her heart in this quest,” Queen Mede said. “Once broken, that organ will not so readily beat again. I don’t have to tell you how angry the gods can get and how they can punish in ways you can’t imagine.”

Ualan nodded stiffly, not liking the words for the truth they held.

“I go to train,” Ualan said, intent on exercising with his brother Zoran. Anything would be better than watching Morrigan as she bent over cleaning his floor. The image brought to mind many sordid ideas. As he leaned to kiss his mother’s cheek, he whispered, “Do not worry. You are too beautiful to carry a frown.”

“You might save your charm for your wife,” she answered. “You’re going to need it, son.”

W
hen they were
alone King Llyr looked at his wife. Shaking his head, he said, “I fear for the kingdom.”

“Our son is a good man,” the queen returned, moving to take his hand. She looked lovingly at him, an expression she saved for these private moments. He knew he’d stepped into trouble with his earlier comment, just as he knew she would easily forgive his boorish tongue. This woman knew his heart, knew everything about him. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t still punish him for it.

“It’s not the future king I’m worried about,” he answered, kissing her soundly. No amount of time would ever change how much he loved her. Such was the beauty of a dragon’s heart.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Morrigan Blake.” The queen smiled, as if she carried some secret woman knowledge he wasn’t privy to. “Our new princesses are strong, but they are not dragons. I don’t think they are strong enough to resist a Draig prince.”

“No woman who ever lived has been strong enough to resist a Draig.” The King grinned. He’d already lost his sugared biscuits so there was no reason to behave. His eyes flashed a daring green and gold as he leaned forward to prove his point. “Just like you instantly fell into my arms the moment we met.”

“Not exactly how I remember it.”

“Come closer. I’ll remind you.” The king leaned to kiss her and she did not deny him.

M
orrigan’s cleaning
was almost as bad as her mess. Righting the cushions and hanging the clothes had been easy enough, but crawling around on the floor to pick up crumbs of dirt was killing her back. Suddenly, she wished she had spent more time watching the maid units, instead of just turning them on as she walked out the door. She really had no idea what those little things did. She just came home and her place was sparkly.

If it killed her, she was never going to make another mess again. And she was buying all her maid units puny husband droids to boss around.

“Urgh,” she groaned, crawling on her hands and knees across the stone floor. She was trying to use her gown to sweep the dirt toward the plant. The hard marble was bruising her knees and palms, but it was the only way she could think of to efficiently collect the tiny specs.

The muscles of her arms kinked, her neck ached, and her temples throbbed and she was lightheaded from lack of food. A handful of grape-oranges were all she’d had to eat since she woke up. This was definitely the lavapits of hell. Standing, she stretched her back. The floor still looked dusty.

“Water,” she mused, knowing it had worked for the counters. Going to the kitchen, she noticed the countertop was still wet. She figured it would dry on its own. Finding a bowl from the cupboard and filling it with water, she then eyed the soap sitting on the edge of the sink. Uncorking the lid, she smelled it. It was nice and lemony. She shrugged and poured the whole bottle into the bowl causing instant suds. What harm could it do? It smelled clean.

When the bowl was full, she looked at it and then at the floor. Perhaps it wasn’t enough. Just to be sure, she filled another bowl of water and carried them out to the front hall one at a time. Seeing that the worst trail of dirt was before the stairs, she dumped the first bowl of water with a big
swoosh
. The liquid went everywhere. Then, turning, she dumped the other bowl of water in the other direction.

“There,” she sighed, proud. The dust was already lifting off the floor and disappearing into the water. Plus, as a benefit, the room smelled lemony fresh. “We’ll just let that dry and it will be good as new.”

Picking up the bowls, she didn’t bother to rinse them as she stacked them back in the cupboard. The soap would have cleaned them just fine and they would dry on their own. Morrigan sighed with a sense of great accomplishment. She was finished.