Tears of the Dragon (4 page)

“
General Damien Bloodragon and
Princess Khalia, daughter of Princess Rheaia.”

Khalia looked around to see whom he might be
speaking to, but saw no one, nor even any sort of mechanical marvel
such as those Edison had devised. Instead, a strange blue band of
light appeared, traveled their length and up again.

The doors swung inward silently. With little
more than a faint flicker, the room illuminated. Releasing his hold
on her arm at last, Damien strode inside. “These are the royal
apartments. They have not been occupied since your grandfather’s
time. The usurper was not inclined to visit the outlying provinces
himself.” He looked around the room and frowned. “It is antiquated
and cramped, but you should be comfortable enough here until … it
is safe to travel.”

Khalia realized as he turned to her that she
was staring in awestruck wonder. Embarrassed at the thought of
being caught gaping like a hayseed, she quickly assumed a look of
polite interest. She’d heard very little of what he’d said,
however, too stunned by the magnificence of the room to do anything
but gawk at the rich tapestries, gilded furniture, jewel encrusted
vases. Even the floor was covered with thick, beautiful
carpets.

Acutely aware of her state, she remained on
the threshold, certain she could feel sand dropping from her with
each breath she took.

“
You will want to freshen up.” He held
out his hand. “If you will come this way, I will show you the
facilities. Your pardon, princess. There are no servants to attend
you, but I gladly offer my services … if you will
allow.”

Khalia merely stared at him, not entirely
certain whether that was a question or not, or precisely what it
was that he was offering. She’d been on the point of asking for
water to bathe, but when he mentioned facilities it occurred to her
that, in all probability, the fortress boasted indoor plumbing.
That thought propelled her forward at last and she followed him to
a smaller set of double doors. These swung open at their approach
as the first door had, illuminating to reveal a bedchamber that
rivaled the previous room in opulence. The bed alone was
approximately the size of the bedroom in her tiny apartment in the
city. Elevated on a platform, two tiered steps approached it. Sheer
draperies were attached to a circular canopy above the center of
the bed and fell in swags which were tied to each of the four
corner posts.

Beyond the bed, the room was surprisingly
sparsely furnished. A long vanity with a mirror above it and a
padded stool before it sat along one wall on one side and a pair of
comfortable looking, overstuffed chairs faced a small, low table on
the other side of the bed.

Several moments passed before Khalia
realized that Damien was standing patiently beside another pair of
arched double doors, these only slightly wider than a single, wide
door. Curious, she rounded the bed and moved to the threshold.

It was white and gold. The walls and floor
were tiled with square slabs of what appeared to be marble.
Stepping inside, Khalia saw that the fortress indeed boasted indoor
plumbing, but she had never seen the like of this. Instead of a
tub, the main feature of the room was a small, round pool that
looked to be about eight feet in diameter. A half moon tiled wall
surrounded one side. Spouts, gold, or at least gilded, protruded
from the walls in a half dozen places, making Khalia wonder if they
were spouts at all or served some other purpose she couldn’t
imagine. Peeking from a small alcove to one side was the rounded
edge of what appeared to be the bowl of a porcelain throne. Along
another short wall, a cabinet had been built to support a solid
slab of marble nearly six feet long and about two feet wide.
Centered in the slab was a washbasin filled by way of a golden
faucet. There were no handles and Khalia wondered how the thing
worked.

At Damien’s touch, she jumped. He was
frowning when she whipped her head around to look at him.

“
I do not see how this garment
fastens.”

Khalia blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“
I am not familiar with this type of
garment. How does one remove it?”

Khalia stared at him, dumbfounded, for
several moments. Finally, dimly, it sank in. He’d offered to attend
her--she was supposed to be royalty. “One doesn’t,” she said
flatly. “One leaves while I attend myself.”

His brows rose almost to his hairline but
after a moment, he merely bowed and left. When the doors had closed
behind him, Khalia removed what was left of her clothing. In truth,
there wasn’t much. She’d shredded it when she’d shifted and the
tattered remains had been slowly disintegrating since.

