“Gwenvael!” The trio of shrieks startled Dagmar, and she turned in time to see three young and rather attractive women throw themselves onto the Gold, their arms wrapping around his neck, shoulders, and chest. They squealed again, showering his face with kisses.
Dagmar glanced around and quickly surmised they were in a section of the market where sex was sold. She rolled her eyes, wondering why the idiot couldn’t have found a less obvious place to have a chat.
Remembering each woman’s name, Gwenvael greeted them kindly and kissed each on the cheek. He asked questions about their children and business, surprising Dagmar with his knowledge of their personal lives. Her brothers barely knew the camp girls’ names, much less whether they had children or not.
Dagmar turned when she felt a tug on her sleeve, a human male standing next to her. “Yes?”
“Yeah, how much for the blonde?”
Dagmar blinked, glanced back at Gwenvael and the three girls before asking, “Pardon?”
“The blonde. How much for the blonde? The bigger one. Just for an hour or so?”
Of course. Dagmar would never be one of the whores … she must be selling the whores.
“Five coppers for an hour,” she replied. “Any more than that and it’ll cost you.”
“An hour will do.” He reached into his pocket and handed her five copper pieces. She dropped them into her satchel, tapped Gwenvael on the shoulder, and said, “He’s bought you for an hour of sex. Enjoy.”
She walked off, heading toward another set of gates that would lead her to more stables, more soldiers’ quarters, a main courtyard, and, eventually, the queen’s castle. But she laughed when the man behind her yelled, “Wait one damn minute!”
Why was she the villain in this scenario? Why was she the one everyone was clucking their tongues at when all she wanted to do was protect her only daughter?
For the last three days she’d heard nothing but pleas on Izzy’s behalf, as if Talaith had ordered her execution. It was unfair, and she was tired of it. She was especially tired of her mate. As much as she loved him, there were some days she knew she’d have no trouble kicking the living crap out of him.
Why could no one remember? Izzy was her only child and would remain her only child. The Nolwenn witches of Alsandair were only allowed one child by the gods. It was the price her ancestors had agreed to for their longevity and power.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she snapped at Briec, storming past him and out of their room.
“You can’t keep walking away from this conversation,” he said from behind her. “You will have to face this. And I’m thinking you’ll have to face this soon.”
“There is nothing to face. She can stay here, protect these borders. It was only seven months ago that we were under attack.”
“That was a completely different situation and you know it. And staying here is not what Izzy wants.”
Talaith cut through the Great Hall, pushing past some sad-faced, grey-cloaked traveler standing around looking confused and lost. Most times she’d question a stranger’s presence, but she was too annoyed to really notice and went straight outside, Briec still on her heels.
“She’s a child,” she reminded her mate for, perhaps, the ten-millionth time.
“She’s a warrior. Or she will be.”
“She’s a child.” Her child, dammit, but everyone kept forgetting that. “I don’t care how good she is with a sword or a spear or anything else she’s trained with. A real battle is very different from taking on someone wearing protective padding.”
“I know that. But she’ll never learn how to survive in a real battle without being in one. And where the hell are you going?”
“For three days your family has been down by the lake, and no one has properly greeted them. I told Fearghus I’d handle it since none of you could be—” Briec caught her arm and spun her around so fast she didn’t even finish her sentence.
“He did what?”
Before Talaith could tell her mate to get his damn hands off of her, Gwenvael walked up to them. “Ho, brother!”
“Shut up,” Briec snarled, immediately turning his attention back to her.
“And I’m so glad to be back, too!” Gwenvael went on cheerfully. “And it means so much everyone cares that I suffered such pain and nearly died while trying to protect our secrets.”
“We have no secrets, you idiot.”
Talaith yanked her arm away from Briec’s grip and went on her toes to kiss Gwenvael’s misleadingly sweet face. “Hello, handsome.”
“My sweet, sweet Talaith. Did you miss me?”
“Every day and night, my love.”
Gwenvael had grown on her as no other oversexed male ever had before. There was a lot of heart hidden behind so much idiocy.
“Morfyd’s waiting for you,” Briec snapped. “Now piss off.”
Talaith pinched Briec’s arm.
“Ow!”
“Be nice! And stop snarling and snapping at everyone. What exactly is wrong with you?”
“Don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling at you! Trust me,” she yelled, “you’ll know when I’m yelling!”
She stalked off, Briec right behind her, both of them ignoring Gwenvael’s ominous warning: “I wouldn’t go down to the lake if I were you.”
“Talaith, slow down!”
“No. I’m done with this conversation, and you.”
