Daughter of the Dragon Page 7

  Zafirah tsked, then cocked her head toward the plates on the coffee table. “Have some breakfast first. I’ll be right back.”

  As the older woman left the room, Deedee sat down on the couch, and reached for the pot of tea, pouring a cup for herself and nibbled on some freshly-baked bread. So now, one more person knew of her current predicament. Prince Karim wasn’t stupid, so he wouldn’t have told his aunt about Deedee if she really couldn’t trust her. And Zafirah seemed nice enough …

  “Here we are.” The princess breezed into the room; her arms piled with green fabrics. “These were mine when I was much younger. They may be a tad short for you, but it should fit.”

  Deedee took the offered clothing. “Thank you. I’ll go put them on.”

  A few minutes later, she emerged from the bedroom. “Are you sure I can borrow these? They seem way to nice for just lounging around all day.” Before putting it on, she thought it would be the same outfit Zafirah had, but it turned out to be a kaftan-like dress that fell mid-calf with gold embroidery around the torso and chest.

  “You look stunning, my dear,” Zafirah exclaimed. “I knew this would suit you.” She motioned to the couch. “Come, let’s finish our tea and then I will take you to the library.”

  “Oh!” She clapped her hands together. “That would be great. I’ve been so bored here.” She took the empty spot on the couch next to Zafirah. “Thank you so much. I’m really about to go crazy in here.”

  “I completely understand.” The older woman poured herself some tea. “I have lived my whole life in here.”

  Deedee was about to drink from her cup, but stopped halfway. “Wait a minute … you’ve never gone outside the palace?” What kind of place was this?

  Zafirah laughed. “Oh, you misunderstand. I have been all over Zhobghadi, once or twice to one of our neighboring countries or when we meet with the nomadic tribes.” She put the cup to her lips and looked at Deedee from over the rim. “I can leave if I wish, but where would I go? My life is here, watching over my son. He is grown, a man over forty years of age, and is the Royal Vizier, but still, I am his mother, and I cannot leave him. And of course, if I were to go, the Princess Amaya would be left alone as well.”

  Princess Amaya? Her heart clenched at the name of another woman. A woman who apparently lived in this palace. With Karim.

  “Prince Karim is very busy, and will be even busier when he is king.” Zafirah put the cup down. “Princess Amaya will be even lonelier.”

  I bet. She chewed on the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted the coppery tang of blood.

  “She’s his only sister,” Zafirah said with an emphasis on the last word, “and does not get much company outside her tutors.”

  “Sister?” He never mentioned having a sister. Not that they’d had much time for getting-to-know-you questions.

  “Yes. Half sister, actually. She’s only eleven years old.” Zafirah offered her a plate with bread, cheese, and honey. “Why don’t you finish your food, and we can be on the way?”

  “Thank you.” As she ate her breakfast, Deedee couldn’t help but wonder about Prince Karim’s sister. Ten seemed so young to have lost her father. But where was her mother? And for that matter, where was his?

  When she told Zafirah she was done eating, the princess led her out of the living room. “Don’t worry,” she had assured Deedee. “I’ve instructed the staff that no one was to come in this wing of the palace, except for when Ramin brings us our noon meal.”

  They walked down a few hallways, which were all similar to the ones Deedee had seen during her attempted escape. Zafirah stopped at the end of one particularly long hallway and opened the door. “This is the king’s personal library.”

  As they entered, Deedee couldn’t help but gasp. Though the room wasn’t very big, it was richly decorated. Rows of shelves occupied most of the room, while a small sitting area was set up on the opposite side, with thick carpets and cushions, but also couches and chairs. “It’s beautiful.”

  “My late brother, King Nassir, did love to read. He loved knowledge of all kinds, really.” Zafirah turned her face away from Deedee as she ran a hand down a well-worn leather wingback chair.

