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“I don’t doubt your work ethic,” I said, trying to calm her with a bit of kindness, “but I need an assistant to help organize my uncle’s library.” I asked my next question even though I could already guess the answer. “Can you read the Dragon Caste tongue?”
Her face fell.
She looked down at her tear-dampened cloak.
“No.”
I stared at her for so long that I wasn’t even sure if time passed at all. She kept her head down. And I kept my eyes on her.
At long last, I came to my decision.
I am convinced that I will regret this.
I am certain that I am wasting time and money.
I am positive that she will be of no real use to me.
And I am sure that she must stay.
Chapter 5
Wynthea
As Sigwulf led me through the winding halls of his newly inherited castle to my quarters, I tried to figure out if I was dreaming. This seemed way too good to be true. Not only was I no longer engaged to a monster I barely knew, but I had a job! A real opportunity here! When Sigwulf told me the salary, I’d nearly pissed myself. I’d tried to remain calm and professional as I’d told him that the offered compensation would be acceptable to me, but I was pretty sure I’d failed. My cheeks ached from grinning. This will work. I will make it work. I might not have been the most qualified candidate, but I would be the hardest-working one Sigwulf ever could have imagined.
Relief mingled with joy, warming me from the inside out as I followed Sigwulf. A wave of giddy affection for my new employer rolled through me. He’s a really good man. He didn’t have to give me a chance. He didn’t have to help me…
My eyes tracked over his form as we walked. His impressive wings seemed to stay half-folded most of the time, the bones jutting up over his shoulders, the long swaths of winged flesh mostly tucked behind his back. The skin of his wings looked incredibly smooth, but not thin or delicate. Like buttery but highly durable leather. I clutched at my cloak and bag, fighting the urge to reach out and stroke the nearest branch of bone under the skin of his wing.
I wonder who makes his clothing…
The white shirt he wore was customized to give space for his wings to emerge. It was the same for his britches, which allowed his long, thick green tail to sweep the floor behind him as he walked. If it weren’t for the wings and tail, from the back like this, he’d almost look human. Sure, he was taller and broader than any human man I’d ever seen. But the roughly-hewn block of his muscled form was entirely familiar in its masculine shape. You don’t need to be a human to be a man, I suppose. Even the wings and tail were beginning to grow familiar, too. Becoming less foreign every moment.
Sigwulf’s finely-crafted black shoes made the most hypnotic sound on the stone as we walked through shadows dispersed by the occasional torch. A dulled, velvety click for each step echoed off the walls until I felt as if I were wrapped in a tingling melody. The rhythm of his footsteps never faltered or changed; each step was precisely measured and identical to the one before. I found myself stepping more softly just so I could hear that sound more clearly. So that I could let it shiver through me.
Goosebumps rose on my bare arms, and my eyes fluttered closed. The sound of his footsteps seemed to grow louder with my eyes shut. More powerful. A physical touch tickling the sensitive skin of my ears. A drumbeat in my chest.
That drumbeat exploded, knocking the wind out of me. My eyes flew open as I reeled backwards from sudden impact. Two huge hands closed around my upper arms to steady me.
Could I be any more mindless? I almost knocked down my new employer because I was walking with my eyes closed!
Not that I could have knocked him down if I tried.
My breath tore in and out of me, my heart racing. I stared straight ahead. At the V-shaped neckline of Sigwulf’s white shirt, the fabric bunched and opened, allowing me a glimpse of muscled green chest.
“Are you alright?” came a throbbingly deep question from above my head.
Look up. Look up! Stop ogling his chest, you madwoman!
I wrenched my head up, nodding.
I was closer to him than I’d ever been. For the first time, I noticed the colour of his sharp pupils in the black wells of his eyes. Despite their nearly-knifelike shape, the colour was soft. Warm. The amber shade of pure sapflower honey.
We stood silent and still apart from our breathing. I grew aware of just how big and warm his hands were on my arms. He held me firmly but didn’t clutch at me too hard. Warmth bloomed outward, up my arms then into my shoulders and chest.
Sigwulf’s eyes dipped ever-so-briefly to my mouth. I might have been mistaken because the movement was barely more than a tremor, but I also thought I felt his fingers tighten against my skin.
“Are you alright?” he asked again.
