“I love you,” he said. Then he was gone.
Morfyd had no idea how long she stood there, gazing at the spot he’d been standing in like some kind of lovesick child. He loved her? He’d not said it before now, and she knew he wouldn’t have said it unless he meant it. And, tragically, she loved him as well. Could either of them be more foolish? Taffia tugged at her elbow. “My lady? Your mother.”
“Yes, yes.”
To say she was in no mood to see her mother would be an understatement, but she had no choice. Quickly donning her witches’ robes, Morfyd dashed down to the first floor, through the Great Hall, and out into the courtyard. They’d expanded the size of the courtyard nearly two years ago to accommodate the comings and goings of dragons, and most of the humans were quite used to them now. But none were used to the Dragon Queen. Her mere presence brought out the dragonfear in nearly all the humans who served Annwyl.
Morfyd watched as her mother landed. Beside and behind her were the loyal dragon guards who protected the Dragon Queen with their very lives. Not an easy task when her mother insisted on shifting to human and demanding of all that could hear, “So where’s the whore?”
Briefly closing her eyes, trying to rein in her rarely shown temper, Morfyd said, “Stop calling her that.”
“Well, that’s what she is, isn’t she? The whore who betrayed my son?”
“Why do you refuse to believe she carries Fearghus’s babes?”
“Because it’s impossible.”
“Of all beings, Mother, you should know that anything is possible once the gods are involved.”
A panicked scream sounded and Morfyd stomped her foot at the sight of one of Rhiannon’s guards holding a stableboy in his mouth.
Frustrated, Morfyd snapped, “Mother!”
Her mother huffed impatiently. “Fine. Fine. Put him down, Cairns.”
“But my queen”—the dragon guard whined around a mouthful of screaming human—“I’m hungry.”
“Then go to the clearing and get a cow or something. But put him down!”
The human, rudely spit out, rolled across the courtyard grounds. Morfyd signaled to Taffia, and her trusted assistant went to care for the poor boy.
“Now where is she?” her mother snapped. “Where is the whore of Garbhán Isle?”
“I can’t believe you’re still not talking to me.”
“And I can’t believe you wouldn’t bring my dog.” Dagmar waited until Gwenvael settled in a clearing no more than a league or so from their destination—if she was guessing correctly—before she slid off his back. She tried to walk away, but her legs wouldn’t hold her steady and she had to grab onto the dragon’s neck to keep from falling to her knees.
“Gods!” Gwenvael growled, ignoring her discomfort. “Are we here again?”
“Yes! We are here again. You saw how upset he was!”
“Woman, he’s a dog! And I am not a beast of burden to carry your pets around.”
“He’s more than a pet. He’s my companion and protects me.”
“I’ll protect you now.”
“And somehow that gives me so little ease.”
The dragon moved away and Dagmar stumbled, almost falling. But his tail landed against her ass, keeping her upright … and taking liberties!
“Oh!” She planted her feet firmly, reached back, and slapped at his exploring tail. “Stop molesting me with that thing!”
“I’m not. I was merely helping you stand.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then why is it between my legs?”
“You moved.”
Feeling her strength return right along with her annoyance, Dagmar stepped back and raised her foot, slamming it down on the tip.
“Ow! Evil barbarian viper!” He rose on his hind legs, his front claws grasping his tail. “You are aware this is attached to me?”
“Yes. That’s how I knew it was taking liberties!”
Gwenvael put the tip in his mouth, sucking it as she might suck on her finger after slamming it in a door. They scowled at each other, neither speaking. Then his gaze drifted and he said. “I know that city.”
Dagmar looked out over the ridge, exhaled. “The great city of Spikenhammer. I’ve always wanted to come here. They have the most amazing library that you’ll find anywhere in the Northlands.”
“Spikenhammer,” he sneered. “Could that name be more obvious?” The dragon abruptly dropped his tail and frowned, “Wait. I don’t understand. I thought we were going to a monastery.”
“Why would I go to a monastery?” She pointed at the big city she’d always heard about but had never been to. “We’re going there.”
“But you told your father—”
“I lied. He never would have let me come here, with or without him.” She headed down the ridge, eager to reach the city. “We have a bit of walking, so you’d best hurry.”
“What else have you lied about?” he yelled after her.
Dagmar laughed. “You’ll have to be much more specific than that, I’m afraid.”
The guards told him his mother had arrived, but he would have been able to tell without the notification. He could hear the yelling throughout the castle.
He stepped into the Great Hall and saw the two females standing toe to toe. Because neither female would let the other finish a sentence, Fearghus had no idea exactly what they were arguing about, but it was definitely heated and poor Morfyd was caught in the middle as always, trying desperately to calm the situation.