  Poor Zafirah. She didn’t want to show the grief in her face, which was why the older woman was still looking away. Deedee couldn’t even imagine what it was like to lose a close family member. Why, if it were Bastian or Wyatt … despite the shortcomings of her younger brothers, especially that pompous youngest brother of hers, she didn’t want to think of what it would be like if they were suddenly gone.

  “Nassir was also very radical for his time. He was always speaking out about opening our borders and such, much to the consternation of our father. He, on the other hand, was very much rooted in the old ways.” Zafirah gestured for her to follow her to a row of shelves at the other end of the room. “Here you will find books in languages other than Zhobghadian. They were from Nassir’s personal collection.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at the books and found a few in English. Her French and German, unfortunately, were too rusty to even begin reading in those languages for pleasure.

  There were mostly classics on the shelves—Shelley, Dickens, Shakespeare, Carrol, and much to her surprise, Mark Twain and Joseph Conrad. She grabbed a copy of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, because, why not, and then headed to one of the comfortable couches in the main reading area. Zafirah had also picked up a book—a title in Zhobghadian—sat regally on the leather wingback chair. There was a mysterious smile on her lips, which made Deedee curious as to what she was reading.

  A few hours had passed and Deedee was lost in the world of King Arthur until the door swung open. As she looked up from her book, she saw Ramin enter the room, carrying a large tray.

  “Ramin.” She placed her book down and walked over to him. “I’m so sorry about what happened the other day.”

  The young man looked up at her, obvious hurt in his eyes, and Deedee felt about two inches tall. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I mean, I sorta did but …”

  Ramin ignored her and began arranging the plates on the table.

  “Will you translate for me, please?” she asked Zafirah. “Tell him I’m deeply sorry for hurting him, and I’m glad to see he has recovered. And that I’m still grateful he rescued me from … from that man who tried to hurt me.”

  The older woman nodded and spoke to Ramin. His body grew stiff, but turned to Deedee and gave her a slight nod. However, he did make a big deal of taking the silver tray with him as he left.

  “I suspect he hasn’t forgiven me,” Deedee said glumly.

  “Give him time,” Zafirah said. “He’s very much like Karim you know. I’m sure one of the reasons Karim took him was because he saw much of himself in the boy. That, and the fact that both their mothers—” Zafirah stopped short. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”

  His mother what? Deedee desperately wanted to know more, but was afraid to pry. In any case, what use was it to know about Prince Karim’s mother? Soon, she’d be leaving this place.

  After lunch, Deedee continued to read, and by the time she reached the end, the sun was already low. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever spent a day just reading. This almost feels like a vacation.”

  Zafirah closed her book. “Perhaps it’s better for you to think of it that way. Like … one of those retreats where you are forced to withdraw from the world to examine yourself.”

  Deedee got up and stretched her hands over her head. “I suppose that’s one way to view it, rather than being trapped in a foreign country because of freaky weather. Zafirah, may I take another book so I can read with me in bed?”

  “Of course. Karim said that you were free to borrow any book in the library.”

  “Thank you.” She walked back to the row of shelves Zafirah had brought her to and returned her book, then began to scan the spines. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein caught her eye, but it was on the highest shelf, which she could only reach by tip
toeing, despite her height. Her fingers brushed the end of the cover.

  C’mon … ah. Her forefinger hooked the underside of the spine, but when she pulled, it sent the book—and several others—tumbling down over her head. “Ow!”

  “Deedee?” Zafirah called. “Are you all right?”

  Oops. “Yes,” she called out as she got to her feet and grabbed Frankenstein, along with some of the other fallen books. Placing them under her arm, she walked back out to meet Zafirah. “Okay, I’m ready. Are we going to have dinner first?” She rather liked the older woman, and if she got to spend a few hours with her, the next few days would pass by much quickly.

  “My apologies, my dear.” She placed her hand over her heart. “But I’m afraid as a member of the royal family, I have duties during the evening festivities. But your dinner should be ready for you back in Karim’s rooms.”

