Dad stood. “Isolde?—”
“We’ll just be a minute,” she said, guiding me to the door. “I want to speak to my daughter, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
My fathers were silent as she led me out the door and into a smaller room down the hall. Tapestries and books lined the walls. A large window let the day’s fading light splash over the thick, rose-patterned carpet.
Mum’s lips curved as she cupped my face in her hands. “You are so beautiful,” she murmured. “And so smart. I couldn’t be more proud to call you mine.”
Tears stung my eyes. “Mum…”
“I know this is hard.” She stroked my hair back from my face, a little sigh lifting her chest. “You’ve had unfair expectations piled on you since you were born. They’ve only gotten worse. I know you don’t want to hear it, but your fathers are just trying to protect you.”
A disbelieving snort escaped me. “By parading me in front of a bunch of men?”
My mother’s lifted brow was a lot more impressive than my dad’s. “By giving you the chance to find what they found.” She smiled, a hint of melancholy in the expression. “The bond I share with them hasn’t always been easy, but it’s worth everything, Portia. I promise.”
Guilt gripped me. My mother had spent four hundred years as a prisoner, the demon she’d called “father” draining her blood to keep himself immortal. She’d been trapped, her memories stolen.
And I complained about a dinner.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “Just…do this for me, all right? Only for tonight. And I’ll speak to your fathers about shelving their matchmaking attempts.”
I pulled back so I could search her face. “You will?”
“Yes.” Her smile turned wry. “And be patient with your father. It’s not easy living with a full-blooded dragon.”
She spoke of Dad. Of the centuries he’d spent lost to fire and madness, his mind a prison of his own making. She and my father had pulled him back and anchored him to the present with their bond.
But she also spoke of me. Because the same fire that burned in my dad’s veins burned in mine—and my brother’s. We were both full-blooded dragons. But Malcolm was as even-keeled as they came. And I was…not.
“Okay,” I said, suppressing a sigh. “I’ll go to the ball. But if anyone tries to hand me a glass slipper, I’ll punch them in the bawbag.”
Mum snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time with Alec Murray.”
“Trust me, that’s the least offensive thing that comes out of his mouth.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Leaning in, she kissed my forehead. “Thank you for understanding, sweetheart. Now go get ready.” She moved to the door. Just before she left, she turned. “And Portia? Wear something that makes you feel powerful, not what you think your fathers want to see.”
She slipped out the door.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, smiling.
Chapter
Two
PORTIA
The Great Hall was full of dragons. It was also a furnace, the air overly warm and thick with the scent of wine and cologne. The buzz of conversation swelled, punctuated by the occasional laugh.
I stood near one of the windows with a glass of champagne growing warm in my hand. A dragon with dark hair approached. His smile was warm but unmistakable determination gleamed in his gray eyes. I searched my memory, struggling to place him, but came up empty. If we’d met in the past, I didn’t remember it.
“Your Highness,” he said, “I was hoping I might steal you for a dance.”
Well, at least he got right to the point. If neither of us felt a spark, I could cross him off the list.
“Of course,” I said, setting my champagne on a nearby table.
