Free Dragon and the Princess by Jo Beverley

to get her out of those clothes.
    But how, when he’d not brought any skirts and she considered showing her legs as indecent as a Dornaan would think showing genitals or navel?
    * * *
    Rozlinda picked her way toward the woods, surprised that she could feel even more miserable on this horrible day, but she did. Without that hralla tea she’d probably be howling.
    Everything had been so wonderful for a moment and then—
pop!
—it had gone, leaving her empty and feeling hungry even though she’d stuffed herself on that delicious meat. And now she was struggling through trees in gloomy light on her way to piss in the open and wash in a river.
    The going wasn’t quite as bad as she’d expected, because Seesee had trampled a wide path, so she had only to clutch up her dragging skirts and frequently unhook them from branches and broken saplings. From the Princess Way to the Dragon Path. Perhaps that should be the title of her book, though understanding between Saragond and Dorn seemed less likely by the moment.
    I am glad to ease your way, Princess.
    Rozlinda froze. Had she imagined that? No, even though her ears definitely hadn’t heard anything, she’d heard words. The dragon could talk to her? Did that mean the dragon could hear her thoughts? What if she then told them to Rouar?
    Private things.
    Remembering what the Dornaan had said about speaking helping, she softly said, “You won’t tell him?”
    Private things.
    Hoping that meant what she thought, Rozlinda plodded to the riverbank. It was only a stream, really, but pretty in starlight, shallow at the edges and chuckling over stones, making sweet music in her hralla’d mind. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps hralla opened her mind to the dragon. She’d be careful about when she drank it, then.
    She relieved herself near some bushes, and then settled to washing off as much of the dust from her skin as she could. She unwound the bandage and found the long cut healing well. Perhaps there had been something more than numbing power in the cream Reverend Elawin had used.
    The water was cold, but the idea of bathing fully grew in her mind. Why not? She untied the veil, but that was as far as she got. The bodice laced up the back and when she tried to reach the knot, she discovered that the dress’s sleeves were surprisingly tight around the shoulders.
    She could ask Ro.
    Oh, no, not after what had just happened. She could live with the dirt, and the bodice wasn’t tight. She could sleep in it. Anyway, she had no nightgown. If she somehow managed to undress, she’d end up sleeping on a dragon, next to her strange husband, in her sleeveless, calf-length shift.
    At least she could wash her feet. She rolled off her silk stockings and when she’d washed her feet, she washed the stockings, too. When her feet were dry, she put the boots back on, wondering if the stockings would dry overnight. Perhaps she could spread them on the hot dragon. Anything was possible in this peculiar new world.
    When she emerged from the wood, she saw her husband leaning on the dragon, close to Seesee’s head, looking dejected. Probably disappointed in his bride. After all, what did she know about men and their ways, never mind Dornaan ones? She wanted to escape, and sleep seemed the best refuge to hand.
    She cleared her throat. “I’m ready.”
    He straightened and offered a hand up onto the dragon. She relished that, clinging a little as she climbed. But then worry trickled in. “Is this safe?”
    “Of course. Why?”
    Something—a dragon thought?—had reminded Rozlinda that dragons liked SVP blood. She was certainly still V.
    “She . . . she doesn’t like midnight snacks?”
    Something twitched his lips. “You’re completely safe here, I promise. And dragon sleeping is cozy. With that and hralla, you’ll be off like a baby. Slide down beneath the wing.”
    Rozlinda considered the situation dubiously, but what choice did she have? She spread the stockings over the dragon’s back and