The Barbarian Prince (19 page)

"Wait, dressmaker?" she asked. Sniffing the green concoction, she wrinkled her nose and set it down on the counter without tasting it before chasing after him. "I don’t want a dressmaker. I want a tailor."

* * * *

She got a dressmaker. The woman was a kind sort, with deft, precise hands that measured and stitched quicker than Morrigan could think. She came supplied with half-made garments and bolts of material and a handful of dutiful assistants--mostly men. She didn’t speak directly to Morrigan, and Morrigan wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t speak the language or because she couldn’t speak to a slave.

Ualan stood by and watched, speaking to the dressmaker in the Qurilixian tongue and pointing at Morrigan with amused looks of concentration. Once, he moved his hands as if to signify the curves of Morrigan’s hips. Morrigan blushed. He insolently winked at her when the woman turned.

"I want an upload of the Qurilixian tongue," she mumbled pointedly to Ualan. "And this dress better be decent."

The dressmaker laughed, forcing Morrigan to lift her arm higher.

"We don’t upload," Ualan said off-hand. He stated a suggestion to the busy woman and she nodded in agreement, pushing at Morrigan’s breast to lift it up.

"Hey, watch it," Morrigan warned. Ualan’s grin widened. The dressmaker ignored her. When the woman again turned to Ualan and spoke, Morrigan asked, "Why does she keep calling you Draea Anwealda?"

Dragon Lord. Ualan waved his hand. "It is just an address of sorts."

"Like a title?"

Ualan gave one last order to the dressmaker before stepping up to his slave-wife. Kissing her cheek in an act of public affection that took her off-guard, he whispered, "I already told you, Rigan, you’re my Princess."

Chapter Thirteen

The days before the royal celebration passed in a blur of dress fittings and etiquette lessons. Mirox brought two women for the task--Lyna and Mary. Both women were from an Earth quadrant and very pleasant when it came to explaining the Qurilixian customs.

Morrigan found that the more she learned about her husband’s rich culture, the more fascinated she became. It would seem they were creatures of very old tradition and exact habits. There were several small ways in which you could insult honor, most of which Morrigan thought she could easily avoid. She didn’t think she would be kissing anyone’s boot in public anytime soon.

By the time the dressmaker finished her gown, it was the day of the celebration. Morrigan was very excited, despite herself. She had been cooped up in Ualan’s home for nearly two weeks and thought she would go mad if she had to stay a minute more indoors. Her curiosity was killing her.

Her blue-gray ball gown was a slinky medieval affair made from a thin silk-like material. It had sloping shoulders that greatly exposed and displayed her lifted cleavage, long flowing sleeves that nearly touched the floor, and a high waist that gathered beneath her breasts and pulled seductively at her backside when she walked. Ualan’s symbol of the dragon was fitted in the valley of her breasts to hold the gathering together.

The material was so light that she felt naked. Morrigan nearly fainted when she discovered that Qurilixian women never used undergarments--except for the bustier that was sewn supportively into the chest--and she was to be left bare beneath the gown.

A hairdresser was sent to fix her hair. He brushed the sides up and let ringlets of curls fall over her shoulders. A circlet of silver with a little dragon pendent was placed low on her forehead, the delicate chains sweeping up into her locks. When he was finished, Morrigan hardly recognized herself.

All week Ualan kept a respectable distance. She assumed it was because the house was always full of the company of her instructors. Whatever the reason, she was glad for it. His heated glances and few stolen touches were full of promise and had made for a very long, painful time for both of them. When he spoke, his words were bold with hints of passion and invitation. He made sure Morrigan knew that, after the celebration tonight, he would be coming to claim his wife--completely.

It was that ‘completely’ that left her shaking in her delicate slippers. For with the words there was delivered a present. It was a nightgown of silk and lace straps. It was lingerie like she had never seen before, with barely enough material to cover her most private of parts. She was very embarrassed and couldn’t look Ualan in the eye for the better part of a day.

"You’re beautiful."

Morrigan turned from where she sat on the couch, quickly getting to her feet. Ualan’s words sent a rush of pleasure through her, as did the look of desire that flooded his features as his eyes roamed freely over her form.