  “Oh.”

  “He will not be back until dawn, so you will have some privacy before then.”

  “The festivities go on until dawn? Must be some party.”

  Zafirah’s face turned serious. “Yes, there are parties, and Karim must make his appearances. But then at midnight, he must take the shape of The Great One and fly all over Zhobghadi.”

  From the older woman’s tone and expression, it was obvious that the fact that Deedee knew her nephew turned into a giant fire-breathing dragon wasn’t a surprise. In fact, she sounded almost reverent. “So … Prince Karim flies over the entire country from midnight until dawn?”

  “Yes. It is tradition. Every bearer of The Great One has been doing it for a millennium.”

  She remembered him telling her the story about how they were saved from invaders. “So, they recreate the events from a thousand years ago?”

  “I suppose you can say that. Since the gods send the Easifat each year, so The Great One must also watch over our nation. And he will do so until the sandstorms subside.”

  Huh, so that’s where he was every night. Flying over his kingdom, protecting it. A tiny part of her was glad that that’s how he spent his nights, and not in the arms of some woman.

  She mentally shook her head. Where did that come from?

  “Were you satisfied with the selection of books here?” Zafirah asked.

  “Oh yes. I’m sure I’ll be pretty occupied.” She paused. “Is the history of Zhobghadi written down anywhere? Do you think you could translate some of the texts for me?” When Zafirah gave her strange look, she added, “I specialize in Archeology. So all this is fascinating to me.”

  Zafirah raised a dark brow. “I suppose I could, but I must warn you: there is nothing about The Great One in our written texts.”

  “Why not?”

  “For the protection of Zhobghadi and the royal family of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “The story is passed down orally, all schoolchildren know it. But it is not written down officially.”

  Deedee said nothing as Zafirah led her back to Prince Karim’s rooms. As she promised, her dinner was already there—if the scent of spiced grilled meats, buttery pilaf rice, and warm fresh bread wafting into her nose was any indication. “Oh, that’s really good.”

  “We have some of the best chefs in the country,” Zafirah said. “Now, Deedee, I must bid you goodnight, and I will see you tomorrow.”

  She thanked Zafirah as she left, then sat down cross-legged in front of the low table to eat her dinner. As she bit into some bread, she tried to think more positive thoughts.

  Really, it was like a holiday—albeit a forced one. She was in a beautiful palace, could sit and do nothing the whole day, have delicious food brought to her, and she also had a handsome prince in bed.

  The last sentence made her choke on her rice and she had to gulp down a whole glass of water to clear her airway. Don’t think of him, she chided herself. To distract herself, she reached for the pile of books she had taken from the library, grabbing the first one on top.

  “Huh.” She held up the leather-bound volume, which didn’t have a title on the spine or the cover. It did, however, had some kind of coat of arms embossed on the front in silver depicting two eagles on top and a sword going through a shield. Placing it on her lap, she opened it to the cover page.

  “The History and People of Zhobghadi,” she read aloud. “By Lord Nigel Brandon, Earl of Crawford.” The date on the bottom of the type-written page was over thirty years ago. But Zafirah said there was no text about Zhobghadi in English. Did she lie?

  She flipped through the pages, and based on the age and quality of the paper and printing, this was more of a manuscript than a published book. That’s probably why Zafirah didn’t know about it.

  As she ate her dinner, she began to read through Lord Crawford’s manuscript. While most people probably wouldn’t have thought it riveting dinner time reading, Deedee couldn’t stop. The Earl of Crawford was obviously a trained anthropologist, and his writing was so organized, yet vivid and descriptive. It seemed he either learned to speak Zhobghadi or had a translator, because half his manuscript was devoted to the events of the last five hundred years, though as Zafirah had said, there was no mention of The Great One.

  She flipped through the rest of the book, and based on his outline in the table of contents, Lord Crawford must have spent years on this manuscript, because he was able to devote pages and pages to the people of Zhobghadi and the workings of their society.

