Yet somehow, Rhennic had provoked her with his calm steadiness into digging into places she usually only shared with her most trusted friends. Even though it was uncomfortable, something inside Layla eased, feeling like she could trust him. “Since Luke’s Dragon-power opened, my drakaina doesn’t consider him an inferior mate, but she still hasn’t sought to Bind him.”
“His rage would be bad for the group.” Rhennic nodded soberly, still watching her.
“I think so.” Layla breathed a sigh, her breath puffing in the winter chill. “I’ve already got one Royal Siren with self-hate issues to deal with in the Bind, and it nearly killed me last night. Perhaps two people in the Bind with that kind of anger would be too many. Plus my own.”
The sun had dipped beneath the far edge of the clouds as it reached the horizon, sending long golden rays into the orchard. Layla felt hope for a moment as those rays found her skin, as the light flared in her eyes and the orchard was lit with a radiant glow, making every crystallized pear sparkle on the trees. But the next moment, that hopeful golden glow was doused beneath long blue shadows as the sun dipped below the horizon. Layla watched those shadows swallow the orchard – and watched her hope die on the boughs with it.
“Don’t lose heart.” Moving up behind her, Rhennic eased his arms around Layla, corralling her into his tall, robust warmth. They stood together a moment, and for some reason Layla didn’t find it strange that he’d come to her, or that he was holding her now with his calm steadiness. She found their fingertips stroking each other gently as they watched the light die beyond the furthest fields, all the lands of the Château cast in blues and purples now.
“Why did you come out here, Rhennic?” Layla breathed to the settling evening, feeling like she was lost in some strange winter dream.
“I feel your pull,” he spoke simply, heaving a sigh as he wound her more closely in his arms, cradling her with his enormous warmth. “I’ve felt it since the day I first saw you at the Dragon-party. I know it was bad form to mate-taste you in public like I did when I kissed your wrist… but I just couldn’t help myself. My mother and father and my elder brother are strong enough to resist your Bind-call, but I’m not, Layla. I don’t know what it means, but there it is. I came out here tonight because you called me. You needed someone to hold you. Someone less… complicated than your other partners.”
“You’re not complicated?” Layla spoke as Rhennic’s fingers came up, stroking her neck.
“I am in my own way,” he spoke gently, “but my position in my clan is determined, and I don’t have any undiscovered abilities. After two hundred years of life, my magic is fully mature with no more surprises, not like Adrian’s or Dusk’s. Or Luke’s.”
“Why tell me this?” Layla breathed, still feeling like she was in a strange dream.
“In case you Bind me.” He breathed back, his lips warm at her hair.
“Do you want to be Bound?”
“I don’t know.”
They stood a while in silence, watching the blue darkness deepen over the land. But as glow-lanterns swirled on in the settling dark, lighting the long row of dormant pear trees, Rhennic inhaled a deep breath. Still holding Layla with one arm, he reached up with his other hand, pulling two crystallized fruits down from the leafless tree and tucking them into his coat pocket. Nudging Layla, he nodded to the lit path, swirling with etheric orbs that flickered with liquid lightning, hung from wrought-iron posts.
Setting out back towards the Château, Rhennic walked at Layla’s side with his long, calm strides, his hands tucked into his pockets. They didn’t say anything as they returned and the guards nodded to their Prince, the Dragon-Guards adjusting their positions atop the towers as they watched their throne’s heir return, a flickering intensity in their lightning-blue eyes. The herb garden was quiet in the darkening evening, though Dragons in human form came and went about various tasks amid glow-globes the same as in the orchard. Layla thought Rhennic would escort her back to her rooms, but instead he led them up to the third floor via one of the corkscrewing side-stairwells in the quadrangle, up to the royal suites. Stepping to a massive ebony door carven with Dragons and sporting a snarling gilded crest of arms, he opened it, then turned to Layla. “We have a lot to talk about. Would you indulge me and have a spot of dinner?”
“I suppose so.” Nodding, Layla moved into the apartment as Rhennic invited her in.