His mother towered over the other yelling female, but that didn’t make the smaller one back down—and she wouldn’t. Fearghus had learned that about her shortly after meeting her, and, at the moment, he appreciated it.
And while the two females argued, no one noticed him as he crouched down next to the chair of the woman he loved.
“What did I miss?” he murmured, his lips brushing against Annwyl’s cheek.
“Not sure. I walked in, your mother took one look at me, and it simply blew up from there. They talk over each other, so I’m not sure what they are saying. But Talaith does seem quite angry,” Annwyl said.
Fearghus chuckled, enjoying the way his brother’s mate, Talaith, practically dared his mother to turn her into a ball of flame. “I’m glad she’s handling it. I wouldn’t be nearly as nice.”
“Let your mother say what she wants about me, Fearghus. I don’t care.” It was true, Annwyl didn’t care. Not like she used to. Not like the Annwyl he remembered, who, Gwenvael once said, “would fight her own shadow if she thought it was getting a little haughty.”
But his mate, his consort, was tired. At twenty-nine winters, she shouldn’t be so tired. Even heavy with twins, she shouldn’t be this tired. Circles under her eyes, lines around her mouth. She wasn’t aging, so much as … He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was wrong. And it terrified him.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” He motioned to one of the servants standing around, watching the sideshow. “I’ll be up in a bit and we’ll nap together.”
“Your mother is here for a reason. I should find out why.” She looked down at her hands resting on the table. They were strong, capable hands that had many scars and had done much damage over the years. “But I just don’t care, Fearghus.”
“And you shouldn’t. I’ll handle it. So will Morfyd.” He kissed her forehead, stepped back, and helped her out of the chair. Handing her off to the servant, he said, “Take her to our room and make sure she has everything she needs. Then return here. Make sure you close the door to our room when you leave.”
A smile teased Annwyl’s lips. “That was awfully specific, Fearghus.”
“You like when I’m specific. Now go.”
Leaning against the table, he first watched Annwyl make her slow, laborious way up the stairs. When she disappeared down the hall, he turned his attention to his mother and Talaith.
“What did I miss?” Briec asked, stepping up beside Fearghus.
“The arrival of our mother.”
“Talaith’s in a fine spitting rage … Mother call Annwyl a whore again?”
“Don’t know.” Fearghus glanced at his brother. “What happened to your face?” The gash went from his cheek down under his chin, and his bare chest and black leggings were covered in dirt and blood.
“My daughter.”
Fearghus flinched. “By the dark gods—you didn’t get in the training ring with her, did you?”
“I had to make sure Brastias was right before I ever talk to her mother.”
“And?”
Briec smirked. “I’m sure.”
“I could have told you that myself.” He handed his brother a rag lying on the table. “Blood’s dripping.”
Pressing the rag to his face, Briec said, “I heard from Gwenvael this morning.”
“And?”
“There’s a cult from the Ice Lands coming for Annwyl.”
“The Ice Lands?” He’d heard people lived there but could never imagine anyone surviving that horrible terrain. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot then. We’ll alert our troops near the Outerplains—”
“He thinks they may be traveling underground.”
Wonderful. Fearghus exhaled and briefly closed his eyes. “Has luck deserted us completely?”
“No. But nothing’s ever easy. Not for us. Don’t worry, though. We’ll take care of it.”
“We will?”
“Gwenvael had a suggestion; I agreed it was good, so we set Éibhear to do the rest.”
“Why Éibhear?”
“Father never hits him.”
“Gwenvael’s grand plan involves Father?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it under control.”
Fearghus doubted it, but he was in no mood to argue and was simply grateful his siblings had stood behind him and Annwyl during all this. They were an annoying lot, but they were his.
The servant appeared again at the bottom of the stairs, indicating he’d done what Fearghus bid. Knowing Annwyl was resting and out of hearing range, he straightened, motioned his brother back a bit, and swung his fist overhead, bringing it down on the table. The table splintered and buckled where his fist landed. Both Rhiannon and Talaith jerked back from one another, Talaith with her dagger now in hand and Rhiannon with a spell on her lips.
“You come here,” he said to his mother, keeping his voice low and barely controlled, “and call my mate a whore, and then you’re upset you don’t get a polite welcome?”
“I didn’t call her a whore.” When everyone simply stared at her, Rhiannon clarified, “I didn’t call her a whore to her face … today.”
“Then what’s going on?”
Rhiannon’s hands landed on her waist and her foot tapped against the floor. If she were in dragon form, it would be one of her talons. “I simply didn’t understand why neither of these two idiots didn’t contact me sooner?”