"You’re not so bad yourself," Morrigan said huskily, eyeing his tunic jacket. It was bound together with a cord that matched her headpiece. She could see a lighter shirt beneath the jacket. It was thin and hugged each of his muscled curves like air. His hair was brushed back, out of his face, framing his strong features with its golden brilliance. The breeches he wore were tight and clung to every dip and curve of his legs in harmonious precision. Morrigan gulped, thankful that the jacket and shirt pulled low enough to hide his more significant parts from view.

"If you keep looking at me like that, slave," he said softly, coming forward. "We will not make it to your pardon."

"I--" Morrigan flushed, realizing she was staring at his groin and panting. "I have to get something, one second."

Ualan watched as Morrigan ran up the stairs as delicately as she could in the tighter dress. When she returned seconds later, she was slipping an emerald on her pinkie. Ualan raised his brow in question.

"It’s for luck. I always wear it when I go out."

As he led her from his home, Morrigan’s eyes devoured everything. Tapestries, paintings, and statutes decorated the hallways. The wide passages of red stone continued in various directions. Ualan explained that they led to different suites and parts of the keep. Pointing to a symbol on the wall that looked like a bunch of lines and dots, he said, "This is how we tell where we are going. I will teach you to read them for yourself so you don’t get lost. But, for now, do not wander anywhere alone."

Morrigan stopped and looked at the design. Pointing to a line with a curve, she said, "This must be a dragon … and these dots must mean…."

"Later," he urged, amazed she had got that far with the hieroglyphic code. "You are expected before the festivities to receive your pardon. Do you remember what you must do?"

She nodded weakly. Her fingers began working on his arm, clutching at him.

"Good."

Suddenly, he stopped at a set of high arched doors. Morrigan could hear the murmuring of laughter behind the thick oak barrier. She studied the carved hatching on the wood before looking at Ualan. His eyes were liquid pools.

"You must enter alone for this," he whispered, brushing one of her curls onto his finger so it clung to him. Leaning over, he could not keep from lightly kissing her cheek. "You’ll do fine."

Morrigan swallowed and nodded. Then he stepped back, and she bravely pushed her way in. The heavy oak was pulled from her grasp and two servants bowed silently as she entered. She was too nervous to study the main common hall, as she stepped down three stone stairs onto the main floor. The crowd grew quiet at her arrival. Morrigan found the head table exactly where it was said to be. Going forward, she bowed to the King and Queen who she barely recognized from the crystal crushing ceremony.

"Queen Mede, King Llyr," she said, curtseying. Her voice wavered and she swallowed.

The royal couple both motioned their hands in acknowledgement.

Morrigan had been told they were also honor bound not to speak to her until she begged her pardon. Keeping her eyes down, as instructed, she uttered the words Ualan taught her. "I come to you as a humble slave, begging for your royal pardon. I have restored my honor and wish to seek your blessing."

The Queen and King shared looks.

"Prince Olek?" the Queen asked.

"Yea," said a man to the Queen side.

"Prince Yusef?"

"Yea."

"Prince Zoran?"

"Yea, my Queen."

Morrigan stood tense, her fingers itching to snap a picture of the royal table. But she couldn’t photograph with her eyes pointed down. She needed to get a picture of the Princes and their brides. She wondered which of the girls from the ship would be with them if any. Hopefully it was someone she got on with so she would have an excuse to question her extensively.

"My husband?" continued the Queen.

"Yea," the King answered. His booming voice was full of authority.

"And I say ‘yea’," stated Queen Mede. "She has spoken well."

Morrigan began to curtsey at the compliment when the Queen’s words stopped her.

"We have agreed. It is up to you, my son. Will this slave receive her pardon, Prince Ualan?"

Morrigan’s sharp gasp resounded over the hall. Her eyes darted up of their own accord to stare at the royal table. There, standing by his mother, a crown of silver metal atop his head, was her husband. She felt the blood draining from her features.

Ualan stepped down the platform at her attention. How did he dare to smile at her? You didn’t just smile innocently after a public bombshell like that! Morrigan was mortified. As soon as her senses recovered, she would be livid and there would be hell to pay.

The hall was quiet in respect as he stepped up to her.

"Tell me you are the royal gardener and this is a joke," she uttered through her tightened throat.

"No, my Princess," he answered, low so none could hear.

