But ever since Rontor, my appearance didn't delight me as it once had. The Commander preferred large men. Men with more muscles and confidence. Men like the Dragon King of Vix. And the Dragon King of Sken, for that matter. I was the first delicate man Rontor had ever been with. And the last.
Such an odd thing, the way Rontor had boosted my self-worth and shaken my confidence at the same time. I valued myself more now, but I also valued my appearance less. I had once placed all of my self-esteem in my looks. I had been so proud, so confident. I had known I was beautiful, and used that beauty to seduce many men—every man I ever wanted. But now I saw that my pretty face wasn't as important as the strength of my spirit. A man may bed me for my appearance, but he wouldn't stay with me for it. It was what I had inside that could claim a heart. Or not, as the case was with Rontor.
Had my hair, eyes, and delicate form attracted another man who would bed me and leave me? If so, I cared nothing for my high cheekbones or the way that my hair, even when pulled back tightly against my head, gleamed and glittered. I had an irrational urge to smash the mirror and use a shard to slice it all off. What would King Rianvar think of me then?
“Stop it!” I hissed at myself. “You're going from one extreme to another. A man's appearance is simply a way of attracting a potential partner. You've attracted someone. Now, you have to show him what truly makes you special.” I grimaced at myself. “That will be harder with a king.”
I ran a hand over my braids. It was a small rebellion, but I needed to show this king that he wouldn't push me around. Not until I wanted him to, and even then, it would be only as I wished it.
A knock echoed up the stairwell and through my apartment. I had left the doors in my apartment and the workroom door open so that I could hear King Rianvar when he arrived.
Setting my slim shoulders and lifting my chin, I met my stare. “He must prove himself to you as well. And if he doesn't, or if he doesn't see you as more than something pretty to adorn his arm, then you will walk away. You made a promise to Rontor, and you will keep it. No one will abuse you. And here's a little amendment to that—no one will belittle you. You are worthy of love.Iam worthy of love and respect. I am—”
A knock interrupted my speech.
“I am worthy of patience!” I snarled and stood up.
Now annoyed, I stormed downstairs and through my shop, snatching my wool cloak off a hook in the workshop as I passed through. My jacket had slits for my wings, but my cloak didn't. I dropped it suddenly. Why wear that when I had a rack full of men's wing scarves to choose from? I went to the rack, letting the King stew on my doorstep, and chose a black wool scarf. Simple and elegant, it went well with my ensemble.
I quickly slipped my wings into the sheaths and slid the ends beneath my lapel to fall to either side of my jacket. They gave another layer of interest without overshadowing the pale green silk cravat at my throat. With one final smoothing of my vest, I went to the shop door and opened it, pasting on a smile for the King.
It faded when I saw who was there.
I had no idea who the man was, but he wasn't King Rianvar. This man was human, for one thing. He was dressed in a uniform bearing the rose crest and behind him waited the royal carriage, lit up with crystal lanterns. I stared from him to the carriage—the empty carriage.
“Lord Galin?” the human asked.
“Just Galin,” I said.
“Ah, very well. Um, sir, we are here to take you to the Dragon King.”
“The Dragon King told me that he would be meeting me.”
The human blinked. “He . . . I . . . I was told to fetch you, sir.”
The old Galin would have allowed himself to feel unworthy of the King's respect and would have gotten into that carriage. The old me would have thanked the King for sending the royal carriage even though he hadn't deigned to be in it. And I would have smiled and flirted through our meal. Then, later, when he tried to seduce me, I would have blushed but given him exactly what he wanted. And I would have felt irrationally proud of my submission.
But that wasn't who I was anymore.
“Tell the King that if he wants to spend the evening with me, he will give me the respect of doing what he promised to do.” I slammed the door in the poor man's face. “Damn it,” I muttered and hurriedly opened the door. “Sorry about that. It's not your fault. You're just doing your job. But relay my message, if you please.”
Gaping at me with wide eyes, the man said, “Yes, sir.” Then he bowed and hurried to the carriage.
Satisfied, I shut the door, locked it, turned around, and took off my wing sheaths. I had stood up for myself. A show of strength even greater than braiding my hair. It felt good. Amazing even. And there was also some relief in it. The King wouldn't respond well to that. I was certain I'd get a rude reply ifany. So there went the stress of courting a king. Gone. Just like that. Was I a little disappointed that my chance at being with such a handsome, vibrant, and elegant man was gone? Certainly. But, as I've already said, my heart was still healing. The prospect of new love and its sudden loss wasn't such a burden. I felt better off without it.
After hanging the wing scarf back on its rack, I went upstairs, closing all the doors behind me this time. I didn't have to listen for the arrival of my date now, did I? I could relax again and get back to being the new me.
Chapter Five
I was down to my shirt and trousers, shirt half unbuttoned, seated before my dressing table again, undoing my braid, when a thundering sound vibrated through the floor.
I went still.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The windows rattled.
Fear lanced through my heart as I shot to my feet. What was this? I ran to my bedroom door and threw it open.
