“Race?” Ash touched his thigh. “You have to do this, my love.”
“Is this whatyouwant?” he asked her.
“It’s not about what I want,” she said softly, holding his gaze. “But what they need… And they need to believe that hope still lives.”
Race tucked her hair behind her ear, his touch achingly tender for a male who’d just toppled an empire. “All right,” he murmured, rising. “Rest. I’ll be back the moment I’m done.”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Ash swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as her ribs stung. “I’m going with you.” But she stayed seated, keeping the blanket firmly over her knickered bottom.
His expression turned incredulous. “You need rest.”
“And you’re about to stand before thousands of terrified, battle-worn people who’ve just seen their world turned upside down again. The least you can do is appear to have your trusted mate by your side, even if she’s in a wrinkled shirt and smells like dragon char—well, once I’ve put on some trousers.”
“Ash,” he growled.
“Yes, my liege?” she asked sweetly.
He exhaled sharply, but something flickered in his eyes.
Reluctant admiration? Ah, no, must be pride. She bit her lip to stop her smile.
“You’ll be the death of me, woman.”
Ash raised her chin, her toes digging into the warm wooden floor. “Not today, my darling dragon. Today, we live.”
For a heartbeat, crimson fire kindled in his gaze—raw and fierce enough to make her forget her wounds and want to climb him.
“Very well. But you stay with me. If you falter?—”
“I won’t.”
“If you do,” he growled, “I will lock you up until I decree you’re fit to walk.”
She gave him a quick, almost docile nod.
He shook his head, the faintest smile ghosting across his mouth.
“The new dais should be ready soon,” Attor said, clearing his throat.
Ash groaned. She’d forgotten he was still there. “Sorry, Attor.”
“Don’t mind me, my lady,” he said, but Ash heard the smile in his voice. “Varkyn and Braxion are holding back the crowd in the square. They’re restless, sire.”
Race nodded. “Right. I’ll be there soon.”
The door shut behind Attor.
“Damn,” he muttered, already striding for the door. “There’s something I need to discuss with Attor. Don’t move. I’ll be back.”
“Don’t move,” she echoed under her breath as the door shut. “Easy for you to say.” With a tired yawn, she pushed to her feet, found her backpack, and dug out clean clothes.
After several minutes—and a lot of frustrated growls and panting—she managed to pull on her jeans and socks before collapsing onto the window seat. “Good Lord,” she breathed.“One-handed dressing is a whole other level of torture.” Then she glared at her lace-up boots. “Traitors.”
The door opened, and Race walked in, looking a little windblown, and she frowned.
He smoothed back his tied hair and lifted an eyebrow, taking in what she was trying to do. “It’s why I said to wait.”
“Where did you go?”
