To The Princess Bound (17 page)

“I’m hungry,” he said, making her jump.  “What are you going to feed me?”

Victory blinked at him.  Clearly, he had been making some sort of joke.

But then, seeing his raised eyebrow and his impetuous pout, she realized he was serious.

“
Me?
” she managed.  “Feed
you
?”  She snorted.  “Now that your hands are free, slave,
you
shall be feeding
me
.”  She waved a dismissive hand.  “Grapes and such.”

His mouth fell open.  “You can’t be serious.”

She pushed herself up onto her elbows, giving him an appraising look.  “Cheese,” she decided.  “And apples.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.  “You put cheese and apples into my hands, and they’re going down my gullet.  I’m starving.  That dinky little meal you fed me didn’t do jack.”

It was her turn for her jaw to drop.  “I gave you three servings of everything!”

He raised an eyebrow and jabbed a finger at his stomach.  “You hear that?  She is telling me that she’s hungry.  And yes, it is a ‘she’ because more often than not, she’s chewing me a new hole.”

Victory could not believe what she was hearing.  “You insult women…in my presence?”

“Just stating a fact,” he said, glancing at the door.  “Did we miss dinner?”

“You…” Victory sputtered.  “You, sir, are a pompous chauvinist ass!”

“Better than being a slave.”  He got off the bed, headed for the door.

“Where are you going?!” Victory cried, sitting up all the way.

“I’m hungry,” he said.  “I’m going to go find something to eat.”

Faced with such grace and power, all she could think to say was, “What about me?”

“You’re coming with me,” he said, grinning.  He gave the chain between them a gentle tug.  “Obviously.”

Bruised and battered as he was, Victory knew he could still drag her, kicking and screaming, wherever he wanted to go.  And the Praetorian, damn them, would probably let him do it.  She swallowed, trying desperately to think of a reason to stay in the room.  “My hair and makeup need to be done,” she babbled.  “I’m not presentable.”

The man gave her a look like she were growing popsicles from her ears, then snorted.  He turned and started shuffling to the door, one hand gripping the chain around his neck.

“Wait!” she screeched, when the chain went tight, dragging her out of bed.

He stopped and looked back at her.  “Yes?”

“I’ll call my chambermaids,” she insisted.  “I need my wardrobe—”

He raised a heavy eyebrow at her.  “Lady, I’m so hungry I’m about to walk out there naked as a jaybird.  You and your wardrobe can wait.”  He turned back to the door and put his hand on the latch.

“I’m not presentable,” she moaned, realizing he was utterly serious.  She started patting at her hair, which was loose and snarled from sleep.

He glanced over his shoulder at her.  “You’re beautiful,” he said.  Then he yanked the door open and smiled at the Praetorian outside.  “Now please tell these nice ladies we’re just going out to eat, and that the swords at my throat are completely unnecessary.”

“Leave him,” Victory said, not knowing what else to do.

The phoenix-clad Praetorian quickly dropped their weapons and stepped back.

Dragomir grunted and stepped forward, a big fist gripping the tether at his throat.  The chain went taut again, and he tugged her out of the room by the band around her waist.  The Praetorian gave Victory a dubious look, but said nothing, falling in behind her, allowing the slave to lead the way.

“This is not proper!” Victory cried, as he tugged her down the hall and started to descend the steps.  “
I’m
supposed to be leading
you
.”

“Then
lead
,” the man said, stopping on the stairs.  He made an irritated gesture at the steps in front of him.  “I’m telling you, wench, that she’s about to eat a hole through my spine.”

Victory stared at him.  ‘Wench’ again.  In public.  It was so utterly horrifying that she just stood there.

“Fine,” Dragomir grunted, turning back to the stairs.

“No!” she cried, running up to get in front of him.  “If my father saw you leading me around like a mule, he’d do much worse than last time.”

Dragomir glanced down at her, and she saw a flash of something soft in his eyes before he hid it.  “Then by all means, Princess.  Lead the way.  I’ll follow along like a properly trained pet, if it means I’ll get my dinner.”

