Theo had just enough time to suck in a breath before her lips were fused to his. He froze, disbelief warring with desire. She'd kissed him—actually kissed him. Something hotter than his dragon fire dropped low in his belly, unfurling, spreading.

Her lips moved over his, hesitant at first, then more fervent. He snapped out of his stupor, kissing her back. The taste of her pulled a groan from low in his throat. His entire body exploded with want. He'd kissed plenty of women, had held them his arms, all willing and eager. But this? This was something else entirely.

He opened his mouth, brushing his tongue against her lips until they parted. He swept in, hungry, ravenous, stroking his tongue along hers. Her tiny mew was swallowed whole by the beast writhing in his chest.

More. He need more. So much more. His hands unfurled, one wrapping around the back of her neck, the other around her waist, pressing her to him as his body hardened. Their curves aligned perfectly, like she'd been made for him, for this moment.

She gasped against his lips at the feel of him. Her hands pawed at him, fisting his tunic, pulling him more firmly to her body.

The world quieted. Even his own mind quieted. He increased the ferocity of his kiss, claiming her—

Pain erupted in his groin, shooting straight up his spine. He gasped doubling over, white spots filling his vision. Her knee slammed into his nose, breaking it. He cried out, this time in confusion.

She twisted from his grasp and shot away, her laugh a low victory.

He cursed, sputtering, cupping himself, waiting for the pain to abate. Gods above! Where had she learned to do that? She'd just...she'd just kneed him in the balls and broken his nose. No woman had ever injured him like this. Certainly not while he was kissing them.

Blood gushed down his nose. Already, he could feel his body began to heal itself. He grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and whipped at his face, trying to clear most of it away. A flash of movement caught his attention. It was all he saw of her as she disappeared into the trees.

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. It got louder, turning slightly deranged. His head began spinning. He replayed their kiss, the way she'd melted against him, the little sound she'd made that made him feel undone.

He shook his head, not quite believing, then tilted his head back and yelled, "You made me think it was real." The dark night swallowed up the confession, but it was loud enough that she'd hear him. "You made me think it was real," he said again, this time quietly, staring after the place she'd disappeared, blinking.

Then—

Something shriveled in his chest. She'd made him think it was real. He hated to admit it because he wished it had been, because despite the circumstances of that kiss, it felt like the truest, realest kiss he'd ever had. Girls in the capital kissed him because he was the prince. They kissed him because he had status, power, money. What would it feel like to be kissed by a woman who wanted to kiss him and only him, without anything else attached?

What would it feel like to be kissed by her, without any bargains between them. Because if that's how she kissed him when she was forced to, how would she kiss him if she simply wanted to? When it was just them, and their want, and their desire fueling their actions.

Then her words came back to him. That thing in his chest, that feeling that had unfurled and swelled with the touch of her lips, shriveled up even further. She'd never fall at his feet—never fall for him.

He scoffed, muttering, "As if I would I want her to."

There was a reason he flirted and kissed his way through all the women at court. A reason he had a trail of scandals following in his wake. Why reports of tearful women had been seen sneaking from his chambers the morning after his parties.

He had no intention of falling for a single one of them. But he especially had no intention falling for a rebel. Certainly not one who despised him so openly.

His parents had berated him, argued with him, begged him. At twenty-five, he was supposed to be searching for his mate, the single companion he was fated to spend his life with. Drengr didn't marry or choose whomever they pleased. There existed a single mate for each and every one of them, and while it wasn't easy, finding one's mate was something a young drengr like him was supposed to dream of.

He snorted.

Around him, the dark night pressed in, the quiet of the sawmill yard nearly overbearing. He glanced around. How much time had passed? Certainly far more than the thirty second lead he'd promised Lady Mask.

Swearing under his breath, he bent and picked up her jeweled blade, tucked into his belt, then took off in the direction she'd disappeared. He sprinted through the woods, trying to track her. He saw her footprints, followed them, and then cursed. They disappeared at the river's edge.

