The Dragon's Match

XXXVI

They both halted, his body a mere inch from hers, and she swallowed away the tremor that began to course over her skin. Between them, she felt the air charged, her mark burning against the flesh of her arm. "What are you talking about?" she demanded in a voice that could scarcely be called more than a croak.

His head tilted to the side, a particularly curious glint in his eyes. "Why, things I like about this realm, of course."

Perhaps he had lost his mind, or she was slowly losing hers, either way she needed space. His touch, his closeness, was doing things to her that she couldn't afford, couldn't allow. Whatever the cause of his unexpected interruption, she needed it to end. "What do you want, Aëghan?"

Behind him, she spied Della running her mud-caked fingers over the titles of her prized collections of books that ran the span of one darkly panelled wall.

Aëghan, however, ignored her question entirely. Instead, a devilishly wicked smile crooked one corner of his lips to the side as he considered her from his vast height. "But what I think I like most," he enunciated clearly, "is the human tendency to contrive silly and binding documents that stand to be altered by magic. Easily, I may add."

Dear God, he must be foxed. She placed a hand on his chest, intending to edge him away from her and successfully place some distance between them, but he covered her fingers with his so quickly she froze instead. "Where is your father's will, Lillian?" he asked softly, all levity evaporated from his demeanour so suddenly she swayed for it.

"My father's will?"

"The irksome document that states you and your sister have to marry to be consider worthy to inherit what's rightfully yours?"

She could only study her pale fingers encased under his as they splayed against the silken muscles of his chest, enchanted momentarily by the look of her small hand against his much larger form. But his words did finally register against her addled mind, and she glanced at him sharply. "Why?"

He made an impatient sound, stepping away from her and dropping her hand. He made a gesture to Della. "Allow us to verify the magical imprint on the document," he urged. "If it has been forged, you can be released from your marital duties to Ravensfield by obtaining an official search of your cousin's premises for the original, unaltered document."

Again, it took several long moments for his words to register, and when they did her eyes widened. It was testament to just how much Lillian did not desire marriage- how her heart lurched at the revelation, her legs suddenly spurred to action as she raced around her desk. For an iota of time, she entirely forgot about the naked male in her study, about the filthy seer streaking dirt trails over the spines of books worth a fortune, and her hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders as she bent at the waist to key the last drawer of the desk.

The drawer that was secured to contain Ravensfield's most pivotal and confidential documents.

It was easy enough to locate the parchment that contained her father's final decrees, so creased and used from tedious perusals that it stood out amongst the others, and she slapped it upon the wooden surface of the desk.

Then she glanced at Dellanae, too hopeful, too scared to believe it could be possible, that such an alternative could exist in her favour.

The seer grinned toothily, completely unperturbed that Lillian was positively bristling with nerves and anticipation at the prospect that her main concern could dissipate into the air as if it never existed to begin with.

She wouldn't need to marry- no one would vie for a role as the next Ravensfield duke under the aspirations of winning her favours. No more false and tedious courtships, no more hopeless men calling upon the estate in vain attempts to catch her attention, and that meant-