“Fine,” Victory said.  At the bottom of the stairs, the squad of house Praetorian were watching her curiously.  She took a deep breath and reached up to rearrange her hair.

“Oh for the gods’ sakes!” Dragomir cried, waving his arms in disgust.

Several of the house Praetorian frowned and started coming up the stairs, darkness in their features.

“Keep your voice down,” Victory growled, motioning at the Praetorian to stay back.  “The house Praetorian are not allied to my brother or I, only to the Imperial House.  These women around us wear the phoenix egg—it symbolizes my personal crest.  You can trust them.  They were sworn to me at my birth, and have served me since they were able.  The ones down there belong to the house, and the phoenix upon their chests bears no nest or egg.”

Dragomir frowned down at the black-armored women.  “Now that you mention it, I recognize the one who tried to break my elbow.”

“I have given orders for my personal guard not to hurt you,” Victory said.  “That will not carry over to the house guard, as my father’s orders will overrule mine for those allied to the house.”

Dragomir narrowed his blue eyes.  “So keep my mouth shut and my head down around them.  Gotcha.”

“I also discovered while you slept that you can trust my brother’s guard, as well,” Victory said.  “If you see a Praetorian wearing a dragon with his feet wrapped around an emerald blade, it means that the man was sworn into his service, personally.  If he gives the man an order, he will follow it, even if it means his death.”

Dragomir turned and gave her a long stare.  “This is not putting food in my gut.”

Provincials.  Making a disgusted noise, Victory brushed past him down the staircase.

“How many Praetorian in your personal guard?” he asked, as he followed.

“Twenty,” Victory said, before she caught herself.  Frowning, she glanced back up at him suspiciously.  “Why?”

He shrugged.  “I only ever see four at a time.  Thought I saw different faces.  Was just wondering if there were more.”

She watched him a moment, suspicious, then continued her march down the staircase, spine as straight as she could make it go.  Once the house guard tried to fall in around her, however, she said in Imperial, “The slave and I will be sightseeing.  I will be bringing my personal guard.  The rest stay.”

The house guard gave each other nervous looks.  “We were instructed to guard you on your journey, milady.”  Which meant that her father had told them to ensure she didn’t eat unless it was at regular meals, at his table.

“You will stay here,” Victory said.  “It is late, and I am not interested in a great parade.”  She started moving forward, and watched with falling hopes as the Praetorian started to fall in behind her anyway.

Then Lion, captain of Victory’s Praetorian, stepped forward and snapped, “You heard the princess.  Back to positions.”

There was a tense moment between the two factions, as her house guard and her personal guard faced off.  As if she weren’t nervously awaiting the result, Victory kept moving.

With Lion being the ranking Praetorian, however, the house guard stepped down. 

“Thank you,” Victory whispered, once they were out of earshot.

She thought she saw the glimpse of a smile cross Lion’s no-nonsense face as she marched beside her.  “I live to serve, Princess.”

After a moment, Dragomir leaned down and into her ear asked, “What was that all about?”

“Technically, we’re cheating,” Victory said.  “My father stated that I would only eat if I came out of my room for meals.  He meant, of course, that I eat every meal at his table, during mealtime, or not at all.  I’m taking him a bit more literally.”  She winked at Dragomir.  “It’s a habit my brother and I got into, as kids.  Often, my father’s bane is in the details.  He completely overlooks the small stuff sometimes.”

“How far to the kitchens?” Dragomir asked.

Victory made a disgusted sigh and peered over her shoulder at him.  “You really do have a one-track mind, don’t you?”

He patted his chiseled—and bruised—abdomen.  “She’s hungry.”

“Ugh!” she cried.  “Men!”  She had turned on heel and taken three steps before she realized he was chuckling behind her.

“Do you realize,” he said, “That we’ve passed three different males in the hall so far, and you haven’t even noticed?”

