Dragon Lords Books 1 - 4 Box Set: Anniversary Edition (19 page)

Did she really have a choice?

Morrigan felt hollow on the inside. Her heart refused to beat as the guilt tried to choke the life from her constricting lungs. Quietly, she said, “Yes, husband, I would love to go to the celebration with you.”

S
till in the
haze of sleep, Ualan reached out across the mattress to feel for Morrigan. In his dreams, she had been there and closer. They were joined as one, no walls or barriers between them. It was a new sensation to him, to be able to feel someone so closely and purely as if they both drew the same breath.

Groaning, he came to full wakefulness, his body tense and ready. Realizing his wife wasn’t by his side, his groan turned tortured. His body hated him for not claiming her as a husband should claim a wife, but he was comforted by the fact that soon he would be able to possess her completely. And she was willing. If only he had realized earlier the way into her heart was to attract her with soft words and kindness. She was such an aggravating vixen at times that he naturally rose to her challenge.

Ualan stood and crossed over to the stairs as he had done almost every night to check on her. He let the dragon-shift come over his eyes to better see her in the dark. She moaned softly and stirred against the couch. A smile crossed her lips and she laughed. Whatever dream was in her head, it gave her much pleasure. It was only too bad he couldn’t get inside her mind with her. He’d give his sword arm to know what she fantasized about.

Soon,
he told himself, as he sneaked back to bed. He never imagined he could be so happy.
Very soon.

M
orrigan grumbled sleepily
as she felt something poke her in the ribs. Swatting, she turned her back to whatever it was and tried to burrow once more into her dreams. The images that cocooned her were so real. She could feel Ualan’s lips pressed into hers. His eyes were gentle as he looked at her, adoring and demanding at the same time. His arms protected her throughout the night. It was ecstasy. She did not want to leave his embrace.

Hearing a chuckle and feeling another poke, Morrigan grunted. Lifting her arm from over her eyes, she glared. Ualan stood above her. He was handsomely dressed in a long tunic shirt of black wool, the blue insignia of the dragon in the center of his chest. The sun from the dome above haloed around his head like an angel.

A damned fine warrior angel,
Morrigan thought, trembling with the leftover influences of her dreams.

Glancing down, she saw it was his hand that poked her. With a dark grumble, she muttered, “I already agreed. Go away before I punch you. This slave is on strike.”

Ualan smirked. His prodding fingers turned soft, trailing over her loosened hair to her back. Splaying his hand over her collarbone, he leaned near and whispered, “When your slavery ends, I will have to work on waking you up in a way that is more pleasurable for both of us.”

“Caveman,” she mumbled without thinking. She stiffened, but relaxed when he chuckled at the insult.

Reaching down to nip the tip of her ear with his teeth, he whispered, “If that is what you wish…
mmm
.”

This time Morrigan did hit him. Her aim was weak from her position on the couch and it only glanced off his shoulder. But he had won. She was awake.

Lifting his hands in mock defeat, he backed away. Morrigan tried to glare through her tired yawn. He laughed again, his smile light and carefree. She waved her hand in his direction trying to wipe him out of her vision. Why was he in such a good mood this morning? She was sure she preferred him surly. At least that way he left her alone.

“I hate this accursed planet,” she grumbled, though her voice lacked conviction. “I can’t even tell what time it is by the light.” Putting her hands in her hair, she rubbed her temples. “You need a food simulator, barbarian. I need to materialize some coffee.”

“It is around midday,” he gauged, looking up at the dome. “What is coffee?”

Morrigan studied him in disbelief. Shaking her head, she said, “Poor, poor, backward people.”

Ualan didn’t even blink at her words. He grinned like a fool, like he was unable to contain it.

“It’s a drink and it has a lot of caffeine in it and I don’t like to wake up without it,” she said. His overly happy expression struck a nerve and she hid her reaction by rubbing at her eyes. This man was really too handsome for his own good.

“Ah, sloken. One moment.”

“Sloken?” Morrigan mumbled as he strode to the kitchen. “Whatever.”

But upon hearing noises coming from within, she couldn’t resist getting up. Her maid’s uniform was crumpled but she knew she would find another in the bathroom. She stumbled to lean against the doorframe.

Ualan was taking a few ingredients out of the fridge and placing them absently on the counter. Morrigan had the wildest urge to go up to him and run her hand over his spine.

“You are still a slave,” he warned.

She glanced around, wondering how he knew what she was thinking. He must have seen her reflection somehow. “You’re still a caveman.”

“Then we make a perfect pair, don’t we?” Ualan winked as he shut the refrigerator door. Within seconds he whipped up a drink and handed it to her.

Eyeing the dark green liquid warily, she guessed, “Sloken?”

“Drink,” he commanded as he brushed past. Morrigan blinked rapidly at his fast movements. His fingers caressed over her neck as he left her, saying, “The dressmaker will be here soon.”