  Lord Crawford had really done a great job, especially at tracing back the history of Zhobghadi. For one thing, he had noted that the way they counted time and dates was different. For example, that when people said “a thousand years” it just really means a very long time ago, which made her wonder: when Karim told her that The Great One came to them a ‘thousand’ years ago, did he mean that literally or was it actually way older?

  She was deep into how the first Zhobghadians processed the silver found in the deposits deep in the mountain range in the southern border when a loud roar made her start, the book dropping to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end and she knew why.

  Dashing toward the balcony, she stood outside, and saw him—Karim—his massive scaly body casting a shadow over the palace as he flew by. Though she’d seen her own father transform into his dragon many times, the sight of Karim still made her shiver.

  What would he do if he found out that there was another dragon like him?

  It didn’t matter because he wouldn’t. No, she would make sure that her secret—and that of her family and clan—would be kept safe. They were counting on her.

  With a loud yawn, she stood up and walked to the bedroom. After showering and changing into a fresh set of pajamas, she crawled into bed with Lord Crawford’s manuscript. She must have been more tired than she thought because a few pages in and her eyes were drooping. After tucking the book under her pillow, she laid her head on top of it and closed her eyes.

  Deedee was having a dream about a tall British man with a monocle, dressed like he was going on safari, traipsing about the sand dunes, shouting, “I found it! Gads, I found it!” Then his face turned into a piñata for some reason and then a mariachi band started playing …

  “Huh?” Her eyes fluttered open. What a strange dream. “Oh.”

  Oh indeed.

  Arms like bands of steel wrapped around her waist. And warm lips were clamped to her neck, the soft hairs of Karim’s beard tickling her as his mouth roamed over her neck. Not again.

  Her wolf yowled with happiness, practically rolling over and showing its belly as his hands reached up to cup her breasts. Tramp.

  But really, maybe she was the tramp because she was enjoying this far too much.

  “Karim,” she whispered when his thumb and forefinger found her nipple. He responded by sinking his teeth into her neck, and lust and heat shot straight into her belly. Karim must also have an enhanced sense of smell because the moment she felt the wetness between her thighs, he growled and rolled over her, pinning her body, mout
h covering hers.

  Oh, maybe she should just stop fighting it. They were consenting adults, and she had a week of nothing better to do. She wanted him too—badly—and maybe this was her one chance to finally rid herself of her virginity. Besides, when else was she going to have a chance to sleep with a handsome prince who would make every fantasy she didn’t know she had come true?

  The nip at her lips told her that Karim was not happy that she was lost in her thoughts and unresponsive. So, she opened her mouth, allowing him to dip his tongue between her lips. Oh dear, he even tasted hot. Hot and masculine and all … Karim. His hips ground to hers, and the hardness pressing against her heated core made her groan.

  A hand thrust into her hair, pulling her head back to open her mouth more. He kissed her, devoured her like a man who had been lost in the desert without water and she was an oasis.

  “Karim!”

  Deedee froze, and so did Karim. The high-pitched voice wasn’t someone’s she’d heard before, but based on the soft curses that he bit out, he knew who it was.

  Quickly, he rolled off her and the bed, his hand reaching for his robe. “What are you doing here? You know not to come into the rooms of the Crown Prince without invitation.”

  The other person replied in Zhobghadian, sounding annoyed.

  “You know you must practice English when you are speaking with me, German with Aunt Zafirah, and French with Arvin. Now, tell me why you think you can just come in here?”

  “I haven’t seen you in so long.” The words were slow and deliberate, tinted heavily with an accent, and the voice young and feminine.

  “That’s not an excuse.”

  “But Karim—”

  “No buts,” Karim said. “No excuses, no exceptions, not even for a princess of Zhobghadi.”

  It was Karim’s sister. Princess Amaya. She bit her lip and shut her eyes tight. Maybe if she kept still, the princess wouldn’t notice her.