“Aye.”
“Fetch her.”
He didn’t ask questions, he just moved. In a few minutes Morfyd came in, she saw the look on Annwyl’s face and immediately became concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Your brother’s gone.”
Morfyd nodded. “Yes. I saw him this morning.”
“Why?”
“He said you needed to do this on your own. You would be the one ruling these people. It was up to you to earn their loyalty. All he could do was bring their fear.”
Of course, he spoke true. The bastard.
Annwyl pointed to the marks on her chest. The pain she endured made her hope it had some useful significance and wasn’t merely the queen having a bit of fun. “You never gave me a straight answer about this.”
“That is the Chain of Beathag. It’s now a part of you, like your skin. The marks will never go away. And it has extended your life five . . . maybe six hundred years. Perhaps a bit more or less than that. Hard to tell, really.”
Annwyl stared at her friend. “Oh.” Well, that might be worth a few minutes of excruciating pain.
She cleared her throat and held out her arms. “And these?”
Morfyd took Annwyl’s forearms in her hands and studied them. She smiled. “Fearghus Claimed you last night, I see.” Clearly Morfyd slept somewhere else last night, since anyone within a league of the camp site could hear their exhaustive couplings.
“Yes. Now what are these?”
Morfyd shrugged. “He branded you.”
Annwyl looked again at the wounds. Last night they had just been areas of burned skin. She assumed that once she healed, scarred flesh would remain. But that’s not what she saw now. Instead she saw a dragon brand on each of her forearms. The lines were dark, the dragons clearly defined. Easily seen. Each dragon different from the other, both wrapped around her forearms. Otherwise the flesh on her arms remained healthy and clear.
“He really branded you,” Morfyd added.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve just never seen one so . . . dark before. Except my mother’s. These lines are coal black.”
“He said it would be clear that my love and loyalty was to the dragon. Your brother was not joking.” Annwyl blinked as she remembered all of the Claiming from the previous night. She lifted the fur covering over her legs and sighed. “Oh, honestly!”
Morfyd peeked over the fur covering and snorted out a laugh at the sight of Annwyl’s thighs. Dragons, larger than the ones on her forearms, clearly branded on her flesh. “He’s more like Bercelak than any of us realized,” Morfyd laughed.
“Well, I’ll not wear a chain. I’ll leave that to the queen.”
Morfyd leaned back, her smile revealing what a beautiful woman she was even with the scar. “If you like I could have some gauntlets made that would hide the ones on your arms. If you are feeling unsafe.”
Annwyl shook her head. “No. What are a few more scars, brands, burns? Besides, I’ll not hide my loyalty to your brother from any man.” She stood and headed toward the tub. “And if one of them dares call me a dragon’s whore, I’ll take his head.” She stopped and motioned to the tub. “Now, can you do that trick with the water?”
Chapter 20
Brastias searched the castle for her. She kept disappearing on them. And once they found one hiding place, she would simply find another.
One year had passed since Annwyl took her brother’s head and his place as leader of Garbhán Isle and Dark Plains. For six months she squashed rebellions as quickly as they rose. She also created alliances with other nearby kingdoms that hadn’t been in place for almost a century.
But once the battles stopped and Annwyl’s kingdom became peaceful, she seemed increasingly unhappy. It didn’t take him long to realize that she was a wartime ruler. Her leadership born of blood and struggles for ground. That was all she knew.
But Brastias also knew that if Fearghus had been by her side, she’d be much less restless. Yet the dragon never came for her. And she never returned to Dark Glen to find him.
Morfyd, however, stayed by her side as counsel. With almost two hundred and fifty years of knowledge trapped inside that beautiful body, she helped Annwyl with the decisions involving peace and politics. Brastias did what he could, but it was Morfyd who kept Annwyl from taking nobles’ heads on a whim. An amazing dragon, that one.
He’d just passed an unused bedroom when he heard a sound from the other side of the door. The sound of a turning page.
Brastias walked back and pushed open the heavy oak door. He found her reading by a window, a lone candle the only illumination in the room.
“Annwyl?”
“What now?” Her snappish tone increased as the months passed.
“We need you in the main hall.”
“Why?”
“Delegations are here to bring you tributes.”
“Again?” She sounded so annoyed, he wasn’t about to tell her the truth. “Can’t you do it, Brastias?”
“I do not rule this land.”
“Fine!” She threw her book across the room and stormed past him. Once she was too far away to get in a good punch, he sighed quietly in relief and followed her.
He cringed when he saw what she wore. Leather breeches, leather boots, and one of those damned sleeveless chainmail shirts she insisted on wearing. Her branded forearms exposed for all the court to see. He thought about asking her to cover them with gauntlets, but he really liked his throat uncut and he had every intention of keeping it that way.
