“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. Eat.”
Bram glanced down at himself. “I’m . . . nak*d.”
Ghleanna nodded, bit into a juicy piece of fruit.
“And when did that happen?”
“No idea.” She held out another piece of fruit. “Must say, though . . . I do like you nak*d.”
He took the treat from her hand. “Thank you. For the fruit and the compliment.”
“You’re welcome.”
They ate in silence for a while, Bram busy trying not to stare. Gods, she was beautiful.
“Do you have much work to do today?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so. I heard from Rhiannon.” When Ghleanna frowned, he added, “Something to do with her increasing powers. Which are, I must admit, becoming daunting.”
“She’d been held back a lifetime because of her mother. She has much time to make up for.”
“I guess.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Rhiannon’s grandmother had that level of power and she managed it fine.”
“And Bercelak’s there for balance. A rational thought in the chaos of Rhiannon’s mind.” Ghleanna raised a brow at that and Bram shrugged. “I’ve never doubted the good your brother brings to our young queen’s reign. I merely wish they wouldn’t stick me in the middle of whatever they like doing. It’s off-putting.”
“Then you shouldn’t keep hugging her.”
“It’s not me!”
Ghleanna laughed, bit into another fruit, and Bram noted, “You have your appetite back.”
“Had I ever lost it?”
“It was definitely diminished for a while there.” Ghleanna stared at him for a moment. “You were very worried about me, weren’t you?”
“Sword through the chest,” he said. “That may be normal for your kin, but not mine.”
“You and your lot—sit around drinking wine and discussing important things, I bet.”
“You’d be wrong. We sit around, drink wine, and argue. A lot.”
“Argue? You?”
“Raised to argue. Both my parents are lawmakers, and no Dragon Law is created without much discussion, debate, and arguing. Sometimes a fist fight, but those are rare—and never very impressive. Almost sad.”
Ghleanna shook her head. “And all your kind do it? Argue, I mean.”
“My mother can find reason to argue about a grain of sand. And my father doesn’t think a meal is complete unless someone proclaims, ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Where’s your proof to that statement?’ I don’t mind so much now.” He sighed. “It was a little overwhelming, though, when I was only eight winters. My wings hadn’t even unfurled.”
“Me and mine . . . we argue. But to back up your statement Cadwaladrs just need to be willing to take a claw to the face. Or a shield.”
“Aye. I remember that.”
Ghleanna blinked, frowning. “You were at our dinners?”
There was a pause and then Bram demanded, “Was I entirely invisible to you?”
“Well . . . not entirely.”
Deciding it was time to get to work, Bram began to get up. But Ghleanna caught his arm, her laughter annoying him even more.
“I’m teasing,” she said, pulling him back. “I swear.”
“Isn’t it bad enough I assumed you’d always ignored me? Now I find out I was just invisible to you.”
“That’s not true.” She put the tray of half-eaten food on the floor before taking his hands in hers. “I noticed you, Bram.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not. But you were a bit younger than me.”
“Only by half a century or so.”
“And I thought you liked my sister.”
“Maelona?”
“Yes. Maelona. Pretty, shy, insecure, scar-free Maelona. That Maelona.”
And she sounded wonderfully jealous.
“And you can stop smirking,” Ghleanna told him.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.” But he was an adorably cute liar. “Look, I just never thought—”
“I was good enough?”
Aghast, Ghleanna said, “That’s not true!”
“It is.” Bram stretched out on his side. “All the Cadwaladrs are the same.”
“All the same what?”
“Snobs. You’re all snobs.”
Ghleanna’s mouth fell open.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“We are snobs?”
“Snobs. Big snobs. If one can’t handle a sword or an axe—not worthy.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. And what does your brother call me? The thinker? As if it’s a disease. An ailment I need to be cured of.”
“You can’t listen to Bercelak. He’s a mean bastard and he treats everyone as if they have ailments in need of cure.”
“Snobs.”
“We are not. We’re not of royal blood.”
“Snobs.”
“We’re just poor warriors.”
“Who are snobs. It’s all right, though.” He reached over and patted her hand. “You don’t know any better.”
“You condescending—”
“Now, now. No need to get nasty.” He smiled. “I like you despite your snobbery.”
“Do you?”
“You don’t know?” He caught her hand, held it. “Really?”
“I know I’m not an easy She-dragon to . . . not fear.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Ghleanna. I’ve never been afraid of you. To be quite honest . . . I think you’re amazing. I always have. Since the first time you ignored me.”