She went through the first gate, pushing against the flow of foot traffic in the market, until she made it out the second gate and into the surrounding forests. She headed toward the biggest lake that was closest to Garbhán Isle. Fearghus had told her that was where she could find his family.
“I can handle this,” Briec demanded gruffly.
“No, Briec. You can’t. Gwenvael’s been gone near on two weeks in dangerous enemy territory, he’s covered in all sorts of scars, and still you couldn’t keep a civil tongue in that fat head of yours when speaking to him. So I will handle this, and you’ll piss off!”
Talaith stomped past the line of trees and out onto the clearing by the lake. The Cadwaladr Clan had made themselves quite at home. She’d never seen so many dragons lounging around in both human and dragon form. They all seemed to be talking at once. Or was it arguing? She really couldn’t tell since they seemed to be yelling everything. They reminded her of a tree filled with crows. Chatty, squawking crows.
“I’ll deal with them,” Briec said, trying to pass her.
“Oh, no.” She grabbed his arm and stepped in front of him to stop his progress, her back to the other dragons. “Fearghus specifically said you’re not to deal with them.”
His violet eyes narrowed. “When did you two become so damn chummy?”
“Stop barking at me!”
“I’ll bark at you all I want! And another thing … I … I …” His gaze had traveled past her—and up.
“What’s wrong?” She’d never seen such a blank expression on his face before. As if he didn’t know what to make of whatever it was he saw.
“Please,” he said calmly, too calmly, “for the love of all that’s holy, don’t turn around.”
That didn’t sound remotely good, so that’s exactly what Talaith did.
Her eyes searching, she looked at the crowd of dragons and saw nothing, but then she heard it. That giggle she’d known only a short time but had learned to love more than anything else in her world. Terrified of what she’d see, but knowing she had to see, Talaith raised her gaze to the open skies. Her mouth opened and she stared in shock as she watched her daughter—again her only daughter—charge across the back of some dragon Talaith had never seen before. And then to add to the horror, Izzy didn’t stop running. No, she simply kept going. Right over that dragon’s back and neck until she reached his head … and that’s when she dived right off.
And just when Talaith assumed her daughter was committing some sort of ritual suicide, she crashed onto another dragon that had come up under the first. Unfortunately, she lost her seat and slid right off. Grabbing hold of his mane, she held on while he zigged and zagged through the sky.
All of this on its own was nightmarish enough. Truly, it was. But the fact that Izzy was laughing and goading the dragon on did nothing but make it all that more terrifying. Well, terrifying at least for Talaith.
Because who, in their right minds, enjoyed this? As it was, Briec still had to find ways to trick Talaith onto his back for a simple ride to his den.
Another dragon flew under the one Izzy held on to, and that’s when Izzy released her grip on the mane. Her body fell toward the next dragon, but one of them must have miscalculated because she slammed against his side and went flipping off. Her body spiraled and plummeted to earth until a black-haired dragon raced forward and caught hold of Izzy in her talons.
That’s when Izzy screamed. Not in fear or panic—as Talaith would have truly appreciated at this moment to prove her daughter had an ounce of common sense—but in unabashed joy. Pure, unadulterated enjoyment of what she was doing.
“Talaith?” She felt Briec’s hand on her back. “Talaith, love, you’ve stopped breathing. I need you to breathe.”
“I—” She motioned to his kin. “You—”
“I’ll deal with them.”
She nodded, still unable to speak or form a coherent thought. Then she turned and stumbled back to the castle, trying the whole time not to throw up.
Dagmar wandered through the castle since she found herself in no mood to wait for Gwenvael’s appearance. Especially since part of her worried that he wouldn’t appear at all, and the thought of him with those women did nothing but annoy her.
She noticed right away that nothing about this place seemed royal. There were expensive tapestries here and there and marble flooring in certain hallways. But otherwise … It reminded Dagmar of her father’s house. There were weapons at the ready in nearly every room, in nearly every corner. And a few weapons adorned the walls, but Dagmar had to smile when she saw that some still had dried blood on them. A slightly less frightening way to threaten one’s enemies when the heads you have outside your walls had become nothing more than crumbling bone.
She also noticed that everyone seemed rather … casual. Dagmar had expected a lot more pomp and circumstance from the Queen of Dark Plains and her royal court. A lot more scurrying servants and whispered court drama. There didn’t seem to be any of that.
In fact, the more she wandered, the more Dagmar wanted to meet the infamous Blood Queen. But first, she’d have to track down Gwenvael. She’d have to tidy up before she could be presented to a queen. She was covered in traveler dirt, and her poor cloak and dress needed a good scrubbing. Grinning, she wondered if her recently earned five coppers could get her an already-made gown. Nothing fancy, of course, but a less heavy material that would be presentable for her first court appearance.