Grabbing her book and ignoring her growling stomach, she turned and stormed from the cavern.
* * *
Gwenvael leaned back in his chair, his hand under his shirt so he could scratch his chest. The other hand rubbed his forehead where the fruit had made a rather unpleasant temporary dent. “So what is your obsession over this human female, brother?”
“She’s…” Briec struggled for words.
“Strange?”
Briec frowned. “Compared to what?”
His brother had a point. No one in the dragon world ever referred to the Gwalchmai fab Gwyar kin as normal.
“She doesn’t trust me,” Briec added.
“That one trusts no one.”
“Fearghus’ mate trusts him.”
So that’s what this is about. He’d wondered about Briec’s sudden interest in a human female. Now he knew. He wanted what Fearghus had. But what Fearghus had with Annwyl was special. Very, very special. “That’s different, Briec. Annwyl is…well…Annwyl. And would you start using her name.”
“Why? She’s of no consequence to me.”
More like Briec still hadn’t forgiven her for backhanding him during one of her rages. As far as Briec was concerned—the most powerful human queen known to this world in the last ten thousand years didn’t exist for him.
“But you still want what Fearghus has.”
Briec looked up from the bowl of fruit in front of him, horror written all over his face. “Good gods! I’d rather remove my eyes than spend a minute in that woman’s bed.”
Gods, his family could be literal.
“I don’t mean you want Annwyl, idiot. I mean you want the kind of relationship Fearghus has with Annwyl.”
Briec shrugged and went back to his fruit. He chose two. “He does seem…”
“Happy?”
“As much as Fearghus can be.” True. No one referred to Fearghus the Destroyer as the life of anyone’s party. Their grandfather, Ailean, still held that title. Even Gwenvael hadn’t quite managed to pass that old bastard’s excesses. Of course all that was before Ailean met their grandmother—Shalin, Tamer of Ailean. A title well earned and held until her final days.
“Look, Briec, if you want anything close to what Fearghus has, you’ll have to change some…things.”
“But she hasn’t even seen my den yet.” Briec grabbed a hunk of cheese and bread. “She might like it.”
Gwenvael struggled not to slap his older brother in the back of the head. Although he and Briec were close—no matter how much they fought—he still found him frustrating. Mostly because his arrogance could fill up an entire city.
“I meant you’ll need to change some things about you.”
“Me? Change? For her?” Now Briec leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Why would I change for a human? Any human?”
“If you want to be between her legs without her crying and praying for death, you better change.”
“What am I doing wrong?”
“Everything.”
“Specifics, brother.”
“Telling her she belongs to you when you haven’t even bed her yet is always a bad idea.”
“Why? She does belong to me by dragon law.”
Silently, Gwenvael sighed. This would take longer than he thought. Briec could be so stubborn. Almost as bad as their father.
“Dragon law only works, brother, if you want her as your slave. If that’s what you want, then throw our laws in her face at every opportunity. But if you ever hope to have her bed you willingly the way Annwyl does Fearghus—and from what I’ve been able to figure out, she drains his c*ck dry—then I suggest you take another tack.”
“Are you saying I have to seduce her?”
Gwenvael stared at his older brother. “What did you think? She’d be so grateful for your rescue; she’d drop to her knees to service you?”
Briec fell silent for a moment, then he answered honestly. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was expecting that.”
Gwenvael shook his head. “It amazes me we have the same blood.”
Returning to the fruit and cheese in front of him, Briec muttered, “It amazes me I didn’t strangle you at birth. And why am I eating fruit? Where’s that horse?”
* * *
Arzhela stared down at the bowed golden head of her favorite loyal servant. Unlike that bitch, Talaith, Hamish of Madron came to her of his own free will. He wanted power and she could provide it…as long as he remained loyal to her.
As always, and like a good dog, he came when called.
“The time has come, my son.”
As was proper, he did not raise his eyes to look upon her. So she couldn’t see his face, but she could sense his smile, she made sure he understood—with her victory would come his power and ascension. “But there is much to be done. Is all prepared?”
“Nearly, my goddess. My best warriors have been dispatched to track down that peasant. And my army is nearly assembled. A few more details and we’ll be ready for your command.”
“Good.” She reached down and like her favorite hunting hound, she petted his head. “I know you will not fail me.”
“Never. My life is yours, m’lady. It has always been yours.”
She grinned and she knew he couldn’t see her fangs. “I know, child. I know.”
* * *
Another set of books dropped at Talaith’s feet. She cringed. “Éibhear!”
He stopped. “What?”
“I think I have enough books.”
“You sure?”
