Free Dragon and the Princess by Jo Beverley Page A

then sat down, gathered her skirts, and wriggled under the wing.
    He was right. It was surprisingly comfortable. The scales were smooth here, and the dragon was slightly soft and delightfully warm. The big body rose and fell gently with each breath. She’d get used to the smell in time.
    “Will you sleep nearby?” she asked, peering up at the black silhouette against the deep blue sky.
    “Not yet. Go to sleep.”
    Rozlinda lay on the warm, breathing dragon, looking up at the densely starred sky, trying to come to terms with her situation, but fighting tears. She believed in duty and even in sacrifice, but why did her path have to be so very hard?

Chapter 7
    She woke in daylight, screaming, fighting a choking, stinking monster. By the time she’d realized she was knotted up in her dress, the Dornaan had dragged her from under the dragon’s wing. She was panting with panic and her bodice wasn’t helping. It had twisted in the night to compress her chest. As soon as she was on the ground, she cried, “Get me
out
of this thing!” When he didn’t seem to understand, she added, “The bodice, idiot!”
    His brows shot up, but he took out his knife, turned her, and cut her free. She dragged it off and stamped on it. Jumped on it, both feet at once. “I am
never
wearing one of those things again.”
    “You don’t—”
    “I know I don’t need one. That’s the point! I have nothing to confine.”
    She realized she had her hands clutched to her meager bumps and let go, face dragon-hot. “Now you know the truth.”
    His eyes flickered between the stuffed cups of the corset-bodice and her. “So I do. It is of no importance, Zlinda.”
    “So you say.”
    “So I say. However, I must insist that you change your clothes. You cannot go on like this.”
    “I cannot wear the ones you brought.”
    “I could command you.”
    His tone sent a shiver through her, but she raised her chin. “A princess of the blood is commanded only by the queen.”
    “But you’re not the SVP anymore, are you?”
    She shook her head. “That’s irrelevant.”
    “Then explain.”
    She grimaced and sought the right words. “The women of the blood are above all others. Within the blood, princesses who have made the sacrifice have the eminence, oldest being highest. The princess on the Way is least among us. But no man can command us. It is different in Dorn?”
    “We have no princesses in Dorn. A husband may command a wife for her own good. As she may command him to his.”
    “I don’t see how that can possibly work.”
    “We shall see. Now, your clothes.”
    “I can manage.”
    He looked down. When she followed his gaze, she saw that six inches or more of skirt dragged on the ground. When he’d cut the lacing, he’d cut the belt, as well. Remembering how she’d looked in the mirror, she struggled with tears, but she pulled herself together. “May I request”—she tried for courtesy to use his word—“pray thee, that you cut a few inches off?”
    “It will ruin it.”
    “It’s already ruined. Besides, the virgin’s dress is ritually burned. This one was only available because”—quickly she switched to—“because things were irregular last time.”
    “How short?”
    If dragons gave off heat, this man could give off ice. Rozlinda blinked to clear blurry eyes. “Perhaps six inches?”
    He slit quickly through the silk as she rotated. When he’d finished, she looked down at a neat edge circling just above her ankles.
    “Thank you. That’s much better.”
    He didn’t thaw. Last night might never have happened. She reached for the strip of dirty silk in his hand, but his hands tightened. “This is part of the death of Cheelus.”
    “That wasn’t my fault!”
    Nothing in his icy face changed.
    Rozlinda pulled on her boots, picked up her small bag, and took refuge by the stream. This was all so unfair. She couldn’t go on. She was aching from yesterday’s walking, and the water was icy.
    She had a horrible thought.