They left the airport—small, adorable, etc.—without a glance behind them. Even on the short walk between disembarking and getting into her chauffeured car, interested eyes pricked between her shoulders.
Julian kept to her side like a shadow. He stayed quiet while the driver took them to the hotel, only shooting her a puzzledlook after the concierge asked how long she expected to be staying and she waved him away.
*I thought we were in a hurry.*Even clipped and slightly disapproving, his telepathic voice was the whisper of distant rain on the wind. She steeled herself against it.
*Dragons might not have to wait on the tide, but ships do. Don’t worry. We’ll be aboard before nightfall.*
*And until then?*
He clearly thought she’d been joking about the shopping.
“How much longer must I do this?”
Julian was seething. Quietly, with all the chilly dignity of a glacier forced to stand and have fabrics draped over him. Fair enough; she enjoyed putting a wardrobe together, but she was prioritizing speed over fashion right now. The designers her assistant had flown in weren’t her favorites, only the ones who could be most promptly bribed away from their other work.
“Until we’re properly outfitted for the trip.” Francine muffled a yawn—only slightly fake—and gestured to the tailor. “That one, in the black. No, not that black. Yes—and we’ll need to see accessories as well.” She blinked absently. “Hats? Shoes? Who has—there. Good. We’ll need—”
She barely bothered to listen to herself. It didn’t matter what she said, really. She’d given instructions that she and her companion needed to be kitted out for an Antarctic cruise expedition, with some time on the ice. The staff here knew their job. Her wardrobe would include all the frivolities she selected personally, plus the necessary cold-weather gear any customer with more money than brains wouldn’t have thought of but would raise hell if she didn’t have access to the moment she needed it.
A wry smile curled her lips. She would have everything she wanted, whether she knew she wanted it or not.
“Do you find this entertaining?”
She blinked again, slowly, giving Julian as much attention as she could without looking directly at him. “Entertaining?”
“Dressing me like a doll.”
He didn’t even bother to hide the animosity in his voice. Francine straightened. The world seemed to shift slightly beneath her. Nobody spoke to her that way.
Perhaps they should. More potholes in the smooth luxury of her life might have been a good thing.
She narrowed her eyes. “You’d rather visit the coldest continent on Earth in off-the-rack pants and an old sweatshirt?”
“I am confident I would manage.” His fists tightened almost imperceptibly at his sides. “And I don’t see you standing up here, paraded around.”
Understanding slipped in like a knife beneath her ribs. She inhaled sharply.
To her, this sort of thing was normal. She hadn’t hit double digits before shopping for clothing meant having herself measured and prodded, standing on a stool in the middle of a room full of assessing eyes. Only the best for the little princess of the Delacourt pride. Being treated like a show pony was part of the job.
But Julian? His first experience of the human world had been Gerald Harper parading him around as his pet dragon on a leash. She shouldn’t be surprised if that had meant controlling what he wore as well.
She slipped her legs from under her and stood, nodding sharply to the tailor. “We’ll take whatever you can have ready for tonight.”
“And for yourself? Ma’am?”
She hesitated only for a moment, then shot a brilliant smile at the designer as she marched to the center of the room. “Of course. Perhaps you’d like to offer your opinion?” She quirked an eyebrow at Julian.
He circled around her, uncertainty barely visible in his careful movements. The slight angle of his head seemed to ask her what she thought she was doing.
Wasn’t it obvious?
“My opinion?” he asked.
She shrugged, ignoring the pull of bandages over the scratches in her side. “You’re familiar with the environment. What should I wear for the occasion?”
His eyes were jade mirrors. He glanced over the clothing racks, then back to her, giving nothing away.
The designers exchanged a look. Behind her back, of course, but that didn’t mean she missed it. Caster wheels squeaked as their flocks of assistants exchanged the racks of menswear for womenswear, whisking Julian’s selection away to be finished in the insultingly short amount of time Francine had allowed them.