“Wait, dressmaker?” Sniffing the green concoction, she wrinkled her nose and set it down on the counter without tasting it before chasing after him. “I don’t want a dressmaker. I want a pantsmaker.”

M
orrigan got a dressmaker
. Bara was a kind sort, with deft, precise hands that measured and stitched quicker than Morrigan could think. She came supplied with half-made garments and bolts of material and a handful of dutiful assistants—mostly men.

The woman didn’t talk to her directly, and Morrigan wasn’t sure if it was because Bara didn’t speak the Old Star language or because she couldn’t converse with a slave. Instead, the dressmaker spoke to her husband in the Qurilixian tongue and pointed at her client with looks of concentration. Once, Ualan moved his hands as if to signify the curves of Morrigan’s hips. Morrigan blushed. He insolently winked at her when the dressmaker wasn’t paying attention.

“I want an upload of the Qurilixian language,” she said pointedly to Ualan. “And this dress better be decent.”

The dressmaker forced Morrigan to lift her arms higher.

“We don’t upload,” Ualan said offhandedly. He gave another suggestion to the woman and Bara nodded in agreement, pushing at Morrigan’s breast to lift it up.

“Hey, watch it,” Morrigan warned. Ualan’s grin widened. The dressmaker ignored her swatting hand. “Why does she keep calling you
Draea Anwealda
? What does it mean?”

“Dragon Lord.”
Ualan waved his hand in dismissal. “It is just an address of sorts.”

“Like a title?” She glanced over to his wall and then laughed. “Oh, it’s a nickname because you like dragons so much. Does that mean I’m going to be called a Dragon Lady now?”

Ualan gave one last order to the dressmaker before stepping up to his slave-wife. Kissing her cheek in an act of public affection that took her off guard, he whispered, “I already told you, Rigan, you’re my princess.”

T
he days
before the royal celebration passed in a blur of dress fittings and etiquette lessons. Mirox brought two women for the latter task—Lyna and Mary. Both were from humanoid backgrounds, and very pleasant when it came to explaining the Qurilixian customs.

Morrigan found the more she learned about her husband’s rich culture, the more fascinated she became. It would seem they were creatures of very old tradition and exact habits. There were several small ways in which you could insult honor, most of which Morrigan thought she could easily avoid. She didn’t think she would be kissing anyone’s boot in public anytime soon.

By the time the dressmaker finished her gown, it was the day of the celebration. Morrigan was very excited, despite herself. She had been cooped up in Ualan’s home for so long, the days ran together. She became convinced she would go mad if she had to stay another minute indoors. The curiosity to see more caused her to plan various ways of escape from the home—none of which were feasible.

Her blue-gray ball gown was a slinky medieval affair made from a thin silk-like material. It had sloping shoulders that greatly exposed and displayed her lifted cleavage, long flowing sleeves that nearly touched the floor, and a high waist that gathered beneath her breasts and pulled seductively at her ass when she walked. Ualan’s favorite symbol of the dragon was fitted in the valley of her breasts to hold the gathering together.

The material was so light she felt naked. Morrigan nearly fainted when she discovered that Qurilixian women never used undergarments—except for the bustier that was sewn supportively into the chest—and she was to be left bare beneath the gown.

A hairdresser was sent to fix her hair. He brushed the sides up and let ringlets of curls fall over her shoulders. A circlet of silver with a little dragon pendent was placed low on her forehead, the delicate chains sweeping up into her locks. When he was finished, Morrigan hardly recognized herself.

All week Ualan kept a respectable distance. She assumed it was because the house was always full of the company of her instructors. Whatever the reason, she was glad for it. His heated glances and few stolen touches were full of promise and had made for a very long, painful time for both of them. When he spoke, his words were bold with hints of passion and invitation. He made sure Morrigan knew that, after the celebration tonight, he would be coming to claim his wife—completely.

It was that ‘completely’ part that left her shaking in her delicate slippers. For with the words, a present was delivered—a nightgown of silk and lace straps. The lingerie was like nothing she’d ever seen before, with barely enough material to cover her most private of parts. She was very embarrassed and couldn’t look Ualan in the eye for the better part of a day.

“You’re beautiful.”

Morrigan turned from where she sat on the couch and quickly rose to her feet. Ualan’s words sent a rush of pleasure through her, as did the look of desire that flooded his features when his gaze roamed freely over her form.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Dragon Lord,” Morrigan answered huskily, eyeing his tunic jacket. It was bound together with a cord that matched her headpiece. She detected a lighter shirt beneath the jacket. It was thin and hugged each of his muscled curves. His hair was brushed back, out of his face, framing his strong features. The breeches he wore were tight and clung to every dip and curve of his legs in harmonious perfection. Morrigan was thankful the jacket and shirt hung low enough to hide his more significant parts from view.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said softly, coming forward, “we will not make it to your pardon.”

