House of Dragons (Royal Houses #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,95
princeling.” She grinned. “Meet me at the entrance in an hour. Wear normal clothes.”
He frowned. “What’s normal?”
“Something less… princely.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” His eyes were searching hers. “Am I going to regret this later?”
She stepped backward, toward the exit of the House of Dragons’ training room. “Depends. Can’t you anticipate my next move? Isn’t that what you’ve been training me on?”
“That’s precisely why I am skeptical.”
“Live on the wild side with me,” she said with a wink and then swiftly exited the room, her heart pounding in her chest.
She’d done it. She’d actually asked him out.
36
The Artisan Village
“This is the Artisan Village,” Kerrigan informed Fordham an hour later as they walked casually through Kinkadia.
As promised, he’d worn something resembling normal clothing. He’d replaced the black-and-silver princeling garb with an all-black shirt and pants. His cloak was wool and not silk. At a glance, he looked shockingly… human. But then he’d tilt his chin up just so, and she’d see that he couldn’t completely hide who he was, even under cotton and wool and linen.
“There’s an opera house just there. They have quarterly ballets as well. And there”—she pointed out another street—“they call that Painters Row, as it mirrors the aristocratic row on the eastern side of the valley, but it’s just for artists—drawing, painting, sculpting.”
Fordham drowned in the sights like a man dying of thirst in the desert. His eyes took in everything as they made their way through the village, but he never said a word.
“Over there is where my friend Parris lives. He’s a fashion designer. Very up-and-coming. Only works with the wealthy, but we met years ago when he was in the House of Dragons. So, he still designs for me.”
They passed Parris’s shop with fashionable dresses in the windows.
“He was a Dragon Blessed?” Fordham finally asked.
“Yes. He was scooped up by a woman in Sayair who saw his talent. They trained together for a few years, and then she helped him open up his own boutique in the village.”
“And that’s what you could do?”
She swiftly shook her head. “Oh, no, I have no real talent like that. Plus, I really don’t know what I’m going to do about a tribe. I haven’t heard from Ellerby, and I’ve been so focused on this assassin and Lyam’s murder and training.” She sighed. “I just don’t know what to do.”
“You’ll find someone. You seem to charm everyone you meet.”
She laughed. “Hardly. Most people find me too outspoken. I’m not particularly ladylike.”
“Overrated,” he said.
And she smiled, turning her face away from him. “Well, a problem for another day. We’re here.”
“Here?” he asked and looked up at the location they’d stopped in front of.
“Carmine’s Books.” It was the largest bookstore in the village complete with a large sitting area and stage. Musicians performed on the small stage, and parties were housed inside the store. It was something magical—to be surrounded by books on all sides for an evening.
A sign out front read: One Night Only—A Magical Poetry Experience Unlike Any Other.
Fordham eyes glued to the sign. “You didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?”
But Fordham seemed to have lost all words.
“Tickets,” a man said at the door.
Kerrigan produced her two tickets and passed them to the man, and then she all but dragged Fordham inside. The interior of the bookshop was warm and homey. Candlelight flickered around the room in protected glass cases. Wooden chairs were set up before the stage, which had just one stool and a herringbone wood backdrop. They were offered drinks, which they took, and then found seats in the middle of the room.
“What is this?” Fordham whispered.
“A poetry reading.”
His eyes were warm. The gray almost silver in the candlelight. He placed his hand over hers. Sparks flared at the smallest touch, and she had to make sure that she was still breathing.
“You did this for me?”
She swallowed and nodded. “I saw that you like to write. I thought… that you should see that Kinkadia has something to offer other than fighting. It has art and culture and music. It has poetry.”
Fordham was speechless. She had known him to grow silent when he was irritated or disdainful, but this was altogether different. This was like watching the moon try to capture the sun—hopeful, endless, and impossible.
Kerrigan just smiled at him and withdrew her hand. Fordham still sat in stunned anticipation as the musicians ceased their playing and a woman walked onstage. Carmine gestured exuberantly, sinking into her ample hip, her golden-brown skin almost glowing. And then the reading began.