She had no idea what she was going to wear
when she finished bathing, but for the moment she was far more
interested in getting clean. Sand showered down around her as she
undressed and it occurred to her that there was so much dirt in her
hair she was more likely to make mud than get clean unless she
managed to get most of it sloughed from her skin and shaken from
her hair before she got in. Removing the last of the pins that had
held her hair coiled sedately on her head, she bent over at the
waist and shook her hair out, combing as much sand from it as
possible.

She stood for some moments in front of the
pool, her hands on her hips, her gaze wandering around the tub, the
walls, the lip of the tub. There were no handles. None. No levers.
How was she supposed to turn the thing on?

She wasn’t about to call Damien in to
show her. It was bad enough that she’d had to parade around in
front of him, and a dozen other men, filthy and half naked. She
hadn’t even seen a towel she could wrap up in. She supposed they
must be kept in the cabinet beneath the lavatory, but she wasn’t
any more comfortable about the idea of asking him in wrapped in a
towel, particularly considering the fact that every male she’d met
so far looked at her as if he was starving and she a particularly
tasty looking piece of food. And Damien
had
warned her that his self-restraint had its
limits. After a moment, she decided to step into the strange thing
and see if one of the ‘spouts’ was actually some sort of lever or
knob.

She’d reached the center of the pool when
she was abruptly deluged with water from every direction. Her
shriek was instinctive and more from surprise than anything
else.

“
Highness?”

Khalia whirled so fast she slipped and
sprawled in the tub, her legs splayed in front of her. She wasn’t
certain whether the water cushioned her fall and kept her from
driving her spine through the top of her skull when she landed, or
if she was just too shocked to feel the pain. After a moment, she
managed to blink the water out of her eyes and gape at Damien.

He was staring at her like a starving man
who’d just been offered a smorgasbord, his gaze riveted to the
curling red thatch between her splayed thighs.

Recovering from her shock, Khalia slapped
her legs together, then drew them up to her chest. Pointing a
shaking finger toward the door, she said in a trembling voice,
“OUT!”

The order seemed to break the spell, either
that, or the fact that she’d managed to cover most of herself with
her bent legs. He blinked at her, like a sleepwalker awakening.
Finally, with great dignity, he bowed, turned on his heel and once
again left her.

Khalia glared at the door as it closed
behind him.

“
You screamed, your highness. It is my
duty to protect you from all threat.”

Khalia’s eyes narrowed. “There’s not a
single damned window in this bath!” she yelled in a very unladylike
manner. “Exactly what did you think was threatening me?”

He was silent for several moments. Finally,
with a hint of amusement tingeing his voice, he responded, “I am
only a soldier, your highness. I am paid to act, not think.”

General Damien Bloodragon, the King’s
Champion--not paid to think? Obviously, he thought he was dealing
with an empty headed female. “If he pops through that door again,
I’m going to find something and beat him severely about the head
and shoulders,” she muttered.

“
Would you care to dine before you
retire, your highness?”

Khalia climbed gingerly to her feet, rubbing
her abused posterior. Instantly, the water, which had ceased to
flow the moment she settled on the bottom of the tub, pelted her
from every direction again. She clapped a hand to her mouth,
stifling another yelp. When she was more certain of her footing,
she slung the wet hair from her eyes.

She was tempted to just tell him to go to
hell, but the truth was she hadn’t had her dinner and she was
starving. “Yes … thank you,” she said finally.

She was fairly certain she didn’t really
care to be pelted with water from every direction, but she couldn’t
figure out any way to turn it off anymore than she’d been able to
figure out how to turn it on to begin with. Once she’d found soap
to lather her hair and body with, she revised her opinion. The
spraying water quickly and efficiently removed the soap, a feat far
more difficult when bathing in a tub. Strangely enough, the heated,
pelting water also soothed her aching muscles.

She wasn’t certain how long she stood
mindlessly beneath the water, almost drowsing as it pummeled her
aching body, but after a time it occurred to her that Damien had
gone to prepare a meal for her.