He thought of the upcoming evening and hoped that Morfyd had thought out this plan of hers carefully.
Annwyl stalked into the throne room. Some of the nobles began to bow, but seemed to remember how much Annwyl hated it and they stopped themselves. If she weren’t so annoyed with the whole process, she would laugh. But she was annoyed. Very, very annoyed.
Annwyl threw herself into the high-backed stone chair her brother and father once used as a throne. She hated it. And she only used it for occasions like these.
“Lady Annwyl—” Morfyd began, but Annwyl cut her off.
“Can we just get this over with?”
Morfyd nodded. “As you wish.”
Delegations from surrounding kingdoms began to come before her. They offered her a tribute of precious metals or gems. Or presented something that meant a great deal in their land. But Annwyl also began to notice something else. Every last one of the nobles who came before her brought a son. A strong, virile, unmarried male. When the House of Arranz presented three sons, one of them a boy no more than ten and two years of age, she’d had enough.
“Excuse me.” She stood up and walked over to Morfyd. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
She didn’t give the dragon a chance to answer, but grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the throne room and into a servant’s hallway.
“What is this?” Annwyl demanded.
“What do you think? And get off me.”
Annwyl silently reminded herself that Morfyd was a dragon. She could decide to shift right now and take the whole castle with her.
“I don’t want this.”
“No one is saying you have to take any of them as a mate. But you should at least look like you’re considering it. If they think one of their sons has a chance at being your consort, we’ve got a little more bargaining power.”
“Bargaining power for what?”
“Grain from Kerezik. Lumber from Madron. The list goes on and on. Do you not listen to our daily meetings about the state of your lands?”
“Of course I don’t. They’re dead boring.”
“Not everything can involve bloodshed, Annwyl.”
“Can’t you come get me when there is bloodshed? Otherwise just leave me alone to read.” Morfyd took Annwyl by the shoulders and none too gently shoved her back into the throne room.
Grudgingly, Annwyl returned to her throne and let the painful procession continue.
Eventually she stopped looking at any of them. She sat sideways in the big chair, her legs thrown over the arm. She responded to each representative politely enough, but she could no longer hide her annoyance at the entire process.
But when the heir to the House of Madron strutted in with his entourage, she knew she’d about hit the end of her tether.
The Madron advisor made the announcement. “Lady Annwyl of Garbhán Isle, the people of Madron bring you their thanks and undying loyalty.”
Annwyl glared at Brastias and Morfyd, huddled together in a corner watching her. They both knew her feelings about Hamish Madron. And how Hamish Madron felt about her.
Hamish stepped forward. “Lady Annwyl. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”
“Lord Hamish.” She gave a wave of her hand and prayed the torture would end soon.
“Perhaps, lady, when you are done here we can dine together and discuss the future of our kingdoms.”
Annwyl smirked at the sudden look of panic on Brastias’s face. She knew what her old friend feared and she delighted in giving him exactly what he expected.
“No.”
A long pause followed as the Madron representatives took in her short, but direct answer.
Hamish pushed. “I’m sorry, lady. Is there something else that keeps your attention this night?”
“No. I just don’t like you.” Brastias rolled his eyes in exasperation. Poor thing, he didn’t realize that the torture had only begun. “You were ready to force me into marrying you. You’re lucky I let you keep your lands and your head.” Hamish glared at her. “Besides, Lord Hamish, any attempt to seduce me to get my crown would only have my dragon hunting you down and killing you. And I’d let him.”
Hamish became very pale and he didn’t bother hiding his disgust. “So the rumors are true then? You have mated with a dragon.”
“Very true. But, of course, if it bothers you, Lord Hamish... please, feel free to come and take my throne from me.”
* * *
Rhiannon landed and watched the men run for their lives. She really never tired of that moment. The panic on their tiny little faces. The sounds of their screams as they scurried off. She would have laughed and maybe sampled a few of the delicacies, but she had a purpose.
She needed that little human girl to get off her precious throne and return to her son. Any more time apart and there would be war. Already she’d regretted her recent insistence Fearghus come to the court. It cost Kesslene his life. It started with a simple, although admittedly crass, remark on Fearghus’s choice of mate. It should have led to a challenge between the two. But this time no challenge came. No warning. Fearghus calmly told him to apologize. Kesslene wondered aloud if he, too, would enjoy bedding the girl. And Fearghus snapped the dragon’s neck without a moment’s pause. All court activity stopped. True, it wasn’t the first time a brutal death happened in her court. Mostly due to Bercelak’s rage or parts of Gwenvael being where they should not. But this was the first time that Fearghus had caused the problem. And then Fearghus challenged any and all in the hall to take his rightful place among his clan. After seeing his hearty dispense of Kesslene, no dragon stepped forward. Not even his own kin would approach him.