Bercelak poured liquid over the cooking carcass. “That’s what I thought. You know that scar Soaic has on his right hind quarter? The one that even his scales can’t hide?”
“Aye. He received that during the battle of—”
“He received it when I ripped him open from hip to claw.”
“Why would you do that?” Not knowing what else to do with the stupid potato in her hand, Rhiannon dropped it into the water.
“Did you clean that first?”
Growling, she stood and turned to face him. “Did you tell me to clean it first?”
“You’ve truly never cooked for yourself before?”
“Not only am I a princess—so I don’t have to—I’m a dragon. There’s a universe of cattle at my disposal. Why would I waste time cooking anything? Ever?”
“Have you never spent any time around humans? At all?”
“Only when I talk to them before feeding. But I don’t do that often. I find when they start sobbing it’s harder to have a peaceful meal.”
He chuckled at her words. Bercelak had never laughed at anything. At least that was the rumor in court. But she’d gotten him to laugh twice. She did. Rhiannon bit the inside of her mouth to stop from smiling with pride.
Bercelak shifted, grabbed a pair of black breeches, and pulled them on.
She frowned, confused at why he was putting on clothes. He saw her expression and shrugged. “Trust me, Princess. This will be much easier if I’m dressed.”
With a sniff of dismissal, she turned away from him. Closing her eyes, Rhiannon worked hard to ignore the beauty of the dragon. And all those battle scars did nothing but enhance it. She’d never reacted this way to any male, dragon or human. Perhaps it was this unruly human body she had to tolerate. She didn’t know, but she did know she didn’t like it.
“You never told me why you attacked Soaic.”
“He spoke ill of my father.” He reached around her and pulled the potato out of the boiling water, casually dropping it back on the pile. “I don’t allow anyone to speak of my father that way.”
“You allowed me.” Rhiannon winced. “Well that came out horribly wrong.” What if the big bastard hadn’t noticed?
He gently tugged a strand of her hair. “True, but I had no intention of mating with Soaic.”
She slowly turned to face him. Although he didn’t touch her, he still stood as close as possible. She could smell him and he smelled quite nice. No perfume like some of the royals. Nor the smell of blood for those who took less care cleaning themselves.
“We, Low Born, are not mating.”
“Yes we are.”
“No. We’re not.”
“Why?” And he seemed truly perplexed. “Have you never been—”
“Before you even finish that statement . . . no. I’m not a virgin. Haven’t been for quite some time. I leave virginal female royalty to the humans.”
“So then I don’t understand why you’re so set against us being together. We’re both attractive and of breeding age. Both extremely intelligent. And quite worthy of each other’s company. So I’m not sure what the problem is”
Oh, well when he puts it like that. . . . “Did you think my mother’s orders would send me willingly to you?”
He frowned in confusion. “What does your mother have to do with anything?”
“I’m only here because of her.”
“True. But you’ll stay, Princess, because of me.”
She laughed. Dragons were naturally arrogant, but by the dark gods of fire this one made the rest of them look insecure and unsure of themselves.
“Will I now? And why would I do that?” She glanced around his sparse cave fit for a battle-dragon rarely home, but not a princess. “Your grand riches? Your royal standing? Really . . . what reason would I have to stay other than this human body cannot fly?”
She was pushing him. She knew she was and yet she couldn’t stop herself. And when he didn’t answer right away, she felt a vague sense of disappointment. She truly thought he’d be up to the challenge. Unlike others in her mother’s court. Shame she was wrong.
“That’s what I thought.” She sniffed again and turned, walking off. He could fix his own damn potatoes.
But she never should have turned her back on him. His hand threaded through her hair and snatched her back to his side. She braced her hands against his big chest, but he pulled until she looked up at him.
It wasn’t a vicious pull. Or even brutal. It was just . . . in control. And gods be damned . . . it felt so good.
“Don’t walk away from me when we’re talking.” He said it calmly. No trace of anger or rage. Actually, she saw amusement and lust in those dark eyes. Even his frown had faded a bit. “If you’re going to ask me a question, you have to give me time to answer.”
“Let me go,” she snapped.
“No. Not until we’re done.” His eyes roved over her face as he spoke, like he was drinking in her every detail. “Now, you asked me a question. You asked what I could give you to entice you to stay with me?”
He tugged the strands of hair he had a grip on and she desperately fought the urge to moan out loud.
“What I’ll give you is someone worthy of you. Someone who can handle a dragoness such as yourself. I don’t fear your rages. I don’t fear your acid tongue. In fact, I like you mean. The meaner, the better.”