Daughter of Azeroth

68 | A DREAM COME TRUE

'Right,' Khadgar said, distracted, as he swept half the paperwork across his desk toward Idira. 'I need a stack for the Horde, and another for the Alliance. Anything from King Anduin's office and Warchief Sylvanas must be at the top. After that—' he leaned across the desk and grabbed a stack teetering on the edge and squashed them down on top of Idira's pile, '—matters of strategy, requests for support, calls for meeting with the Council.' He stood up, his hands on his hips eyeing the two heaps, his and hers. He put a few more onto Idira's pile. He glanced up, barely looking at her. 'Once you've done that, then just use your discretion to sort the rest by priority. Have you got that . . . I apologise, where are my manners, what is your name?'

'Idira Northshire,' Idira whispered, unable to stop herself from watching him as he talked—absorbed in the papers in his hand, utterly oblivious to the torrent of emotions rushing through her—his warm, resonant voice sending a delicious cascade of thrills down her spine. She moved nearer to the desk. His scent enveloped her; leather, smoky earth, spices, cedar.

'Idira,' he repeated, in that voice of his, making her knees weak. 'Wine?' he asked, lifting the pitcher on his desk to fill his silver cup. He turned to look at her. Idira nodded, lowering her eyes, unable to meet his, suddenly excruciatingly, painfully shy. From under her lashes, she watched him conjure another silver cup and pour their drinks, his movements precise, elegant. He handed her the cup. She took it, careful not to touch him, noticing his strong, well-shaped masculine hand, his nails cut square and short. She sipped, suppressing a smile. Wynn would approve.

The wine was excellent. Better than anything she had ever tasted before. She sighed a little as she set it aside.

'Good, isn't it?' Khadgar murmured as he went to get a chair for her to sit at the side of his desk. 'One of the perks of being in the Council. Don't tell anyone I let you have some. It can be our little secret.'

At the thought of sharing a secret with him, Idira felt her cheeks begin to flame. She ducked her head and nodded, letting her hair fall down to shield her face, grateful for the seat he was pushing under her.

He rubbed his hands together, eyeing the mess of papers littering his vast desk. 'Well then,' he sighed, 'shall we get to work?'

From under her lashes, she watched him as he sat down and picked up a handful of documents, his brow furrowing as he sorted through them, preoccupied. He was so close to her. Close enough to touch. A wild, reckless tremor shuddered through her, leaving her giddy. No. It was too good to be true. She had to be dreaming, still confined within her room. She slipped her hand to her thigh and pinched it, hard. A bolt of pain shot through her leg. Just to be sure, she pinched herself again, really hard this time, biting back a cry as a fresh arc of bruising pain sliced through her. She rubbed the sore spot, her heart taking flight, soaring, triumphant, incredulous. She was really here, with him. Alone. Another delicious tremor shot through her as she lifted one of the papers nearest her and stared at the page. She darted a quick look at him, just to reassure herself he was really there, in the flesh. He took a sip of wine, studying a document, his jaw tense as he swallowed. He set aside the paper and picked up another one, cutting an oblique glance at her as he did so. She hastened to look down at the papers in her hands, furrowing her brow, feigning concentration. They were upside down. Mortified, she peeked up, but he hadn't noticed. His eyes raked over the new document, his expression sliding from tense to severe as he read. She sensed a slight change in atmosphere. Whatever he was reading was making him angry. She wondered what it was.

Khadgar set the document aside and took another sip of wine. He continued to look at the words written on it as he ran his hand through his hair, distracted. His silver hair loosened from its neat combing, tousling over his brow, giving his appearance a younger, roguish air. Idira caught her breath, watching him, surreptitious, the expressive curve of his lips and brow betraying the truth: underneath the warrior's hardened exterior lived a poet's unsatisfied yearning for truth, justice and perhaps, at times, beauty.