Talaith glanced around at the piles and piles of books that now surrounded her. Perhaps thirty books altogether. “I’m sure.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” He stared at the books, a deep frown on his handsome face. Clearly he didn’t feel confident she had enough to entertain her. Exactly how long did he think she’d be staying?
“Mind if I join you then?”
“Uh—” was all she managed before Éibhear, grinning, grabbed one of the books and sat on the floor, leaning against her chair.
“It’s nice that you’re here, Lady Talaith.”
Talaith barely stifled her laugh at the title he’d given her, knowing the blue dragon was being sincere. “Thank you, Éibhear.”
“Are you very miserable?”
Truth be told, she wasn’t miserable at all. Uncomfortable, yes. A tad wary, absolutely. And the sounds of Briec and Gwenvael constantly fighting had begun to seriously wear on her frayed nerves. But, other than that, she was hardly miserable.
Some might actually interpret her current feelings as rather…contented. Although that made no sense to her. Trapped in a cave with three human-eating dragons—she should be terrified beyond all reason.
But she wasn’t.
“Lady Talaith?”
Smiling, she reached over the arm of the chair and patted one of Éibhear’s enormous shoulders. “I’m not miserable, Éibhear. And you don’t have to call me lady. I’m not, actually.”
“Aren’t Nolwenn witches royalty?”
Now she did laugh. “Hardly. We’re very political, that’s true. We’ve been the advisors of many kings and queens over the centuries. But no Nolwenn witch born has been of royal blood.”
“Ah. Well, you still seem like royalty to me.”
“You’re very sweet.”
“I know.” He leaned his head back so he could look at her, his blue hair falling across her arm and legs. “I’m the nice one.”
“Are you now? And Gwenvael? Which one is he?”
“He’s the whore.”
Enjoying the conversation immensely, Talaith relaxed back in her chair, her legs tucked up under her. The wool dress she wore had been waiting for her on a chair beside her bed when she woke up that morning. She didn’t know which brother left it for her, and she wasn’t about to ask…but even she had to admit it looked wonderful on her. “And Briec?”
“The warrior.”
Unable to stop herself, she snorted. “Is he? Really?”
Éibhear eagerly turned around so he could rest his arms on Talaith’s lap and lean in close. By the Dark Gods of Fire, she’d never seen arms that large before. “Really. He’s fought great battles for many years.”
“And who did Briec battle? Some of my poor fellow humans?”
Solemnly, Éibhear answered, “To be honest, Briec doesn’t consider fights with humans as battles. I think he sees that more as hunting. Or a snack that runs.”
“What a lovely thought.”
“My brother’s battled other dragons. Those who would dare challenge our mother’s throne. And he’s never been defeated. Not once. They’ve written songs about his conquests and…uh, Talaith that really hurts.”
Talaith looked down to see she’d reached over and gripped a handful of Éibhear’s hair. “Oh. Sorry.” She released him, absently petting his head. “Did you say your mother’s throne?”
“Aye.”
“Your mother is, um, the Dragon Queen?” One of the most brutal and powerful killers in the known world and Talaith somehow ended up in her children’s laps. Good one, Talaith.
“Aye. Queen Rhiannon of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar. First Born Daughter of Queen Addiena. First Born White…”
“So,” she cut him off before the litany of his mother’s titles forced her to stab herself in the neck, “you’re actually Prince Éibhear.”
“I guess.” He rested his head on her lap and instinctively Talaith dragged her hands through his blue hair, which no longer seemed that strange a thing to do.
“And Briec is Prince Briec?”
“Aye.” He snuggled in closer, his eyes drifting shut. “Now don’t you feel special, Lady Talaith? You’ve been kidnapped by royalty.”
Chuckling, Talaith continued to stroke Éibhear’s hair. “Oh, aye. This entire kidnapping takes on a whole new meaning, my friend.”
Éibhear sighed, relaxing into her. “My mother used to do that.”
“Do what? Be sarcastic?”
“No, no. No one does that quite like you. I mean—” He yawned. A big one. “She used to stroke my head like you’re doing.”
“She doesn’t anymore?”
“No. She says I’m too old.” His voice began to fade.
“Perhaps, but that’s no worry to me, now is it?”
He didn’t respond and she leaned over to see Éibhear had fallen dead asleep.
Smiling, she relaxed back and started to again read her book while gently stroking Éibhear’s head.
* * *
At first he’d felt nothing but intense jealousy while he stayed back in the shadows and watched the pair. Especially when his little witch began petting his baby brother’s head like that. But Éibhear’s words humbled him. He didn’t know his little brother thought so highly of him. Or bragged about him so. And, of course, seeing Talaith’s face when she found out they were royalty…well, one really couldn’t put a price on that.