She was alone.

She could escape.

She almost leapt from the shower as that
thought occurred to her. Moving to the rim, she sat down long
enough to wring the water from her hair and then climbed out and
moved as quickly as she dared to the lavatory. It was then that she
discovered it wasn’t a cabinet beneath it as she’d supposed--not
that she could tell at any rate. After feeling along it frantically
for several moments, she finally decided it wasn’t really that
important. It would have been nice, but she would certainly dry,
with or without a towel.

Clothes was the problem. Her own were beyond
filthy and nothing but tatters anyway. Not that she would’ve minded
a little dirt if it meant the difference between escaping and
staying in this strange world, but she was really reluctant to run
around naked. She didn’t believe for one moment that Damien, or any
of the dragon men, for that matter, could tell that she was nearing
the end of her reproductive cycle, but they hardly needed that sort
of incentive to attack her if she was flaunting herself.

Deciding finally that a sheet or coverlet
was just going to have suffice, she headed for the door. She simply
stared at the panels for several moments, wondering how she was
supposed to make it open. There was no handle and no knob. As she
moved toward it with the intention of pushing against it, however,
the doors swung open, this time into the bedroom. Wasting no more
time, Khalia snatched the coverlet from the bed, flung it around
her shoulders and dashed into the sitting room.

There, she skidded to a halt.

Damien was standing near a table in one
corner having just, apparently, set a tray down. She gaped at
him.

His eyes narrowed. His gaze flickered over
the bedspread she had draped around her like a roman toga.

She pasted a smile on her lips. “I couldn’t
find a towel.”

One dark brow rose in a skeptical arch. He
took a step toward her. Khalia’s mind screamed ‘run’, but her feet
remained firmly glued to the floor.

Chapter Four

Khalia’s gaze, chained to Damien’s by her
awareness of guilt and fear of reprisal, tilted as he approached
and towered over her. His face was expressionless, but his eyes
were dark and tumultuous with comprehension, desire, irritation.
She was left with no doubt at all that he’d immediately, and
correctly, assessed the situation and he wasn’t at all pleased
about it.

Beyond the anger, however, heated desire,
held barely in check, roiled inside of him. It was almost as
fascinating and alluring as it was frightening.

Maybe it was
more
fascinating and alluring than it was
frightening.

She wasn’t accustomed to having men look at
her as if they wanted to consume her. There was no getting around
the fact that it was definitely unnerving. On the other hand, his
simmering, barely controlled desire was enough to jump start her
own with no more than a look.

She jumped when he grasped her shoulders,
hoping--fearing--that she had unleashed the beast he was working so
hard to tame. Her mouth went dry with anticipation. Warmth
saturated her with liquid heat.

Abruptly, he spun her on her heels and
nudged her toward the bedroom. Stunned, she didn’t even think to
protest as he guided her into the bedroom and to the small bench
set before the vanity. When he’d pushed her down onto the seat, he
took a comb from the table before her, lifted the hair that fell to
her hips and, starting at the ends, began to carefully work the
tangles from it. Khalia stared wide eyed at his reflection in the
mirror, hardly daring to breathe.

“
When you assume the throne … when you
arrive in Caracaren, the principle seat of your domain, you will be
given handmaidens to attend you, your highness. This is considered
an honor and you may choose any of the maidens of the noble houses
to wait upon you.”

The deep, resonant timber of his voice was
almost as soothing as his hands. He was a conundrum. As pleasing as
he was to the eye, one had only to look at him to know that he was
a fierce warrior and would be a deadly adversary on any field. She
had seen it for herself, watched him dispatch three beast men
within a very short space of time and leave the field without so
much as a scratch. It was far easier to picture him with a sword in
his hand than a comb, and yet he was surprisingly adept and gentle
for someone who made his living by the sword. His dark hair was
long, falling well past his shoulders, so perhaps that was why he
knew that one had to start at the ends and work upwards rather than
vice versa to untangle long hair, but it was just as easy to
believe he had learned it in the boudoirs of many women.