The Princess' Dragon Lord

By Mandy Rosko

A dragon's desire will burn for a thousand
years...

Timid Diana Winters doesn't get much
excitement, until she goes for a hike in the woods and is attacked
by the trees.

Like out of a fairytale nightmare they uproot
themselves and go on the offensive, and she is chased through the
forest before tumbling down a waterfall, only to wake up in the bed
of the most gorgeous man she's ever seen, who claims to be a dragon
lord, and her husband who killed her a thousand years ago on their
wedding day!

Lord Azoth Dracamire vows to never have meant
her any harm, someone put a potion in his goblet on the day of
their marriage, and he has paid for it every day since for a
thousand years.

Although Diana struggles with the physical
pull she feels towards him and Azoth's obvious lust for her, one
thing is certain: someone sent those monsters after her in the
forest, and they still want her dead. Now she must decide if her
new and conflicting emotions towards her husband, a man she doesn't
know, are worth risking her life.

By Mandy Rosko

Copyright 2012 Mandy Rosko

Smashwords Edition

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters,
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products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Chapter One

The only thing noticeably odd about the
mirror was the fact that she’d found it at all. Diana Winters
turned her head this way and that, thinking maybe she’d find a tent
or a camp full of people somewhere who owned it through the
trees—she hadn't gone
that
far off the trail—because surely
no one could just
lose
something like this.

It was an oval shape, not much larger than a
regular hand mirror, except without the handle, but she could have
sworn that the metal frame that encased it was made out of silver.
Real silver. The gemstones looked pretty damn good too, not that
she was an expert on precious stones or anything.

Despite that, somehow she doubted it was made
from steel, and glass. It was glittery and heavy. The kind of thing
your super rich, obscure relative left you in their will, passed
down from the last ten generations.

Because it was the habit of most people to
look at themselves when a mirror was in front of them, Diana's eyes
were drawn to those of her reflection before she could stop
herself. The natural place for her vision to then focus on was the
scar that ran a diagonal line from her forehead, across the bridge
of her nose, before touching down on her cheek.

She turned away from the reflection, focusing
on the more interesting matter at hand, the mirror itself.

The rubies—they were red, cut, and shiny, so
what else could they be?—were bright, and added a lot of the weight
to the mirror. There was even a dragon molded into the frame.
Actually, the dragon
was
the frame. It circled the mirror
like a creature possessive of its toy. The rubies acted as the
dragon's eyes, as well as being an extra set of treasure for it to
grip in its tiny, sharp, claws, feet, and long jaws.

Diana Winters had never seen anything more
beautiful, and though she'd never been a girl enslaved to shiny
things, she wanted to keep it close and admire it forever.

It was easy for her to admit that she was
definitely going to have a hard time returning this. Providing she
found the owner, of course.

Hesitantly, she wiped away some of the moss
that had clung to the frame, and then slipped it into her bag with
the rest of her supplies.
For now
, she told herself.

If some camper came looking she would hand it
over no question, but with a tad of annoyance for not being able to
keep it herself. Otherwise, it wasn't like she could ask any random
tourist,
hey, does this priceless looking mirror belong to
you?
and expect a truthful answer.

But
, she thought,
I'll be honest if
someone asks about it
. If no other hiker came to her and asked,
she'd drop it off at the lost and found back at the café. That
would be the end of it.

Feeling good about her silent, noble promise,
and taking a mental snapshot of the area so she'd remember where
she found the mirror, Diana continued on her hike, farther away
from the wide wooden trail of the park and up the hill of
trees.

Tourists who came to see the wonders of
British Columbia's rich forests didn't stray this way often. They
were warned against it by the park employees, and then again by the
signs cautioning the visitors to stay on the trails and not leave
open containers of food lying around. Diana walked by them and went
deeper into the trees. She had spoken to the people she needed to,
explained what she'd wanted to do, told them which direction she
was going in, and after some gentle coaxing—begging—was granted
permission. She'd offered her cell number in case there was a
problem, but they'd given her one of their cool black, heavy duty
looking walkie-talkies instead. She'd examined it, and the thing
had a radio built inside and a compass, but she already had one of
those. It was probably all sorts of weather proof too.

