‘He acknowledges we’re here to discuss herd exchange, yet he waves me off when I ask for an appointment with theFurymaster, making excuses that we need to rest from our travel and can conduct business later. I wasn’t expecting them to open the Eeyrie the first morning, but this is growing suspicious.’
That morning, we found the stables almost as empty as the castle halls. But we enjoyed a flight with Kgosi and Akhane, knowing we’d been invited to a formal ball that night. I returned to the castle with renewed energy to engage these vacuous people.
Donavyn, however, seemed only more disturbed, and growled that if he didn’t hear from the Furymaster by the following day, he’d go on the hunt for the man.
I didn’t like seeing him so tense, but his eyes always softened when he looked at me. And there weresomeadvantages to all those hours alone. We spent every night—or very early morning—when we returned to our rooms, debriefing and sharing everything we’d learned. Then we got lost in each other.
But that night we were almost late to the ball because we’d gotten so caught up, so I hurried dressing, and Donavyn had to help me, cursing and muttering about the small buttons. Once he’d clasped the final button, he turned me around and I asked him how the dress looked.
His eyes went wide and I was convinced it must be awful. It was one of the dresses the seamstresses of the Quartermaster at the Keep had made for me from the first, ice-blue gown the queen gave me. It was a little tight at the top and I worried it might be ill-fitting.
“Donavyn, how bad is it? Will the nobles see it as a—”
Without answering, Donavyn grasped my shoulders and turned me to face a large mirror over a dressing table in the bedchamber. I could only see myself from the waist up, but my jaw dropped.
The neckline of the bodice was a wide sweep from point-to-point on my shoulders, plunging lower than the other dresses I’d worn, which was why it felt tight. The edging of the bodice pressed into my breasts, making them bulge.
I’d thought this dress would be more modest, because it had long, fitted sleeves. But covering my arms only succeeded in emphasizing the bare skin of my chest.
My cheeks colored immediately. “Oh dear.”
“Not,Oh dear…Bren, you’re stunning. The men will be enthralled,” he said with a wry twist of distaste on his lips.
I met his eyes in the mirror, a flash of worry coursing through me at the rough gravel of his voice. We’d just made love. I sent a wave of love and need to him through the bond, but he just shook his head and clawed a hand through his hair, which he’d left down in contravention to the style of the Fyrehold nobles, who all seemed to slick back any hair long enough to hang, pasting it against their skulls until they looked like sleek otters.
“Donavyn…?”
He dragged his gaze up from my chest to my eyes and I saw that flicker of a shadow there, but he nodded. “Stay close to me tonight.”
“I will.”
Then he kissed me for so long I worried my dress would be wrinkled, and we were even later to the ball than we should have been.
It was a relief, hours later, when Donavyn bowed in front of me and offered his hand to take me to the dance floor.
I didn’t know the more complicated dances, but my mother had taught me to waltz when she thought I might have captured a Furyknight for a husband, and would be called to attend balls at the Palace. I’d never had the chance to dance with Donavyn before, so I couldn’t stifle a smile when he pulled me into his chest and swept me into the twirling masses on the ballroom floor.
It was lovely to move with him, to ignore these people for a time, and give him my focus without having to hide. Our eyes met and warmed and broke and then met again. Over and over. But every time he turned me, or we broke gazes to still our hearts, I noticed the same thing.
I wasn’t the only one drawing attention this evening.
Donavyn had been right that the men enjoyed my gown. I’d almost knife-handed a couple of them who didn’t even bother to try with manners and spoke directly to my breasts. But no one had touched me, and Donavyn remained close at my side, a protective, looming presence that only the more powerful men were willing to risk.
But he looked incredible as well, dashing in his full Vosgaarde General’s uniform, the dragon scales on his shoulders making them appear even broader, and the black coat giving his steel body the appearance of a svelte predator’s, swift, powerful, and graceful.
The women had noticed.
While the men might eat me with their eyes, the women feasted.
Donavyn had pulled me onto the dancefloor, in part to escape the increasingly familiar hands that kept finding a way to rest on his arm, his thigh, or his back.
Turn-after-turn on the floor, I met feminine gazes that were haughty, or edged with jealousy—or the women ignored me completely and drank in the sight of Donavyn.
With his hair down, the rugged, predatory impression was complete. I reached up to tuck one strand behind his ear and to cup his jaw for a turn, my stomach thrumming with hot need.
Donavyn felt it. He tugged me closer in the next turn and leaned down to growl in my ear.
“I need you. Again.”