“I didn’t ignore you then.” She stretched out on her side, the two of them facing each other. “And I can assure you that I’m not ignoring you now.”
Ghleanna bit her lip and asked, “So when do you have to work on your precious truce?”
Bram reached for her, his hand slipping behind the back of her neck. “Not for days.”
“Don’t you mean hours?”
He tugged her close, their lips almost touching. “No, Ghleanna, I mean days. Minimum. I’ve been waiting a very long time to—”
“My Lord Bram?” a voice from outside the door said.
Bram fell back on the bed. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.”
And that’s when that Lord Kleitos idiot opened the door without invitation. He grinned when he saw the pair nak*d and nearly entwined on the bed.
“So very sorry to interrupt, my Lord, but the Empress asks for your immediate attendance.”
“Right.”
Kleitos stood there, the silence in the room stretching, until he pushed, “Now, my Lord.”
And that’s when Ghleanna charged off the bed and tackled the Fin into the far wall. She clasped her hand around his throat and squeezed. She felt water begin to pour from his skin and she warned, “I’ll snap your neck before you’ll have a chance to shift.”
Kleitos settled back and Ghleanna explained, “Lord Bram will be along when he’s dressed and ready. You will no longer just walk into this room without invitation. And, if you can manage it, stop slithering around. I find it nauseating.”
Ghleanna pulled Kleitos away from the wall and pushed him out the door and onto the walkway. “Now tell your Empress that Lord Bram will be there shortly.”
She released him and Kleitos rubbed his neck, glaring at the two guards outside her door.
“And you do nothing?” he demanded.
Demetrius shrugged. “Our orders are quite specific, Chancellor—”
“Never mind!”
Kleitos stormed off and Ghleanna cracked her neck. “Slithering bastard,” she muttered, before heading back into her room.
As she passed the two guards, Anatolios winked at her.
Ghleanna closed the bedroom door, but the bed was empty. It wasn’t a large room, so she had no idea where Bram could have gone.
Ghleanna walked around the bed, stopped, and placed her hands on her hips.
“Bram the Merciful! Stop laughing and get off the floor. The Empress awaits!”
Chapter 12
Ghleanna had just finished pulling her shirt over her head when the bedroom door opened and the ruling monarch of the Fins walked through—without even a knock!
Even Rhiannon didn’t do that.
“Oh. I thought Bram would be here.”
Helena knew damn well Bram wasn’t here because she’d been the one to order him to some ridiculous Senate meeting or whatever, but the royal wanted to play games. The kind of games many She-dragons played. She-dragons other than Ghleanna.
“He’s in a Senate meeting, I think.”
“That doesn’t start for another hour at least,” Helena stated.
Then why did she order him to the Senate right away? Or was that demand simply Kleitos being a twat? Probably both.
Fighting a sigh, “Perhaps the library then. But is there something I can do for you, my Lady?”
“No, no. I just need to talk to him. Do you know which library?”
Ghleanna dropped her boots on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed so she could tug them on with her free hand. Bram had insisted on tying her arm down before leaving her. “There’s more than one?”
The Empress sighed and began to move about the room. “Are you enjoying your stay with us?”
“I’m glad I’m healing. Glad I’m breathing. So I guess I’m enjoying it.”
“I’m having most everyone stay in their human form. Just for you.”
Ghleanna fell back on the bed and lifted her leg up in the air, the boot half on and half off. She struggled to tug the tight leather on while trying to have this ridiculous conversation.
“That’s quite nice of you, my Lady. But it’s not necessary. I can hold me own in whatever form I’m in.”
“Really?”
Once she had the boot on, Ghleanna sat up. She grinned, shrugged. “It’s a skill. I am a Cadwaladr after all . . . my Lady.”
The Empress stepped closer. “So you and Bram . . . you’re very close?”
“We are.”
“But you have no claim on him, yes?”
“No. I have no claim on him.” Ghleanna held the other boot in her hand and looked up at Helena. “But I haven’t had him tortured and beaten either, which kind of puts me in the lead . . . don’t you think, my Lady?”
Those strange-colored eyes narrowed, that back straightened, “Excellent point. Then again my father doesn’t have an entire forest of books on his past conquests. My, my, you must be proud,” she sneered. “Being the daughter of Ailean the Slag.”
A few months ago, the Empress’s head would have been ripped off and thrown against the wall, but not only had Ghleanna had a sword shoved into her chest by an ex-lover— something that often changed one’s perspective on the little things—but with all this time on her claws she had been thinking a lot about Bram’s words to her right after they’d left her parents’ castle. Her father’s life, his past, was not her own.