Victory opened her mouth to tell him he was an ignorant native fool, then froze.  She glanced behind them at a quickly-disappearing form in the darkened hall.

“That was one of them,” Dragomir confirmed.  “He saw you coming and bolted.”

Victory stared at him.  “You
healed
me?”  Gratitude began welling up from within, mixing with the delicious warmth that still heated her chest.

Dragomir made a sour face.  “Unfortunately, no.  Your body’s going to run out of energy again here soon, and I’ll have to repeat the treatment.  You’ll never be truly fixed until we get those ramas open and working again.”

The thought of falling prey to the horrible images of her past once more left Victory feeling sick.  “Slave,” she said, “You keep that from happening again, and I swear to you that your hands will stay free.”

Instead of grinning, like she expected, he simply glowered at her.  “Bound and helpless,” he growled.  Then he looked down at his hands.  “Well, not so helpless.”  He gave her an evil grin.

Victory blinked, suddenly terrified that she wasn’t terrified.  He was
huge,
he was a
native,
he was
naked,
and he was bound to her
waist,
and his arms were
free
and…

Dragomir whistled a pleasant tune and shuffled past her.

Victory stared until he paused and gave a slight tug on the chain, jerking the belt around her waist.  “You coming, Princess?” he asked.  “‘Cause that offer to drag you’s still open.”  When she only gaped at him, he shrugged and started walking again.

Fuming, Victory trotted up beside him before he toppled her over.  “You are a
cad,
” she growled.  “An absolute—”

Dragomir twisted and kissed her.  On the face.  His big hand wrapped in her hair, his big body pulling her close.

Time stopped for Victoria, and all she could think was that her Praetorian were going to kill him.

Then Dragomir released her and grinned.  “But thanks, Princess.  I think I can manage that.”  Whistling again, he kept walking, big arms swinging.

Victoria’s heart was hammering in her chest so hard that she didn’t hear her Praetorian’s question at first. 

“Are you all right, Princess?” Lion asked.  “Did he hurt you?”

She glanced blankly at her Praetorian, who was watching Dragomir depart with something between astonishment and Death on her face.  “Huh?”  Her brain was still fuzzy.

“Did he
hurt
you?” Lion demanded.

Flushed, Victoria said, “Uh…”  Then she realized the chain was about to snap taut again and, letting out a squeal, raced to catch up, giggling.  “You cad!” she cried again, whacking him on the arm.  “I’ll lead.”

“Probably better if you did,” Dragomir said, “’Cause I have no idea where the hell I’m going.”  He didn’t slow his shuffle at all.

Victory had taken another few steps before she realized that her Praetorian were not following.  When she looked back, she saw four mouths agape, four hardened, lifetime-soldiers staring at her like she’d grown a foot between her eyes.

Seeing their stunned expressions, Victory giggled again.  “This way.”  She grabbed Dragomir’s arm and tugged him through a smaller hallway, toward the kitchens.

Shaking themselves, her Praetorian jogged to catch up.

They found the kitchens shut down, the stoves and grills cold.  Victory snuck in and flipped on the lights, half-expecting to get scolded by the cook.  Seeing the thin woman’s domain unguarded, Victory grinned and started rummaging through bins.

Dragomir glanced around the kitchen like a panther that had suddenly been dropped into a den of lions.  “Uh,” he said, “this place is huge.”

“Just start opening up cabinets,” Victory said.  “There’s crackers and things.”

Dragomir turned to stare at her as if she had lost her mind.  “You’ve got a kitchen like
this
and you’re going to eat
crackers?
”

Victory frowned at him.  “Well, I’d eat pastries, but I don’t know where Cook put them.  Probably gave the leftovers to staff.”

“By the gods’ stale nutsacks, woman, get out of my way.”  He brushed past her and grabbed one of the skillets from the rack.  She watched as he set it down on the burner and went rummaging through the wall of cool-boxes, picking out foodstuffs here and there as he went.