She didn't think she'd need it. Diana wasn't
planning on staying for long, but having the added weight of the
thing in her pack made her feel that extra bit of security, so she
didn't argue when it was shoved on her. She didn't even pack a
candy bar, much less a lunch, after one of the rangers mentioned
bears and mountain lions.

Unlikely to run into either, but she, and the
park employees, didn't want to take the risk.

She trekked higher into the hills, casting
her eyes around, searching. The trails below were now lost through
the distance of trees, but she could still make out the gushing
sounds from the Twin Falls, a relatively small—if over fifty feet
tall could be considered that—waterfall which was powered by a
heavy stream running through the park, fed by the snow capped gray
mountains.

Not finding what she was hoping for, she
adjusted her pack and the case in her hand and continued on, her
red hiking boots sinking softly into the untouched moss and earth
and fallen twigs.

Everything was damp with the recent rains,
but it made everything seem so much more colorful. The brown earth
was fresh and dark, the algae on the thick branches and trunks of
the cedars and spruce's was powder green. Everything was alive and
singing, and since it was her day off, she'd brought out her
paints.

What she wanted was a nice view of the trees,
one tree really, at a two point perspective. That would totally
give her a great subject and encompass much of the scenery around
her.

The key now would be to find that perfect
subject, but also hope for it to be on a part of this hill that
flattened out just enough so she could set up her easel and make
sure it would be steady for what she wanted to do.

Yeah, not easy. The rain may have made
everything all pretty and misty, but it was hell finding a solid
surface. She'd gotten so high she stopped hearing the rush of water
beneath her, and had started to fear that she'd come out of the
trees altogether, before suddenly, she stumbled upon the perfect
spot.

Really, it was…well, she wasn't a poet and
didn't know any words other than perfect, but there it was.

The clouds didn't give way to let down that
single ray of sunshine that would have set the scene, but it was
just what she'd been searching for.

It was a small clearing. Like, really small.
It would barely accommodate her stool, easel, and supplies for the
view she was after, but it would work while still giving her enough
room to comfortably paint without branches scratching at her or the
wet canvas in a gust of wind.

She put down her case and shifted out of her
pack, not minding the cold wet from the earth that seeped through
her jeans at the knees as she unloaded everything.

Her brushes were still looking good in the
ziplock bag she carried them in. Jar of water. Where the hell was
her palette?

A tiny chirp and a twitter brought her
attention away from her supplies and down to her lower right. A
lime green cricket, and beige-brown mouse were sitting there,
looking up at her. The mouse's nose stretched out and whiskers
twitching. The cricket did nothing.

She smiled at them. "Hello there."

They didn't move to flee from the sound of
her voice. This was nothing new to her, even if Claire, who worked
at the same school Diana did, thought it incredibly odd whenever
small creatures decided to just randomly come up to her.

Nope. She was used to it. The tiny blossoms
held in the mouse's even tinier claws was also nothing new. It
scurried forth, placed the pink petal flower at her fingers, and
then scuttled back next to its companion, looking up at her again,
as if to be sure she was pleased.

"Thank you," she said, really meaning it.
There was nothing more Disney princess-ish than when little
woodland creatures bring you flowers, and she got a kick out of it
every time.

The mouse squeaked, turned tail, and ran back
into the safety of the bushes now that its gift had been given and
accepted. She watched it go. The cricket made one giant leap
forward, landing on the back of her hand. It looked up at her,
leaned down, its large antennae swishing around, and then turned
and hopped in the direction of the mouse.

She watched him go to.

Unlike the mouse with the tiny pink blossom,
what the cricket had done had been strange. Had its tiny head have
bent down, she would've sworn it had bowed to her.

She shook the thought away. Having birds and
mice and squirrels bring her presents was going to her head in a
not so good way if that's what she thought was going on.

Whatever, she was over it. It was time to get
down to the meat of her visit. She unzipped her pack and grabbed
the boxed wooden easel inside.