FIRE NATION

CHAPTER 8

Roseanne climbed onto the low wooden platform for what felt like the hundredth time, head raised and arms hanging away from her sides. She made a half-hearted circle, displaying the latest in a long line of outfits to her audience of one. After five arduous days, during which she had lost count of the times Lalisa had mated with her out of instinct or boredom or both, her heat was finally over. She and Lalisa had been permitted to leave the royal chambers at last, but unfortunately, the Fire Lord's guards had rushed them from one prison to another.

She was now at the mercy of the Fire Nation's finest tailors, a fate that proved much less enjoyable than she had been led to believe. Perhaps it would have been fun to try on pretty clothes if it had been an option instead of an order, and if the Princess hadn't been impossible to please. Roseanne was certain she had been modeling for hours, but Lalisa still wasn't satisfied with anything she wore.

Her hopes were dashed once again when Lalisa gave a frustrated shake of her head. "Still not good enough," she decreed, glaring at the cowering team of tailors in the corner. "Try something else."

Roseanne's shoulders slumped. If Lalisa made her put on one more outfit, she thought she might scream. Before she could protest, however, one of the cringing tailors spoke up. "With all due respect, Princess, could you tell us what you find displeasing about the outfit? Perhaps your knowledgeable opinion will help us make a better selection."

Lalisa narrowed her eyes at the man who had dared to speak. "I don't know. Isn't fashion supposed to be your job?"

"My apologies, Your Highness. I only thought—"

"Oh, shut up," Lalisa snapped. "I don't care what you thought. Just find something that isn't so... formal. She looks like the rest of the boring clods Father paraded in front of me before I picked her."

While the tailors continued bowing and murmuring excuses, Roseanne began stripping off her robes. There was no point in wearing them if Lalisa didn't like them, and they were stiff and uncomfortable on top of everything else. They reminded her of the clothes her parents had forced her and her sisters to wear as children. The sooner I put on something she likes, the sooner we can both get out of here, she thought, trying to boost her spirits. And maybe now that I'm not trapped in her bedroom anymore, I can figure out my next move.

She made to leave the platform and return to the rack of clothing waiting for her, but a sharp order stopped her in her tracks. "Wait." Lalisa left her seat in front of the mirrored wall, prowling toward her with a predatory gait. "This is an improvement."

"But... Your Highness, she's in her underwear," one of the other tailors squeaked.

"I know that. I'm not blind, you idiot. I stand by what I said." A thoughtful look crossed the Princess's face, and Roseanne's stomach churned. Whatever Lalisa was thinking about couldn't be good. "Leave," Lalisa ordered, pointing imperiously at the door. "I want to finish this myself. I'll call you if I need anything adjusted."

The tailors started to file out, although the first gave a weak, lackluster protest. "But Princess..."

"I said out."

He didn't argue further. Soon, Roseanne found herself alone with a mirrored wall, a year's worth of outfits, and her hungry-looking Mistress. "Perhaps seeing you naked for almost a week spoiled me," Lalisa said. Her voice no longer held any annoyance or anger, but it was still almost a growl. "I should have known none of these clothes would do your body justice."

A flush heated Roseanne's cheeks. She didn't know how to respond. Lalisa was trying to compliment her, but she couldn't tell whether the shiver that raced down her spine was one of disgust or desire. I shouldn't still want her, she thought, trying to avoid Lalisa's burning eyes. My heat is over. I don't have any excuse. But the low throb in her belly was sickeningly familiar. She hated to admit it, but perhaps her intense sexual responses to Lalisa weren't only due to her cycle.