Morrigan panicked. It would be much harder to bail on a Prince. Ualan would have the resources to send many nations to go and find her. If he wanted, he could have every military and police force in the galaxy armed with her picture.

So much for her career as an undercover reporter.

"Do you still wish to be pardoned?"

She nodded. How could she not?

"Yea," announced Ualan. "I shall pardon my wife. She has proven herself very worthy of her title and of my family’s honor." Cheering and pounding erupted at his words.

Ualan led her forward to the royal table. Morrigan’s eyes flew over the royal couples. A Prince who looked much like her husband sat next to Nadja. She blushed, recognizing him from his tent. Another crowned brother sat next to Pia. She didn’t really know the woman, but nodded when Pia acknowledged her attention with a strained smile. The fourth Prince, and ungodly dark specimen of male splendor, sat alone.

"It is glad I am that all my sons have found brides. We are a house blessed," announced the King when Ualan and Morrigan were seated. "Preosts, crown the Princesses."

Morrigan arms trembled with outrage. She numbly felt a crown being fitted on her head as she refused to look at Ualan. If she did, she just might kill her Royal Highness of a husband in front of a hall full of witnesses.

* * * *

A grand meal was served to the hall. Morrigan couldn’t eat. Looking around, she saw Ualan wasn’t the only son with the dragon symbol. It was the royal seal. Cursing, she thought of the upload that claimed the seal was a tiger. She was definitely going to write a story about the shoddy business practices of the Galaxy Bride Corporation.

Clicking the emerald several times in her ire, she made sure to get many pictures of the dragon emblem. Musicians played lively tunes. The crowd laughed, breaking into spontaneous song at the oddest moments.

Suddenly, a hand found its way onto her knee. Morrigan tensed, her eyes shooting daggers at Prince Ualan.

"Relax," he urged, kneading her thigh muscle through her thin gown. "Eat something."

"Is that a royal order, Prince Ualan," she ground out angrily through the side of her lips. She was very aware of how on display they were.

"You’re upset," he answered seriously.

She shot him a look that said, no kidding, caveman.

He took his hand away. This wasn’t the time to discuss it.

"What are the Var doing here?" Ualan turned to ask Olek.

"They are our guests," answered Olek. They still spoke in English and Morrigan’s ears listened intently to every word. Ualan sounded concerned. She turned to study the blonde men at a distant table. They seemed to be the only ones not enjoying the lively celebration.

"See that they are watched," Ualan said. "I will not have their deceits in the House of Draig. There will be a big price to pay if we must punish them."

"Yusef is taking care of it," answered Olek. He glanced quizzically at where Morrigan was staring at him. Switching purposefully into their native voice, he said, "I wanted them to see the royal marriages for themselves."

Morrigan scowled when Ualan answered in the same tone. Out of spite, she took a grand picture of Prince Olek and his bride. Nadja tried to smile at her. Morrigan just nodded stiffly in return.

Is it just me? thought Morrigan. Or do all the royal brides look peeved.

"I want to leave," Morrigan said when Ualan finished his lengthy, serious conversation with his brother. "I’ll find my way back."

"You cannot go. It is your coronation."

"Your dark brother’s wife isn’t here," she pointed out with a stiff nod of her head at Yusef. The tall, serious Yusef saw her dark look and scowled back.

"That is because she in chastisement. She isn’t allowed," Ualan said. He lifted his drink, allowing his plate to be taken by a servant. Morrigan lifted her full plate and handed it directly to the man. The man seemed surprised to see her clearing her own meal, but when Prince Ualan nodded him away, he took it and left.

"Well, I want to get put in chastisement, too. What do I have to do?"

Ualan glanced down, thinking he didn’t care to have a knife taken to his male-defining anatomy. So instead, he teased, "You forget already, wife, I have given you punishment aplenty. But if you insist, I will give you more. After all, I am an honorable man duty bound to see all is in order."

Morrigan read the fire in his gaze as his hand reached beneath the table to touch her most intimately. He slowly gathered her dress in his palm, pulling the slinky material up until his fingers were rewarded with warm flesh. She tried to swat him away, while retaining her dignity. He squeezed tighter, sending a chill over her nervous system. The more she hit, the tighter he squeezed until she was forced to give up. Gradually, his hand slid higher, finding the place where her thigh connected to her center. She was on fire for him. He smiled, pleased by the response.