Free Dragon's Heart by Michelle Rabe Page B

face behind his hand, trying to keep in the laughter that threatened to escape.
    Serena stood on a stool in the center of the suite’s sitting room in the midst of a whirl of activity. All around her, a group of women bustled, brandishing measuring tapes, pins, sketchpads, and yards of fabrics in a range of colors, weights, and textures as though they were weapons. They fired questions at her, many of which Killian was certain she didn’t understand or care to answer.
    When she gave a curt or noncommittal response, they would first look to the royal seamstress and then to Killian. Knowing as much if not less than Serena, he often deferred to the royal seamstress’s opinion. More than once, he wished his little sister, Coleen, still lived in Haven. She would have had the seamstresses doing her bidding while thinking it was their idea. Serena didn’t know it, but the wardrobe she was being fitted for was his gift to her. She’d given up the jewels, that had come with her title, to help the people of her province. He’d watched as her fingers trailed over a heart-shaped emerald and opal necklace, seen the slight curl to her lips and the moment her smile slipped and duty won over desire. He wanted to give her so much more than a wardrobe, but it was a place to start. Killian hoped it would help make an easier transition into her new role at court.

    T he royal seamstress , with her silvery gray hair pulled into a sleek bun, stood apart from the other women, directing the chaos. Dressed in the height of fashion for a working class woman of her age, she coughed to get the younger woman’s attention before speaking, “Now, my dear, what type of skirt do you want?”
    “Skirt?” Serena glanced at Killian for help, but he was hiding the lower half of his face behind his hand. She was certain he was laughing, and she glared at him, eyes narrowed. Unable to muster up the proper contrite expression, Killian shrugged.
    “Yes, my lady,” the seamstress said giving Serena a strange look.
    Deciding she would receive no help from her beloved, Serena answered, “No skirts. I don’t wear them.”
    The older woman frowned but managed not to look too scandalized. “You will need some dresses and skirts for court functions.”
    “Are you saying I am required to get some dresses?” Serena glanced at Killian, pleading for his help with a look.
    The prince had the good grace to hold in his laughter. He approached her as several of the younger seamstresses bowed out of his way. Taking Serena’s hands in his and flashing his most charming smile, he said, “Yes. A few.” Serena was about to say something, but he squeezed her hands, so she remained silent, letting him handle the situation. Killian looked at the head seamstress. “Lady Harlowe will require dresses with skirts that allow her as much freedom of movement as possible. In spite of her title, she is a weapons master and was, until quite recently, a lieutenant in Her Majesty’s army and a candidate for the Royal Guard. Though she has resigned her commissions, she must be able to take up arms in defense of herself and others, if required.”
    “Very well, as you wish, Your Highness. Perhaps we should use light materials.” The head seamstress stepped forward and nodded, requesting Killian to step aside. “Though I am afraid there is not much I can do about the petticoats.”
    “No petticoats,” Serena said.
    “N-n-no petticoats?” The seamstress tripped over her shock and gaped at the noblewoman in front of her.
    “No. They are cumbersome and restrict freedom of movement.”
    “I am not certain what we can do about that.” The seamstress stepped back and began pacing in a slow circle around Serena.
    “My Lady Harlowe.” Killian lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of it. “I am afraid I must take my leave.”
    “I may have to be very cross with you, my lord, for leaving me here on my own.”
    A mischievous glint showed in his eyes. After