“I—” Morrigan blushed, realizing she was staring at his hips. “I have to get something, one second.”

Ualan watched as Morrigan ran up the stairs as deftly as she could in the tighter dress. She hurried to her belongings and pulled out the eye camera. She’d almost forgotten to wear it. When she returned seconds later, she slipped the emerald ring on her finger and held it up for him to see. Ualan raised his brow in question.

“It’s for luck. I always wear it when I go out,” she said.

As he led her from his home, Morrigan’s eyes devoured everything. Tapestries, paintings and statutes decorated the hallways. The wide passages of red stone continued in various directions. Ualan explained that the halls led to different suites and parts of the fortress. Pointing to a symbol on the wall that looked like a bunch of lines and dots, he said, “This is how we tell where we are going. I will teach you to read them for yourself so you don’t get lost. But, for now, do not wander anywhere alone.”

Morrigan stopped and looked at the design. Pointing to a line with a curve, she said, “This must be a dragon and these dots must mean—”

“Later,” he said. “Though, not bad, I’m surprised you managed to get that far with the hieroglyphic code.” He walked with her through the hall. “You are expected before the festivities to receive your pardon. Do you remember what you must do?”

She nodded weakly. Her fingers worked on his arm, clutching at him.

“Good.”

“How long will it take to get there?” she asked.

“Not long.” The sound of voices welcomed them as he stopped her before a set of arched doors.

Morrigan heard the murmuring of laughter behind the thick oak barrier. She studied the carved hatching on the wood before looking at Ualan. His eyes were liquid pools. “We’re here? I thought we’d have to take a land cruiser. I thought I’d have time to—”

“You must enter alone for this,” He hooked one of her curls onto his finger so it clung to him. Leaning over, he lightly kissed her cheek. “You’ll do fine.”

Morrigan swallowed and nodded. When he stepped back, she bravely pushed her way in. The heavy oak was pulled from her grasp and two servants bowed silently as she entered. She was too nervous to study the main common hall, as she stepped down three stone stairs onto the main floor. The crowd grew quiet at her arrival. Morrigan found the head table exactly where he had said it would be. Going forward, she bowed to the king and queen who she vaguely recognized from the crystal crushing ceremony.

“Queen Mede, King Llyr,” she said, curtseying. Her voice wavered.

The royal couple both motioned their hands in acknowledgement. She glanced to her side, seeing several sets of eyes on her.

Morrigan had been told the royal couple was also honor bound not to speak to her until she asked for her pardon. Turning her eyes down, as instructed, she said the words Ualan taught her. “I come to you as a humble slave, begging for your royal pardon. I have restored my honor and wish to seek your blessing.”

Morrigan couldn’t resist peeking up to see how they would react. The queen and king shared a look.

“Prince Olek?” the queen asked.

“Yea,” said a man to the queen’s side.

“Prince Yusef?”

“Yea.”

“Prince Zoran?”

“Yea, my queen.”

Morrigan tried to calm her thundering heart. She itched to snap a picture of the royal table, but couldn’t get a good photograph with her eyes lowered. A picture of the princes and their brides in their natural habitat would be perfect for her story. She wondered which of the girls from the ship would be with them, if any. Hopefully it was someone she got on with so she would have an excuse to question the newly made princess extensively.

“My husband?” the queen continued.

“Yea,” the king answered, his gruffly booming voice full of authority.

“And I say ‘yea’,” Queen Mede stated. “She has spoken well.”

Morrigan began to curtsey at the compliment when the queen’s words stopped her.

“We have agreed. Now it is up to you, my son. Will this slave receive her pardon, Prince Ualan?”

Morrigan’s sharp gasp resounded over the hall. Her eyes darted up of their own accord to stare at the royal table to see if they were joking. There, standing by his mother, a crown of silver metal atop his head, was her husband. She felt the blood draining from her features.

Ualan stepped down the platform at her direct attention. How did he dare to smile at her? You didn’t just smile innocently after a public bombshell like that. Morrigan was horrified, mortified, terrified. As soon as her senses recovered, she was sure she was going to be livid and there would be hell to pay.

The hall was quiet with respect as he stepped up to her.

“Tell me you are the royal gardener and this is a joke,” she whispered through her tightened throat.

“No, my princess,” he answered so none could overhear.

Morrigan panicked. It would be much harder to bail on marriage to a prince. Ualan would have the resources to send many alien races to find her. If he wanted, he could have every military and police force in the galaxy armed with her picture.

So much for her career as an undercover reporter.

“Do you still wish to be pardoned?”

She nodded. How could she not? Everyone was looking at her.

“Yea,” Ualan announced. “I shall pardon my wife. She has proven herself very worthy of her title and of my family’s honor.”

