Dragonborn (The Jade Lee Romantic Fantasies, Book 1) Read Online Free PDF
Author: Jade Lee
always said before the first step, before even her first dancing breath. And the sound of the words reminded her that this was a task now before her, a persona she donned for the benefit of others.
At least, that's what she told herself.
She began haltingly, sliding slowly out of the curtained alcove, moving awkwardly because she truly was tired, and she hated being forced to dance. Merely for emphasis, she shot both her uncle and Talned a scathing look, one filled with anger and resentment.
Rened responded with a self-satisfied smirk. He knew she was angry, and he mistakenly believed that this enforced activity would bring her one step closer to marrying his son. Talned simply jerked his head toward the governor, telling Natiya to dance for the dignitary and no other. As long as Dag Racho was Emperor, insulting any branch of the government—even a governor bent on reform—could make one dragon-bait.
The music began in earnest.
She intended to dance badly: It was the only way to prove to Talned that he could not command her, that when he forced her to dance against her will, the result was ugly, stilted and ungainly. Eyes open. Body stiff. These were the orders she gave her limbs. These were the thoughts that she chanted over and over in her mind.
The music turned, the melody began, but she heard only the beat of the drum. The low tum was steady, merging with her thoughts, adding tempo and cadence to her chant.
She turned, and the coins and beads of her costume shifted as well, adding another sound. The steady ting was a necessity, demanded of all dancers. But for her, the adornments were tactile, the heavy tap of jewelry against her skin an echo of the drum.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
Her hips shifted. Her back arched.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
Her head fell back as her shoulders swayed. Her arms curled with the melody, lifting and moving, adding form and depth to sound.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
The words of her chant had no meaning now. She heard only sound, felt only the beat while she explored the true expression of muscle and bone.
Stretch, pull, arch, breathe.
All was one. The sound, the movement, the breathing, even her vision melded color and light into a kaleidoscope of harmonies. Dance steps disappeared from conscious thought. Her training faded. The hours of repetition and study meant nothing to her here; all was life and movement and joy.
Joy.
The music swelled. Did she lead it now? Did her feelings pull the harmonies with her? It didn't matter who led and who followed; they had joined, and the beat pulsed on. As Natiya gave form and expression to sound.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum .
Joy!
Chapter 3
Kiril set down his tankard untouched. Great Unity, the girl could dance!
She had started out stiffly, obviously angry with the innkeeper. Her fury had radiated like the sun, and Kiril had been surprised by it. The dancers of his acquaintance welcomed the opportunity to show off their skills and, more to the point, their assets to a wealthy customer. The other wench, Monik was her name, had proclaimed her interest by all but stripping before his very eyes. So when the innkeeper had mentioned his best dancer, Kiril had considered feigning an illness just to escape what would no doubt be an oppressively grotesque display of feminine harlotry.
But disappearing early would not only have been rude, it would also have defeated his primary purpose in coming here: to meet the local population and show himself as a friendly peer who happened to govern them. He wanted to say as loudly as possible that he was nothing like their last money-hungry, power-drunk brute of a governor. And so he had stayed, barely noticing the mediocre music or the girl's obvious hatred.
To make matters worse, she was blond. Who had ever heard of a blond dancer? Truthfully, there were probably many, but those so cursed dyed their hair. Failing that, they at least wore a
At least, that's what she told herself.
She began haltingly, sliding slowly out of the curtained alcove, moving awkwardly because she truly was tired, and she hated being forced to dance. Merely for emphasis, she shot both her uncle and Talned a scathing look, one filled with anger and resentment.
Rened responded with a self-satisfied smirk. He knew she was angry, and he mistakenly believed that this enforced activity would bring her one step closer to marrying his son. Talned simply jerked his head toward the governor, telling Natiya to dance for the dignitary and no other. As long as Dag Racho was Emperor, insulting any branch of the government—even a governor bent on reform—could make one dragon-bait.
The music began in earnest.
She intended to dance badly: It was the only way to prove to Talned that he could not command her, that when he forced her to dance against her will, the result was ugly, stilted and ungainly. Eyes open. Body stiff. These were the orders she gave her limbs. These were the thoughts that she chanted over and over in her mind.
The music turned, the melody began, but she heard only the beat of the drum. The low tum was steady, merging with her thoughts, adding tempo and cadence to her chant.
She turned, and the coins and beads of her costume shifted as well, adding another sound. The steady ting was a necessity, demanded of all dancers. But for her, the adornments were tactile, the heavy tap of jewelry against her skin an echo of the drum.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
Her hips shifted. Her back arched.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
Her head fell back as her shoulders swayed. Her arms curled with the melody, lifting and moving, adding form and depth to sound.
Eyes open. Body stiff.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum.
The words of her chant had no meaning now. She heard only sound, felt only the beat while she explored the true expression of muscle and bone.
Stretch, pull, arch, breathe.
All was one. The sound, the movement, the breathing, even her vision melded color and light into a kaleidoscope of harmonies. Dance steps disappeared from conscious thought. Her training faded. The hours of repetition and study meant nothing to her here; all was life and movement and joy.
Joy.
The music swelled. Did she lead it now? Did her feelings pull the harmonies with her? It didn't matter who led and who followed; they had joined, and the beat pulsed on. As Natiya gave form and expression to sound.
Tum. Tum. Tum. Tum .
Joy!
Chapter 3
Kiril set down his tankard untouched. Great Unity, the girl could dance!
She had started out stiffly, obviously angry with the innkeeper. Her fury had radiated like the sun, and Kiril had been surprised by it. The dancers of his acquaintance welcomed the opportunity to show off their skills and, more to the point, their assets to a wealthy customer. The other wench, Monik was her name, had proclaimed her interest by all but stripping before his very eyes. So when the innkeeper had mentioned his best dancer, Kiril had considered feigning an illness just to escape what would no doubt be an oppressively grotesque display of feminine harlotry.
But disappearing early would not only have been rude, it would also have defeated his primary purpose in coming here: to meet the local population and show himself as a friendly peer who happened to govern them. He wanted to say as loudly as possible that he was nothing like their last money-hungry, power-drunk brute of a governor. And so he had stayed, barely noticing the mediocre music or the girl's obvious hatred.
To make matters worse, she was blond. Who had ever heard of a blond dancer? Truthfully, there were probably many, but those so cursed dyed their hair. Failing that, they at least wore a