He scanned the far bank.There was no movement. Nothing.

"Godsdamn it." He ran a hand through his blonde hair. He'd let that kiss get to his head. She'd done such a good job pretending, that she'd actually caught him off guard. She'd fooled him and distracted him and he'd failed.

But...not entirely.

"You still have the prisoners?" he asked, shooting the thought to his four companions.

"Aye." Amil's response filled his mind. "We've just loaded them on the barge. We're heading downriver now."

"Good, I'll fly cover overhead."

"And their leader?" Fallon asked, failing to disguise his tone. Fallon had no doubt spied him with her, holding her captive. But there'd be no way Fallon could have known what he'd felt in those moments, when he'd had her at his mercy, when all he could think about was burying his nose in her hair, or pulling her mask away to see what she looked like.

"She...got away," he admitted. No way in the gods' hell was he going to admit to how and why. They'd question him about it later. He'd make something up, tell them her dragon's bane arrows had weakened him too much.

Fallon's mental chuckle was all the answer he received, as if Fallon already knew everything. Which meant Fallon would give him a hard time about it later. He thought back to their conversation earlier. Fallon had sensed something about her, about the two of them. He'd seen some kind of reluctance in his behavior, which made Theo wince, because he had clearly been too open with his emotions.

He jumped from the ground, morphing into a giant golden dragon. With a single downward flap of his wings, he shot into the sky. He opened his maw and let forth a roar. I'll find you again, the sound seemed to say, as if he could send the thought to Lady Mask below, wherever she was.

He pictured her racing throug the forest, looking for her remaining rebels, helping them to safety. Something tightened in his chest. She cared for them, cared for her cause badly enough to fight and risk her life for it. What had he ever risked?

He huffed.

Nothing. And why should he. His very existence was meant to be a sacrifice. He was meant to rule Dragonwall some day, to give his entire life over to his people, regardless of whether he wanted to or not.

Lady Mask would have made that sacrifice in a heartbeat. In a way, she reminded him of his mother. She'd lead, because she was already leading. She was already doing what she believed was right, no matter the cost.

Hell, she'd shot him with two dragon's bane coated arrowheads. Not enough to do much, given where they'd hit him. He'd pulled them free, and waited the ten minutes it took to get the poison ejected from his body.

She hadn't cared that he was a prince. She'd done it to stop him. She'd done it because she was willing to go the distance.

He thought of what might have happened if she'd shot him through the head. The drengr were near invincible, but there were certain lethal blows one couldn't come back from. A normal arrowhead through the eye, he probably could have recovered. One dipped in dragon's bane would have slowed the magic in his veins, enough that he might not hve.

She could have killed him. He'd seen the look in her eyes, for a split second, he'd seen her intention. She'd aimed at him—aimed to kill. Something told him she didn't miss. So...her hit had been intentional.

Why?

He spotted the barge with their captured prisoners. All four of his companions kept a careful watch over them while the oarsmen pushed their long poles along the bottom of the river. When he'd gone to Lord Lasker with his theories, the lord had provided the barge, to be stationed farther downriver, along with additional guards in case they were successful.

These prisoners would go to Lord Lasker, to be locked up in his dungeons. The lord would question them, he was sure of that. All in hopes of finding a way to stop the rebellion—to locate its leader and bring her to justice.

His scales prickled and his chest tightened. What would Lord Lasker do once he got ahold of her? Suddenly, he didn't very much like the thought of that man getting his hands on her.

He shook his head back and forth, trying to clear the thought from his mind. What did he care? That was her problem, not his.

Except that a roar bellowed from his lips, and his teeth bared themselves at the sky.

He'd never been possessive before. He moved through females like flowing water, never keeping one around for long. But that kiss? It hadn't been enough for him. Felt like it would never be enough for him.