Layla had toured the royal chambers of the human-world Château de Chambord, but this was something else entirely, she realized as she gazed around. Snarling carvings of Dragons writhed through every arch of white lightning-stone, every tapestry vivid with carnal details embroidered in bright gold thread. The canopy over Rhennic’s solid ebony bed was storm-blue velvet embroidered with the fleur-de-lis, with gold tassels cascading from the drapes. Every piece of ebony furniture in his rooms was inset with fire-opal and mother-of-pearl in stunning designs, a low table laden with food sitting before a stone fireplace so tremendous Layla could have walked right into it. Tapers were lit in branched gold floor-candelabra in every corner, low silk ottomans in vivid blues, purples, and gold waiting at the table as seats.
Before the fireplace, roaring with a hearty blaze that warmed the fortress’ enormous stone tower-room, sprawled a massive white lambswool rug just waiting for someone to lay down upon its fluffy softness. Layla’s lips quirked and her eyebrow raised as she glanced at Rhennic, entirely aware that his private rooms were debonair as shit to impress women. He gave her an eyebrow lift right back – subtle and sexy and unapologetic as he gestured to the low table before the fire.
Layla moved over to it, selecting a seat and settling onto the ottoman’s firm softness as Rhennic claimed a stool opposite. The table was already laden with a variety of French traditional foods – from beef bourguignon, to poached pears in white wine, to personal-sized quiches full of bacon and gruyere. As they sat, Rhennic removed the crystallized pears from his pocket and set them on the table, then shucked his coat. Though chilly near the tall stained-glass windows, the tower room was ferociously hot near the fireplace, and as Layla shucked her coat and scarf, she saw how Rhennic gazed at her appreciatively.
As he served her plate, dressed now in a sexy midnight-blue vest and white shirt with his sleeves rolled up, gold pin-striping glimmering in his vest and trousers, Layla admired him back. She knew what was going on here as she took a bite of quiche lorraine, sipping a hearty Côtes du Rhône wine he’d poured. Rhennic was his mother’s son, having elegantly maneuvered Layla into having a private dinner with him so he could spend time with her.
But even Layla had to admit it was time well spent, as she admired the way the fire’s light caught upon Rhennic’s rakishly short blond hair and beard, showing their subtle red Viking hi-lights. Rhennic watched her also, his bone structure strong yet elegant in the way of Scandinavian heritage meets French. His blond brows were level, his cheekbones high, and his lips full, his lavender eyes two shades darker than Rikyava’s – a royal purple by the fire’s light. As he sipped his wine, Layla saw how massive his fingers were, yet despite his towering structure and fit strength, he had an elegance so cultured it nearly rivaled Reginald’s.
Layla suddenly wanted to feel what it might be like to be curled in the arms of such a sexy giant in bed, cradled by a body that could crush her with any too-strong move. It raised her drakaina’s heat in her veins and Layla blushed hard as she covered it with a sip of wine – though she couldn’t cover the riot of bourbon-orange scent that blossomed from her skin. Nor could she ignore the delicious scent of lavender and heather that blossomed from Rhennic.
“So we’re clearly attracted to each other.” Layla spoke bluntly, her default as she set down her wine, trying to get control of her faculties.
“Clearly.” Rhennic gave her a subtle smile with a lift of one straight blond eyebrow as he sipped his own wine, then set it carefully down.
“Does Adrian know I’m here? Or Dusk?” Layla spoke archly as she took a bite of the delicious beef stew.
“Adrian and Dusk are in conference with my mother, father, and Rikyava.” Rhennic spoke succinctly as he ate also. “They’re trying to anticipate how Luke might be a blessing or a curse for their upcoming machinations against the White Chalice. I was in conference with them until I excused myself to find you, feeling you out in the orchard. Luke’s still sleeping off the antics of this afternoon in his guest rooms.”
“Shouldn’t you be recovering also?” Layla spoke as she dug into her quiche. “All those broken bones?”
“I did my recovering, and I heal fast.” Rhennic spoke back with a subtly flirtatious smile. “Now I want to woo you.”
“Careful, buddy,” Layla spoke back with an eyebrow lift as she sipped her wine. “I’m spoken for.”
“Don’t I know it.” Rhennic gave her an acknowledging nod as he saluted her with a small lift of his wine glass, then sipped. Setting it down, he sobered as he said, “Your love life is complicated, Layla, and I understand that. But this sensation that compels me told me I had to at least try to approach you, even if it goes nowhere because I amutterlysee-through with my intentions.”
