The Tailor has been tasked to find the princess... Upon decree from his king, Sebastian, Tailor to the entire kingdom of Dormiraa, embarks on the mission to fetch the Princess Thalia home, her seven year royal trip over. He didn't expect to find her working with clockwork and gears, encased within a coffin of glass. He did not expect the sight of her wild black hair to set his heart to pound, or the flash of her dark eyes would heat his blood. He did not expect he would want her so badly, not when he could never have her. The princess must become the Queen... Thalia has always known she must return to the capital to prepare for the throne. She did not expect her father to send the Tailor to fetch her, or that this man with his extravagant clothes and subtle cosmetics would intrigue her so well. There was something about him, something that spoke of danger and secrets, even as his wicked mouth and knowing eyes made her yearn. However, not everyone desires the princess's return, and when they are attacked and suddenly alone, they can only turn to each other. Will they overcome status and secrets to discover a love for all time?
The discordant note of a missed strike rose from the coffin, followed by a terse mutter. By the Maiden, was the princess cursing?
A sudden, terrible thought occurred. Was it the princess? Surely she wouldn’t curse as if she was a dockworker Maybe his source had lied about the gear worker being the lost princess. Maybe this wasn’t her at all, and he would spend another three months trying to find the erstwhile royal.
No. If it killed him, this would be her. He was not going to waste any more time on this.
So decided, he intoned, “Princess,” in the clear, strong voice he used to quell conversation.
The woman in the coffin—the princess, damn his eyes—started, and a loud clang split the air, immediately followed by one of those deliciously vulgar curses. Pulling out of the coffin, she glared at him.
His breath strangled in his throat. Heat stormed through him, his cock hardening in his too-thin breeches.
Thrice-damned god, but she was arresting.
Wild ebony hair escaped from the band holding it back while furious black eyes pilloried him, full lips pursed in displeasure. Her worker’s clothes revealed more of her form than they should, the homespun shirt opened to the middle of her breast bone. The undyed fabric seemed too rough for such fine skin, the dull off-white hue a contrast with her dusky flesh. The brown leather harness of her trade nipped in her waist and cupped her breasts, while trousers outlined full hips and long legs, the latter encased in knee-high boots of soft brown leather capped with steel.
Quite insanely, he wanted to taste the damp skin revealed by her shirt.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
She had to be the princess. Only royalty could deal such a stare.
“Doing?” he said.
She folded her arms beneath her breasts. He tried not to notice how her action plumped her flesh deliciously through the leather. “Do not come into a workroom and startle a gear worker, especially if she’s wielding tools that could harm her, the object she works on, and your fat head once she recovers herself.”
“My apologies, Princess.” He offered his most charming smile and ignored how the darkening of her scowl made him harder. “I am the tailor, and I have been sent to fetch you home.”