The Dragon Prince's Bride
Chapter 32. On his mind.

Chapter 32: 32. On his mind.

For Barak, it was an encounter he could not get out of his head. It had already been two nights since he came in contact with the sharp-tongued elf and even as he laid awake on his bed yet again like the last two nights, he just could not get her out of his head.

He’d tried. By the gods he had really tried to not think of her but not thinking of her was almost as impossible as not breathing. Because every breath he took in seemed to carry a hint of her shadow in it, and every breath he let out reminded him that he had let her go that night.

He knew holding on to her was not an option and yet he regretted letting her go. He did not want to, but he could not help but regret it. It was just one night, he kept telling himself. Just another of his many nights with a stranger.

He turned and laid on his side, staring out the window, trying not to breathe lest he be reminded of her scent and thought of her again. But he was restless and turned again, this time laying on his back with his hands set as a pillow under his head and his legs stretched out upon the bed and crossed.

He stared blankly at the chandelier above the foot of the bed and her image came to his head again. Standing in that maids clothing with her dagger in her hands.

He brought one of his hands forward, flicked his wrist and a small ball of fire appeared in the air. He twirled his index finger and the ball of fire reshaped into the figure of a woman... That woman. Her hair dancing behind her. He could recreate her figure with his flames, but there were so many things he could not recreate...

The fire in her eyes, the spite in her voice, the tick at her neck when she yelled... All these things he could not recreate with his flames.

"Damn the witch!" He cursed and waved his wrist, causing the flames to dissolve into thin air.

She wasn’t the first stranger he had taken to bed, but she was most definitely the first one who’s scent and silhouette lingered for days. Who’s thoughts clouded his mind.

Why? What was different about her? Nothing... He had told himself repeatedly. She was like every other woman, with the same things other women were built with, so what was different about her that she haunted him so?

He saw a part of her in everything. In the green leaves and grasses he saw her eyes, in the burning flames and red embers he saw her luxuriant long red hair, in the water he drank and bathed with he saw her voluptuous figure twirling beneath him.

It was like he was under a curse.

The harsh crackling sound of fire eating up wood reminded him of the venom in her voice in anger, and in the soothing sound of the harp he could hear her whisper, soft and tender.

He could not help it. He was going mad and all for one woman! An elf for that matter. Why was she on his mind? Why did it seem that the more he tried to forget her, the more he could feel the hotness of her slap, so fresh upon his cheek and the warmth of her vengeful teeth around his ear? Why?

He had sent someone to inquire about her. He could not hold back his curiosity. For all he knew she could have been lying about her name and who she was. But then he had gotten information that there really was an elf named Ria who was the personal maid of the princess.

Aria... They had told him, was her full name. Aria, a beautiful name. But it seemed a little too gentle for a feline like her.

He had said the name over and over in his head and he still wasn’t tired of saying it. Could she have put a spell on him?

What was the reason he couldn’t get her out of his head? Was it a feeling of guilt? Because he had indeed lusted after her body from the very start and like she had said, he had kept her hoping she’d give in, which she did.

Was it guilt that made those soul-seeking green eyes of hers haunt him? Because he had somehow goaded her into doing something she didn’t want to? Was it really guilt? If it was, then how the heck was he supposed to rid himself of it? What did he have to do? The more he thought about it, the harder it became for him to organize his thoughts.

How was he to wash away the guilt? "By taking responsibility for her." It seemed like a little fairy whispered those words into his ear and Barak instantly sat up straight upon the bed as the words played in his head again. By taking responsibility...

"But how do I do that?"

...

In a room, a man was seated behind a huge wooden table. Some pieces of paper were spread across the length of the table. A quill pen rested between his fingers. His long black hair had little strands of gray poking out, an evidence of years well-lived. A small scar ran from his left brow to his ear, and some more scars on his shoulders and arms, an evidence of wars fought.

King Bashan Der Drache lifted his head from his load of work as he heard the door to his chamber being pushed open. There were only a few people who had the audacity to do such. His dear queen who he left back at the Trago kingdom to oversee things while he was away and his children. So he didn’t have to even think too much to know who it was. He brought only one of his children with him.

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