Dragon Flight by Caitlin Ricci Page B

she asked him, dreading the answer.
    He grinned at her. “Fifteen.”
    She gaped at him. “Your mother wouldn’t!”
    He laughed. “You don’t think so? She wanted you to have lots of choices. So, let’s assume that you want someone over twenty?” She nodded. “Then that leaves you exactly three men.”
    She frowned and sighed, but signaled him to continue on anyway with a wave of her hand.
    “Auguste Milans,” Zorin pointed, “is twenty-seven and is the nephew of some duke or something from somewhere.”
    She giggled and sipped her wine. “You don’t know? Don’t you know everyone here?”
    He joined her in a quick laugh. “I don’t take much notice of anyone whose intelligence is less than my horse’s.”
    She grinned broadly and slapped his thigh. “Don’t be mean.”
    “Can’t help it. These people infuriate me.”
    “Why?”
    He leaned forward so that he could whisper in her ear. His breath was warm against her neck as it tickled the soft hairs at her nape. She found herself moving toward him, turning her head so that more of her shapely neck was exposed to him. Part of her wanted him to kiss the pale skin there, but another part of her dreaded the possibility.
    “Because none of these men care about anything more than the crown. None of them will ever love you or even see you as more than a wife on their arms who looks pretty in their jewels as she turns an eye to his misdeeds.”
    “And how do you see me?” she asked him as he leaned back.
    He gave her a slight smile and turned away. “Any man worth your hand would see you as a woman to be cherished and protected while still respecting that you are certainly able to take care of yourself, as you have well shown these past few months.”
    She leaned in closer to him, her heart speeding up. “And are you a man worth my hand, Zorin?” she asked him.
    He shrugged her question off, but not before she saw the light blush dance across his tanned cheeks.
    “I think you are,” she told him quickly before he could move further away. “And I think you’re a better man than any of these pompous arrogant wannabe kings around us.” She said it loudly enough that many heads turned and many scowls were sent her way. Amalthea seemed to storm away with a huff, causing Isabelle to giggle and roll into Zorin’s side.
    A man slowly got up the courage to approach them. He was well dressed like the others with nothing but a slightly different hair color to set him apart from the throng of men eager to be the next Feeorin king. For Isabelle he held no interest. He wasn’t unattractive by any means, but like every other man there he was just so good looking and so well dressed and just so everything that as a whole Isabelle was done with the entire lot of them. They were boring and unoriginal. Not at all like—she quickly stamped out that idea. He who she refused to think about was probably perfectly happy up in his mountain home well away from her. Even this very minute he could be sharing his bed with that impossibly beautiful mate of his.
    It was more than enough to turn her mood instantly sour.
    “Have I given each of them enough of a chance yet?” she grumbled to Zorin.
    He chuckled and shook his head no. She scowled at him until he spoke. “You haven’t even danced yet. Dance and try the cream cake and we shall see if you’re through.”
    She rolled her eyes. “How many dances?”
    “Three.”
    “One,” she countered.
    He chuckled. “Two.”
    She shook her head no. “One. I will dance with the poor soul brave enough to approach us when no one else will and if he doesn’t step on me I will consider another dance.”
    He grinned wickedly at her. “Fine. You will dance with that boy and then you will dance with me. Then we will eat cake and you’ll announce your engagement to whatever poor sap you’ve decided to marry and then we can be done with this ridiculous charade. Deal?”
    “Deal.” She blew him a kiss before she flounced up to the