First, I thank the Maker of Stars that he’s clothed.
Second, I wonder why it feels as if my heart has suddenly migrated to my throat.
I’ve already seen him shirtless—an image I banish as quickly as possible from my mind—so I can’t imagine why a loose shirt and trousers should elicit such a response, but here I am, breathless and staring at the way the thin fabric clings to his still-damp skin as he tousles his hair with a towel, the dark horns gleaming in between.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, Princess,” he says, seemingly oblivious to my gawking at him. “Was the meal to your satisfaction?”
The meal? The meal. I dive into my food with all the enthusiasm of someone who hasn’t eaten in days.
“Oh, yes,” I say before cramming in another bite. “Delicious.”
He stays where he is a moment more before moving to the bed. When the rustle of blankets hits my ears, I nearly leap from the chair.
“I’ll take my bath now,” I say, and wiping my mouth, I dart toward the bathing chamber.
“Would you like me to call someone to help with your gown?”
I whirl around. “What?”
Contrary to what I thought, it isn’t the blankets he’s adjusting; it’s the mountain of pillows on his bed. He seems to be arranging a number of them into a pallet on the floor.
“Your gown,” he says, not looking up from his task. “Don’t you need help to—” He studies the pillow in his hands with immense interest, finally clearing his throat to finish with, “to remove it?”
I tuck my hands behind my back to hide how I’m twisting them together. How to tell him? “I did try asking, Your Majesty.”
His head jerks up. “Did someone refuse you?”
A spark lights in his eyes, and panic has me saying, “No, of course not. They seemed to be under the impression you would help me, and I didn’t correct them considering this fated flames business…”
My words dwindle off as he continues staring at me. The only reaction he offers is a prolonged blink before returning to his pillow arranging.
“Do you wish for me to help?” he asks.
Of course not, is on the tip of my tongue. Appearances for the sake of his court is one thing. Actually asking him to assist in something so intimate is quite another.
And yet what if I tear the dress trying to loosen it on my own? The staff may think me ungrateful, or they may wonder why the king didn’t help me like they assumed he would.
No, they’ll likely assume he tore it himself in a fit of passion, which would be far more mortifying.
Worse than all, though: What if he takes my request as an invitation? I know what is expected of me after the ceremony, of course, and I’m willing to fulfill my duties, but…
“Princess?”
I startle from my trance. How long have I stood here staring at him?
“I’m not sure,” I answer finally, because despite years of tutelage, I can’t think of anything more clever to say.
The king straightens slowly, his expression opaque. Have I offended him? I suppose it’s not every day that someone questions his help. Kings are used to hearing yes.
“Many have reason to fear me, Princess,” he says at last.
I swallow as he meets my eye with deliberate calm.
“My queen never will.”
With that said, he picks up another pillow and studies the floor for the proper placement.
Again, an intelligent response eludes me. I stand there, silent and perplexed.
If my parents’ marriage taught me anything, it was that a man of unpredictable moods can always turn on the one who tries loving him best, and he likely will. So why am I tempted to believe this dragon king who has shown me half a dozen different sides of himself already?
Mother would tell me not to be foolish. My sisters would say the same, all of them but Selena, who claims she’ll only marry someone who’s madly (wretchedly I believe was the exact word) in love with her. Young as she is, she would understand this hope in my heart that I’m trying in vain to tamp down.
It can’t be wrong to hope for something more, can it? Something better than an indifferent alliance?
I take a hesitant step closer.
“Then I would be most grateful for your assistance,” I say.
The king’s movements slow. He rises like a man who stumbled on a frightened animal he doesn’t wish to spook, approaching on silent feet. Now he stands in front of me, his face perfectly impassive.
“Turn around,” he says.
I do so, clutching my hands in front of me. When his touch comes, there’s only a swift untying of the lacing ribbon at my back, his fingertips feathering over my skin but never lingering. Unwillingly, a shiver trembles up my spine. The fingers pause before continuing.
“Done,” he says, short and gruff as he thuds his way back to his pile of pillows. “You’ll find everything you need for your bath in the cabinets.”
I whisper a breathy thank you and dash to the bathing chamber.
Inside, and with the door latched, I lean against the wood and try to understand this regret welling up in me. What did I expect? For him to fall all over himself? Confess his undying love? Ridiculous. Sighing, I take in the space in front of me.
Unsurprisingly, the bathing chamber is lavish, with ornately-tiled surfaces and a great, circular tub at the center of the room. Two spigots feed directly into the tub, one hot and one cold, an untold luxury for someone whose mother made sure she wasn’t above hauling her own heated water to a wooden tub.
Beneath a latticework window, I find the cabinets the king spoke of, and upon opening one, I nearly squeal. Rows of soaps, oils, perfumes, and herbs await me, and this time, I get to choose.
I’m about to have the best bath of my life.
While the tub fills, I make my selections– a bit of rosewater, a handful of lavender, and another of chamomile. Finally, I slip off my loosened dress and drop into the steaming water with a soft exhale.
I've always felt at home in the water, and tonight is no different. My muscles instantly loosen; my worries quiet. With the door locked and my mind at ease, I rest my head on the back of the tub, fully relaxed.
In time, I begin twirling a single finger, coaxing the water to circle me in little eddies. It's the first time I've used my power like this since leaving Vasna, and the feeling is welcoming, like a friend’s embrace after a long absence. I continue playing with the water till it froths and bubbles around me, and then I draw in a great breath and sink beneath the surface.
At home, my sisters and I sometimes spent hours diving for pearls, carefully prying open oysters and competing for the largest treasure. I never won, but I gained plenty of experience holding my breath. I fall easily into the habit of pursing my lips and releasing a bubble every now and then as time drifts away from me, the only sounds the water’s churning and my heartbeat in my ears as I soak up the drowsy peace. If only I had gills like the fabled merpeople, I could fall asleep here.
A shadow falls over me.
My eyes ease open, and I barely have time to register the murky figure above before a hand is in my hair, dragging me to the surface.