The Dragon's Mistress (Dragon Erotica) by Tessa Black

Guinevere was not ready to be married off to
the prince of Dalbin. She was not ready to be a Queen. She wasn't
sure that'd she'd ever be. She was known among the folk of Aspen as
the king's first son—a jibe at her predilection for danger.
Guinevere enjoyed hunting for foxes on her massive black horse
Taerion, as well as archery in the king's field at the crack of
dawn. She preferred spending her time among the spindly trees and
woodland creatures, learning the ways of a simpler, more primitive
life over the ways of a princess. The king and Queen preferred that
she was gone as well; she was prickly, like a beautiful rose with
harsh and unsightly thorns. She was not pleasant company for her
siblings or tutors.
    That is why on the day of the king's
announcement she was as shocked as the rest of the kingdom. She had
only been informed that very morning that she would be marrying
Aden, the prince of Dalbin. She could hear from her window the
cheers from beyond the castle wall's just out in the market square.
Surely, she realized, her father's advisor had just informed them
of the news, which probably meant that the King and Queen still had
hope for a male heir. It was what the subjects wanted to hear.
Bitterly, she thought of her stepmother's expanding stomach and
ripped the necklace she had given her from her neck.
    'To remind you that you are
now a lady ,' her stepmother had said as she clasped it
around her neck on her twelfth birthday.
    She chucked the necklace across the room,
angered by the laws that kept her from ruling Aspen. She was
stronger than most men, and more severe, certainly. But the few
that could get over her delicate features and her narrow waist
couldn't get over her dark hair and round, black eyes, features
that no one in the kingdom possessed but she. They were convinced
she was foreign-born, and there were rumors that lingered in the
market square and on the wineskins of passing travelers that she
had been found on the hunt, the child of a careless forest
nymph.
    What they did not understand was that her
father was gravely ill, and if he didn't have an heir of twelve
years soon, his nasty queen would rule the nation. Her stepmother
had made it clear to her that Guinevere would never rule as long as
she had a say, and that once her father died all her decisions for
Aspen would be based on the interests of the kingdom of her birth,
Heathfurrow.
    Guinevere gripped her arms around her
shoulders and shook with anger. Her long hair trembled against the
tips of her long, slim fingers.
    "I will not submit to this," she hissed,
glaring at the bright sun that cursed her, gracing the hum of
excitement out on the cobblestone of the market's square.

 
    Two days after the announcement Guinevere
made it her mission to corner the royal warlock, Cameron. He spent
much of his time locked away in his wing of the castle, so after
his weekly meeting with the king and his advisors she waited for
him in the corridor before the Warlock's Wing. She waited for him,
her back pressed against the cool, stone wall, in an elegant dress.
It was a deep emerald green that pinched at her waist, broidered
with gold at the low neck and at the bells of the large openings
for her wrists. It was much different from her normal, shapeless,
brown gown, and though she didn't see the Warlock Cameron often,
she was certain he would notice the difference.
    She looked up and smiled to herself when she
heard footsteps echo down the hall. Cameron came down the corridor
and his eyes widened at the sight of her. She couldn't deny that he
looked quite good himself; he was certainly the youngest warlock
the kingdom had ever seen, but nobody knew by how many years. He
was not large, but of good stock, and when he moved she could she
the lines of his hard body beneath his drab, brown robes. She had
seen him grow over the years, from the balcony that hung above the
courtyard where he practiced as an apprentice. Her desire for him
went back as long as she could