Probably. My people were polyamorous, and he was a full-blooded dragon.Of coursehe’d been with women.
In my mind, my dragon bared her fangs.
“Deep breath, Princess,” Albie murmured.
I sucked in an obedient breath, and he gave a final tug. The corset squeezed my ribs, but the pressure wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a firm hug that straightened my spine and pushed my breasts together, giving me eyebrow-raising cleavage.
Silk whispered again, then Albie patted the small of my back. “All done.” His hands fell away, and I heard him step back.
I turned, and our gazes caught…and held.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice thready in my ears.
His reply was just as soft. “You’re welcome.”
Recognition hummed in my brain. The mate bond was a bright spark in my chest. Nothing I could see, but it burnedand crackled as brightly as a flame. My dragon wrapped her tail around it and purred.
I tested my magic, trying to shift.
Nothing.
Of course.
Albie seemed to realize he was staring. He cleared his throat. “Tavish has breakfast ready.” His smile returned, the expression a little sheepish this time. “He gets terribly vexed when his food grows cold.”
I pulled on the jacket, which featured a scooped neckline embroidered with tiny flowers. The embroidered sleeves of my chemise peeked from the cuffs. Then I laced my boots—the only piece of my own clothing I’d kept—and followed him from the room.
The skirts swished around my ankles, and I grabbed two handfuls of fabric when we encountered the stairs. Albie descended with easy confidence in his kilt and jacket, his movements unhampered by skirts and laces.
But my clothes weren’t as unpleasant as they might have been. I waited to feel jealous or resentful of Albie’s lack of layers and stays. Instead, the petticoats and long skirts made me feel ultra-feminine in a way jeans and sweaters never had.
As we entered the Great Hall, Tavish turned from the sideboard, his gaze shooting straight to me. Appreciation gleamed in his blue eyes, which lingered on the swells of my breasts pushing against the fitted fabric of my jacket.
“You look well-rested, Princess,” he said, a growl threading his voice.
Heat flooded my face. A different kind of heat streaked to the juncture of my thighs. “Just Portia,” I said.
He bent at the waist, the slight bow like something out of a period film. Only it wasn’t, of course. It was just good manners for his time.
This time.
“As you wish, Portia,” he said, then gestured to the table, where breakfast dishes spread across the polished wood. “Sit. Eat.”
Albie pulled out my chair, and I arranged my skirts and then held my breath as he eased me forward. He sat to my right, and Tavish took his spot at the head of the table.
Breakfast was just as amazing as the food the night before, with crisp bacon and some kind of oatcake slathered with butter, cream, and a jam that most definitely hadn’t come out of a jar.
Like the night before, Tavish shoveled food into his mouth like he was fresh off a hunger strike. Albie ate at a more sedate pace, polishing off two oatcakes before turning to me.
“Did you sleep well, Prin— Portia?” he finished, an apologetic twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes,” I said, surprising myself when I realized it was true. I’d climbed into the featherbed expecting to toss and turn. Instead, I’d fallen asleep almost instantly. “But I’m anxious to speak to the chronomancer,” I added.
Albie nodded. “We’ll travel to the Isle of Skye. It’s about two hours by wing.” He glanced at Tavish, who’d finished his meal and now sipped a cup of tea. “We’ll have to stay above the clouds. It only takes one human looking up at the wrong time to expose us.”
My stomach clenched.Flying.Right.
I nodded as anxiety twisted my gut. My dragon still wasn’t cooperating. I needed to see the chronomancer as soon as possible. Riding a horse wasn’t an option. Traveling on foot would take days—assuming Tavish and Albie even agreed to it.
