Master of Dragons Read Online Free

feigned—at least not much. She buried her head in her arms
and sobbed stormily, lifting her head once to cry, “Your brother tried to rape
me! He admitted it! And he killed my father!” Then she gave herself up to the
luxury of hysterics. She felt she’d earned it.
    As she wept,
Evelina expected confidently that Marcus would stop rowing the boat, take her
in his arms, and comfort her. He didn’t. He continued to row. Admittedly, they
were fleeing mad monks and a dragon, but still Evelina felt slighted. Another
man— a true man—would have thrown caution to the winds in order to soothe her
and pet her and try to steal a kiss or slip his hand down her chemise.
    Marcus just kept
rowing.
    Evelina was at a
loss. Hysterics were wearing, and she couldn’t keep this up forever. The prince
obviously wasn’t going to be of any help to her. She’d have to recover on her
own. She let her sobs quiet and risked a furtive glance from under her
tear-soaked arms to see how he was taking it.
    He was rowing
steadily, his eyes fixed on her. He looked uncomfortable. Maybe he was just
shy, unused to women.
    I wonder how
long it will take to reach this home of his? Days, maybe. Days and nights.
    Nights. Alone.
Together. Evelina’s pulse quickened and her breath came fast at the
thought. She would have to be careful with her seduction of her prince, for he
believed her to be a maiden pure, as well as a maiden fair. He must be made to
think that he was the one who had seduced her. Evelina’s dream—dreamt from the
moment she’d first met him this very morning—was to be Her Royal Highness,
Princess Evelina, wife of His Royal Highness, Prince Marcus.
    She knew that
marriage was long odds, however. The royal mistress. She would settle for that.
    Evelina had
already discounted the idea of trying to convince Marcus that she was a baron’s
daughter, kidnapped by Ven, who carried her, fainting, from her father’s
castle. She was pragmatic enough to know that she could never pass for
noble-born. She could neither read nor write. She could not embroider or play
the lute. Her hands were not the smooth, fair hands of one who has never had to
dress herself, never had to wash her own hair or scrub out her own chamber pot.
Princes married farmers’ daughters only in the minstrels’ tales. In real life,
the princes took the farmers’ daughters to be their mistresses. They set them
up in fine houses in the city and gave them jewels and clothes and educated
their bastard sons and made them abbots.
    Evelina resolved
to have the house, the jewels, the bastard son. Maybe not in that order. House
and jewels often came as a result of the bastard son. Her primary goal in all
this was, therefore, to get herself seduced. That was the reason she’d been
urging him to travel downstream, away from his home. The more time she spent
with him, the better. He would not go downstream, so she would have to act
fast.
    Her sobs calmed to
hiccups and she timidly raised her head.
    Her tears made her
eyes shimmer, even if the lids were red. The boat slid along the surface of the
sun-dappled water.
    “Marcus,” Evelina
said, her voice quavering. “I know I am not like the well-born, accomplished
women you are used to being around. My father was a merchant in the city of
Fairefield. Dear man. He was respectable, kind, and gentle. Just not very
practical. My mother died when I was little, and father and I were everything
to each other. I’m sorry I stabbed your brother. I’m a good person. I really
am. Father and I went to church every week. It’s just . . . when I saw Ven ...
I saw my poor father’s body, all crumpled and twisted . . .”
    “Don’t cry,
Evelina. I understand,” said Marcus. “You will have a home to go to. My home.
You saved my life. My parents will welcome you for that.”
    Again, that cool
polite tone. He looked away, searching the bank for any signs of pursuit.
Evelina glowered at him, annoyed.
    “I don’t want your
parents to welcome