The Dragon at My Door

By the second week, I had learned that my husband disliked sweet wine, unnecessary ceremonies, and people standing behind his chair.

He also disliked being told to rest, although this did not distinguish him from any injured man I had ever met.

"I have ruled longer than Mara has been alive," he complained one morning as she removed a stack of reports from his desk.

"You are welcome to rule horizontally," she said.

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Ronan turned his wounded dignity on me. "I had expected loyalty."

"You married a woman you met in a cellar. You should have made fewer assumptions."

Mara's mouth twitched. It felt like winning a small and difficult war.

She let me help with his bandages after that. Not the deep wound over his heart; she dealt with that herself. I cleaned the cuts along his back, where the burst chains had torn him during our escape.

The first time he sat shirtless before me in daylight, I spilled half the basin.

"Shall I fetch a smaller patient?" he asked.

"Shall I fetch a less irritating one?"

"There are several floors of them."

I put the cloth against his shoulder with more firmness than necessary.

He went quiet. In the mirror opposite us, I saw his expression change.

"Too much?" I asked immediately.

"No. I had forgotten what warm water felt like."

The cloth stopped in my hand.

"Do not do that," he said.

"Do what?"

"Look as though you have been wounded by my answer."

I rinsed the cloth. "I am trying to work out how to be kind to you without making you angry."

His eyes met mine in the mirror.

"I have had little practice receiving it."

"Then we are both learning something inconvenient."

He lowered his head, and I resumed washing his back.

The keep slowly became less hostile. Nell started bringing her mending into my room. Tavin delivered books and asked whether human children really slept with swords under their pillows in case dragons came.

"Only the children with terrible parents," I said.

He considered this. "My mother says humans eat dragon eggs."

"My mother said nothing of the kind. She did warn me about mushrooms."

When he left, Ronan appeared in the connecting doorway.

"You have disappointed him. He was hoping to show you his sword."

"How long were you listening?"

"Since the mushrooms. I have concerns about your education."

I began looking forward to that knock. The realization made me cautious around him for an entire afternoon, which he noticed and interpreted as illness.

He ordered broth.

I ordered it taken away.

We argued over lunch until Nell quietly put down bread and cheese and informed us the kitchens had other people to feed.

Then came the dress.

It arrived folded in a cedar chest, dark green velvet embroidered with gold scales. It was magnificent. It also had a stiff collar high enough to brush my jaw.

I stood before the mirror while Nell fastened it. My breathing shortened.

"Stop," I said.

She released the fastening at once.

Ronan entered through the sitting room and saw my face.

"Who sent that?"

"Your steward," Nell said. "For the welcoming supper."

"Burn it."

"Please don't," I said. "Someone spent months making it. I would like the collar removed."

He looked ready to argue with the dress itself.

"You need not wear anything that hurts you."

"Then let me change it."

He shut his mouth.

Nell discovered urgent business elsewhere. When we were alone, I turned toward him, holding the loose collar away from my throat.

"You could ask what I want before ordering fires."

"I saw your face."

"You understood that I was frightened. You did not understand what I wanted done about it."

He leaned against the doorframe. "What do you want?"

"Scissors. And for everyone at supper to stop staring at my neck."

He brought the scissors himself.

I cut away the top fastening. He caught the loose velvet before it fell, watching my reflection. Without the collar, the gown showed my shoulders and the faded red line beneath them.

"Is it ugly?" I asked before I could swallow the question.

His gaze rose sharply to mine.

"No."

"You don't have to say that because—"

"Elara. I have been accused of many things. Polite dishonesty has never been one of them."

Heat climbed my face.

His fingers brushed the back of my shoulder as he lifted away a thread. I felt that brief touch all the way down my spine.

At supper, I sat beside him under a carved window full of winter stars. Conversation faltered when I entered, then resumed. Mara asked about my work in the library. I complained about a translator who had confused a boundary stone with a marital bed.

"An unfortunate error for both parties," Ronan said.

Mara choked on her wine.

He smiled when I laughed. Not the edged expression he used against enemies. A real smile, quick and startling, which made him look almost young.

I wanted to see it again so badly that I forgot the rest of my sentence.

Later, Mara asked me to change his outer bandage while she dealt with a child who had fallen from a wall. Ronan sat beside the hearth in his room, his shirt open, lamplight moving across his skin.

I peeled away the dressing at his side. When my knuckles brushed the wound over his heart, his hand snapped around my wrist.

His pupils narrowed. Black scales rose along his throat.

I froze.

For one breath, neither of us moved.

"Let go," I said.

His hand opened immediately.

I stepped back, pressing my wrist against my chest. He lowered both hands onto the arms of the chair.

"I am sorry."

The plain words steadied me more than any explanation could have.

"Tell me where I can touch you."

His head lifted.

"You do not have to finish."

"I know. Tell me."

He showed me the safe edge of the wound. I came back slowly. This time, he warned me before he moved, and I finished the dressing with my pulse still running too fast.

When I tied the last strip, his fingers touched the inside of my wrist.

"Did I hurt you?"

"You frightened me."

His jaw tightened.

"I am still here," I added. "Both things are true."

He bowed his head over my hand. His mouth brushed the tender skin beneath the bandage.

It was a small touch. I forgot how to breathe.

He looked up, and the question in his face was so naked that I bent before I could lose my nerve.

My mouth touched his.

He stayed still for a heartbeat. Then his hand settled at my waist, warm and careful, and he kissed me back.

I had been kissed before. I had never felt anyone make such an effort to hold something back.

When I drew away, his eyes were bright.

"Was that curiosity?" he asked.

"Partly."

"And the rest?"

"I would rather kiss you again than explain it badly."

His laugh was rough. He rose, slowly enough to give me room, until I had to tip back my head to meet his eyes.

"Would you like me to stop?"

I put my hands against the open edges of his shirt.

"I would like you to stop guessing what I want. I am standing close enough to tell you."

This time, when he bent to kiss me, there was nothing accidental about the way I reached for him.