The river widened as the mouth of it approached the lake. Along the side, massive docks for receiving lumber-heavy barges were ready to receive them. It was nearing dawn and he was tired, but he landed on human feet and met Lord Lasker's guards, awaiting news of their evening skirmish. "I'll have the prisoners processed and thrown in the dungeons to await the lord's attention," one of them informed him when they spoke. Then, he and his companions took to the sky again, this time flying the remaining distance to the lord's castle.

When he entered, he bid his companions goodnight, then stood outside his door, thinking. He was restless, jittery, even. He needed to work off some of his emotions. He hesitated, glancing down the hall, then took off at a stroll.

It was near dawn, but not near enough for the servants to begin stirring. That quiet moment between night and day when everything slept. He climbed a flight of steps and proceeded down another corridor, getting lost in the twists and turns of the lord's keep. It wasn't anything like the great keep in Kastali Dun. But it was large enough for a newcomer like him to get lost.

He hesitated, looking around, and recognized the hallway he'd found himself in before, when he'd been chasing the veiled maiden to uncover her identity. A thrill went through him. He liked riddles.

He crept down the hall and began checking door knobs. There were only three on this corridor. The first was an art studio, with large canvases, some half painted. His eyes skimmed over them in the darkness, with only the small bit of moonlight from the windows to illuminate the paint. He was tempted to creep further into the room and admire them. Perhaps another time.

Quietly, he shut the door, then crept out. The second room was a suite. It was lived in, that much he could tell by the shift thrown over a nearby chair, the remnants of tea left on a tray near the darkening embers of the fire, and a desk covered in parchment and quills. A woman's room. The bed curtains were drawn. Whoever it was, she was sleeping.

He crept out, but not before noticing a closed door near the sitting room. He glanced out into the hallway, then went to the last door. His theory proved true. The closed door led to a feminine parlor. He found sofas, card tables, and a large fire. Along one wall, books were shelved. He went into the room and shut the door. This room was also well used, for entertaining.

His eyes darted to the large painting above the fireplace mantle and he froze. His gaze narrowed and he gravitated towards it. The painting was shadowed, but the window's drapes were opened enough to let moonlight through. A man and a woman posed with their three children, two boys and a girl. The man's features were unmistakable. Lord Lasker had his hand gently resting on the woman's shoulder. The two boys were also immediately recognizable. It was Torin and Soren, perhaps ten years younger. He fixed his attention on the girl. She appeared around the same age as them, her long brown hair and striking blue eyes stark against the painting's background.

He huffed. Well, well, well. Lord Lasker had a wife and daughter. He glanced around the space and frowned. Was this the wife's space, or the daughter's?

"You sly weasel," he muttered. The girl in the veil had surely been the daughter. That's why the servant had been so dismissive. Had Lord Lasker hidden her away because he feared the prince would make off with her virtue?

A small laugh fell from his lips. Now he simply wanted to for the hell of it. Nothing made him want to do something like being told he couldn't.

He stared at her a long while, taking in the shape of her face. She was pretty, even at a younger age. Here, she couldn't have been much older than thirteen. What would she look like now?

The light was turning gray outside when he left the parlor. His evening stroll had helped to take his mind off of what had happened. But once he fell into bed, none of that mattered. Thoughts of soft lips and a pliant body returned. Lady Mask's words followed him into his dreams. He only slept for a few hours, but when he woke, he was aching.

⭐🌟 DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!🌟⭐

Hi Friends!

I'm back from Yallfest. It was so much fun! Since some of you were asking: Yallfest is a Young Adult book festival where authors and readers come together to share their love of books. I got to see soooo many famous authors like Leigh Bardugo, Stephanie Garber, Victoria Aveyard, and more! It was amazing. Especially attending their panels and getting to hear about their writing process. Not to mention being surrounded by hundreds of book lovers.

I brought some kind of flu or head cold back, so I'm feeling a bit under the weather. But...it was worth it?? I think so. 

Anyway, thanks for your patience. I'll try to get back on a daily posting schedule as I heal and recover.

--Mel