Chapter 1: The Dragon's Gilded Lair
Jasmine let the last of the spiced wine slide down her throat, the goblet clinking softly as she set it on the bedside table. The silken pillows cradled her like a conspirator. She stretched, a slow, deliberate act that made the sheer fabric of her gown cling and then retreat from the curves of her body. The chamber was ready. The air, heavy with jasmine and myrrh, practically shimmered with intent. All she needed was the knight.
Right on cue, the door exploded inwards.
Not with a slow, dramatic creak, but with a splintering crash of oak and iron. Prince Alex stood in the ruin of the doorway, chest heaving beneath his polished breastplate, a longsword held ready in his grip. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, swept the room—past the sensual tapestries, over the groaning bed, and landed on her.
He froze.
Jasmine didn’t move. She simply let her emerald eyes travel the length of him, from his mud-spattered boots to the sun-streaked hair falling across his brow. A smile, slow and molten, spread across her lips.
“You’re late,” she said, her voice a husky ripple in the quiet. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost. Or scared.”
Alex lowered his sword a fraction. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, taking in the full, round breasts barely veiled by gossamer, the narrow waist, the generous swell of her hips. It traveled lower, and his breath hitched, just once. There was no fear in his eyes, only a dawning, incredible comprehension.
“The tales,” he said, his voice rough from shouting orders in the courtyard. “They said you were taken by force. In chains.”
“And you believed them?” She chuckled, a low, rich sound. “How delightfully straightforward of you.” She shifted on the pillows, the movement causing the gown to fall open, revealing the proud, thick length of her against her thigh. “The chains were an aesthetic choice. They clashed with the drapes, so I had them removed.”
He took a step inside, his boots silent on the thick rug. He was recovering his composure, that quick wit reassembling itself behind his eyes. “So this is a trap.”
“It’s an audition.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Every princeling from here to the Merrylands has tried to ‘rescue’ me. It’s been unbearably dull. They see the crown, not the woman. They see a prize to be won.” Her smile turned razor-sharp. “I decided to streamline the process. Let the dragon—well, the hired ogre, actually, lovely fellow—weed out the faint of heart. And see what the brave ones do when the prize… isn’t quite what they expected.”
Alex sheathed his sword. The snick of the metal was shockingly final. He began unbuckling his vambraces, his eyes never leaving hers. “And what happens if I fail this audition?”
“You leave. Intact, if you’re polite.” Her gaze dipped to his hands, then back up. “Or you don’t leave at all. I haven’t decided.”
He dropped the vambraces to the floor with a heavy thud. Then the pauldrons. The chestplate followed, revealing a sweat-dampened tunic stretched across a powerfully built chest. “And the criteria?”
“Curiosity,” she said instantly. “Courage, obviously. A lack of tedious, conventional thinking.” She watched him peel the tunic over his head, revealing the rugged, scarred landscape of his torso. A pleasant heat coiled low in her belly. “And hands. I’m very particular about hands.”
He stood before her now, just in his breeches, more magnificent than any statue. He was utterly unafraid. Intrigued. Ravenously so.
“And if I pass?” he asked, his voice dropping to a murmur that vibrated in the space between them.
“Then you get to see what’s behind the curtain.” She lay back, sinking into the silk, her legs shifting apart just enough to be an invitation, a challenge. “Prove yourself worthy, brave knight. Or be conquered instead.”
For a long moment, he just looked at her. He looked at her like a man studying a new map, tracing every contour, every possible route. Then he closed the distance, his knees sinking into the feather mattress beside her. The scent of him—leather, steel, clean sweat—cut through the perfumed air.
His calloused fingers didn’t go to her breasts, or her throat, or any of the places other men had fumbled for first. They hovered, then traced a feather-light path up the inside of her thigh, bypassing the hard, eager length of her, to settle on the sharp angle of her hip bone.
“You orchestrated all of this,” he said, not as an accusation, but with something like admiration. “The kidnapping. The rumors. The trail of clues. Just to find a man who wouldn’t faint at the sight of you.”
“A partner,” she corrected, her breath catching as his thumb swept a slow arc. “Not a man. A partner.”
A grin, wild and untamed, broke across his face. “Well. Here I am.”
His mouth found hers. It was not a gentle, princely kiss. It was claiming and yielding all at once, a hot, open-mouthed exploration that stole the air from her lungs. She met him with equal fervor, her fingers plunging into his hair, pulling him closer. He tasted of adventure.
When he broke away, his lips traveled down her neck, over the frantic pulse at her throat, to finally close, hot and wet, around one taut, pink nipple. She gasped, back arching off the bed.
“Yes,” she hissed, her courtly composure shredding. “Just like that. Your mouth is perfect.”
He chuckled against her skin, the vibration shooting straight to her core. His hand finally, finally closed around her, his grip firm and sure. A ragged moan tore from her. He stroked her, once, twice, his grip perfect, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head.
“Look at you,” he breathed, awe and desire thick in his voice. “You’re magnificent.”
“I know,” she managed, her own hands scrabbling at the laces of his breeches. “Now stop talking and get these off. I need to feel you.”
He obliged, shoving the fabric down, and then he was there, hot and heavy and thick against her. She reached between them, guiding him, not to where he might have expected, but to the tight, clenched heat behind her. His eyes flew open, meeting hers. A question hung there.
She answered it by pulling him closer, the head of him pressing insistently against her. “Here,” she whispered, her voice ragged with need. “I want you here. I want to feel you lose yourself in me.”
With a groan that was pure surrender, he pushed inside.
It was an exquisite, burning stretch. She cried out, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his back, her legs wrapping around his hips to pull him deeper. He moved, starting a slow, devastating rhythm that made the carved bedposts creak in time.
“That’s it,” she chanted, her dirty talk a reverent litany against his ear. “That’s my brave knight. Filling me up so perfectly. You feel incredible. Don’t you dare hold back.”
He was muttering too, nonsense and praise, his face buried in her hair. Every thrust drove a whimper from her lips, every withdrawal a plea. She was close, so close, the coil inside her winding impossibly tight.
Her own hardness throbbed, neglected between them. As if reading her mind, his hand slid down, his fingers wrapping around her in time with his thrusts.
The double sensation shattered her. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and blinding, racking her body with waves so intense they bordered on pain. She screamed his name, her channel clamping around him in rhythmic pulses.
It dragged him over the edge with her. With a final, deep grind of his hips and a hoarse shout, he spent himself inside her, collapsing his weight onto his forearms, his breath hot and ragged against her neck.
The only sound was their mingled, slowing breaths and the faint, enchanted hum of the ivy on the bedposts.
After a long while, he shifted, rolling to his side and pulling her with him, still intimately joined. He looked dazed, wondrous.
Jasmine traced the line of his jaw, satisfaction a deep, warm purr in her chest. She had chosen well.
“So,” Alex said, his fingers drawing idle patterns on the small of her back. “What’s the next part of the plan, Princess? Now that you’ve auditioned me?”
She nestled closer, a cunning smile touching her kiss-swollen lips. “The next part,” she murmured, “involves a bigger bed. A kingdom. And a rather disgruntled ogre who needs his final payment.”
She felt his laugh rumble through his chest. It sounded like the beginning of everything.