Cheering and pounding erupted at his words. She gave a little jolt of surprise at the sudden rush of sound.

Ualan led her forward to the royal table. Morrigan’s eyes flew over the royal couples. A prince who looked much like her husband sat next to Nadja. She blushed, recognizing him from his tent but also well aware she’d last seen him without clothes on. Another crowned brother sat next to Pia. She didn’t really know the woman, but nodded when Pia acknowledged her attention with a strained smile. The fourth prince, and ungodly dark specimen of male splendor, sat alone.

“It is glad I am all my sons have found brides. We are a house blessed,” the king announced when Ualan and Morrigan were seated. “Preost, crown the princesses.”

Morrigan trembled in outrage as she numbly felt a crown being fitted on her head. She refused to look at Ualan. If she did, she just might kill her royal highness of a husband in front of a palace full of witnesses.

A
lthough a grand meal was served
, Morrigan couldn’t eat. Ualan wasn’t the only son with the dragon symbol prominently displayed on his clothing. It was the royal seal. She thought of the upload that claimed the seal was a tiger. She was definitely going to write a story about the shoddy business practices of the Galaxy Brides Corporation. She didn’t need remade virgins. The corporation flat out lied about the planets they sent women to. When she got done with them, they’d be out of business. Clicking the emerald several times in her ire, she made sure to get several pictures of the dragon emblem.

Musicians played lively tunes. The crowd laughed, breaking into spontaneous song at the oddest moments. She was very aware of people looking at her, curious and judging. The weight of the crown felt heavy and she had to resist pulling it off.

Morrigan noticed her husband’s people were much freer with their affection than most humanoid cultures. They openly kissed and caressed each other as if it were no matter. To her relief, nothing got carried too far—not like the couple having sex out in the open during the wedding ceremony.

What was she going to do? How could she escape a prince?

Suddenly, a hand found its way onto her knee. Morrigan tensed, her eyes shooting daggers at
Prince
Ualan.

“Relax.” He kneaded her thigh muscle through her thin gown. “Eat something. Enjoy yourself. It’s a celebration for all the princesses.”

“Is that a royal order, Prince Ualan,” she ground out through the side of her mouth. She was very aware of how on display they were.

“You’re upset.”

She shot him a look that said,
No kidding, caveman
.

He took his hand away, clearly realizing this wasn’t the time to discuss it further.

“What are the Var doing here?” Ualan turned to ask Prince Olek, Nadja’s husband.

“They are our guests,” Olek answered. The brothers spoke in the Old Star language and Morrigan listened intently to every word. Ualan sounded concerned. She turned to study the blond men at a distant table. They seemed to be the only ones not enjoying the lively celebration.

“See that they are watched,” Ualan said. “I won’t have their deceits in the House of Draig. There will be a big price to pay if we must punish them.”

“Yusef is taking care of it.” Olek glanced quizzically at Morrigan, catching her staring at them. Switching into his native language he continued talking. Morrigan scowled when Ualan answered in the same.

Out of spite, she took a picture of Prince Olek and his bride. Nadja tried to smile at her. Morrigan nodded stiffly in return.

Is it just me?
Morrigan wondered.
Or do all the royal brides look peeved.

“I want to leave,” Morrigan said when Ualan finished his lengthy, serious conversation with his brother. “I’ll find my way back.”

“You cannot go. This is your coronation.”

“Your dark brother’s wife isn’t here,” she pointed out with a stiff nod at Yusef. The tall, serious prince saw her irritated look and scowled back at her.

“That is because Princess Olena is in chastisement. She isn’t allowed.” Ualan lifted his drink, allowing his plate to be taken by a servant. Morrigan lifted her full plate and handed it directly to the man. The man seemed surprised to see her clearing her own meal, but when Prince Ualan nodded at him to go, he took the plate and left.

“Well, I want to get put in chastisement, too. What do I have to do?”

Ualan glanced down at his lap and visibly flinched. “Now is not the place to have that conversation.”

Now she was even more curious to learn what chastisement meant.

“You forget already, wife, I have given you punishment aplenty. But if you insist, I will happily give you more after the celebration. After all, I am an honorable man, duty bound to see all is in order.”

Morrigan read the fire in his gaze as his hand reached beneath the table to touch her intimately on her thigh. He slowly gathered her dress in his palm, pulling the slinky material up until his fingers were rewarded with warm flesh. She tried to swat him away, while retaining her dignity. He squeezed tighter, sending a chill over her. The more she hit, the tighter he squeezed until she was forced to give up. Gradually, his hand slid higher, finding the place where her thigh connected to her sex. With the evidence of her attraction to him so easy to discover, there was nothing she could do to hide the fact she was wet. Morrigan prayed the results of his touch wouldn’t ruin her gown and embarrass them both.