Journey could feel the anticipation in the air. She too was caught up in it, eagerly awaiting her first sight of the prince and princess.
The personalities, hobbies, and adventures of the royal family were often the subject of gossip in Brandusa, so she knew all about the king and queen and their children. But she knew little about the royal family of Viorel, except that they were also supposed to be dragons. And, she realized, she knew barely anything about Prince Lucas, even though he was heir to the throne, other than that he had golden hair and had been abroad for years. But no one had ever mentioned what he was doing abroad or what he was like as a person. Journey hadn’t noticed that before, but now the omission struck her as odd.
Before she had time to wonder about it, a man and a woman stepped on to the platform. Everyone bowed. Hastily, Journey did as well. Then she straightened. She was relatively close to the platform, so she got a good look at the prince and princess.
Princess Raluca was slim and lovely, young but with silver hair. She wore a Brandusan gown, red as blood. The undergown had black sleeves embroidered with silver dragons. She wore a delicate tiara of gold filigree studded with diamonds, and a matching necklace, bracelets, and rings.
Prince Lucas was tall and lean, with broad shoulders filling out his sky-blue tunic embroidered with golden dragons. His features were sharp but handsome, as if they had been chiseled from marble. His hair was as bright as sunlight, and his eyes were the color of amber. He wore a heavy gold chain around his throat, more gold chains wrapped around his wrists, and gold and diamond rings that flashed and sparkled in the light. He had beautiful hands, long-fingered and slim, but strong rather than delicate. They were the hands of a concert pianist, or a sculptor, or a swordfighter.
Guns were banned in Brandusa. The police carried batons and criminals carried knives, and swordfighting was the national martial art. Between Prince Lucas’s hands and the athletic grace with which he carried himself, Journey bet he was an excellent swordfighter.
Journey couldn’t stop looking at Prince Lucas, drinking in every detail and searching for more. First she thought it was because he was royalty. Then she thought it was because he was so stunningly gorgeous, with his extraordinary amber eyes and golden hair. Then she realized that it was because he seemed so sad.
Why would he be sad? Journey thought. He’s the crown prince. He’s gorgeous. He’s rich. He’s powerful. He’s about to marry an incredibly beautiful woman. What has he got to be sad about?
She didn’t even know why she thought he was sad. He didn’t look sad. He was smiling at the crowd. But there was something about him, maybe some tension in his shoulders or tightness around his mouth, which gave her that impression.
It made no sense, but she wanted to comfort him. She wanted to jump on to the platform, grab his hand and feel those strong fingers hold hers tight, and whisper, “Lucas, let’s get out of here! Ditch that princess and run away with me!”
And then she’d see his eyes light up and the sorrow fall away from him, and he’d sweep her into his arms and run away with her. And then he’d take her to some other castle that he just happened to have (well, he was a prince), and tell her he’d fallen in love with her at first sight, and then he’d lay her down on a huge luxurious bed, and make wild and sweet love to her. All night.
Journey shook her head in amusement at her own wild imagination. But she had to admit, she’d enjoyed her silly little daydream. It had made her warm around the heart and hot in some other places, making her realize that she’d been cold for years. She liked to look at guys, sure, but it had been a long time since she’d felt more than a little tingle of turn-on. But a single glance at Prince Lucas had practically made her catch fire inside.
“Welcome, people of Brandusa!” Prince Lucas called out. His voice easily carried across the room; he’d obviously had vocal training. Journey liked the sound of it. He hadn’t lost his accent in his five years abroad. She liked that, too. The Brandusan accent ranked with Irish for sexiness.
“Thank you, people of Brandusa, for welcoming me into your home,” said Princess Raluca. Her voice chimed like crystal, exactly like one might imagine of a princess.
“Please, enjoy the food and drink and dancing,” Prince Lucas went on. “Princess Raluca and I will mingle with you. We regret that we cannot dance and speak and drink with each one of you, but we shall do our best. We thank you for coming to celebrate our engagement and to witness the exchange of rings and vows at midnight. And now—”
Prince Lucas had been scanning the room, his gaze resting first on this person, then on that. As he said the word “now,” his eyes met Journey’s.
His polished speech broke off abruptly. His jaw dropped. And his amber eyes met hers with a force that made her jump. They seemed to brighten until they shone like molten gold. Prince Lucas stared at her with an intensity she couldn’t help reading as passion, as if he did want to grab her and carry her away. As if love at first sight was real, and he’d just fallen in love with her.
Then he broke off eye contact. Looking fixedly away from her, he went on smoothly, “— enjoy the ball!”
Journey fell back to reality with a thud. As if a Brandusan prince would ever fall for an American backpacker! And any man who’d ditch his fiancée for a stranger was a total jerk— Prince Cheater, not Prince Charming.
She’d fallen for Prince Charming Asshole once before. And if there was one vow she’d hold herself to, it was to never make that mistake again.
Chapter Three
Lucas
Lucas had been taught that dragons always knew their mates at first sight. When he’d asked, “But how do you know?” he’d always gotten the unhelpful reply, “You just do.” He’d imagined it as simple recognition, like the difference between seeing a stranger and seeing someone you know.
Oh, he’d imagined thinking. Oh, I know that person. That woman’s my mate.
Then, standing on the platform at his own engagement ball, he saw her.
Mine, his dragon hissed.
Every drop of blood in Lucas’s veins was replaced with liquid fire. He burned with passion, with desire, with a wild and desperate longing.
It was a feeling of recognition, but not like spotting a friend from across the room. It was the kind of recognition that altered your entire being, the kind that made you know in an instant that your life would never be the same, the kind that made you realize what you’d been missing all your days before.
It was like becoming a dragon for the very first time. He had wings. He could fly. He could breathe fire. It was at once revelatory and completely natural. How could he have lived all those years without ever tasting the freedom of the skies? From the first instant of his first flight, even though he’d lived thirteen years without ever flying before, he knew down to his bones that if the power to shift was ever taken from him, he would die of longing for the open sky.
Lucas saw the woman in the gown of twining roses, with her emerald eyes and ruby hair, and knew she was the only one for him. If she would be his mate, he would love and cherish and protect her, treasuring her above his hoard and above his life. If he lost her, his heart would shatter like glass.