And that was how it should be. “You’re safe, sister. You’re home.” Rhiannon motioned to her guards. “Take her to the healers.” Esyld was carefully removed from Gwenvael’s arms and taken out of the meeting chamber.
“We are sorry for what you suffered, Princess Keita,” one of the Elders said. Rhiannon didn’t bother to see which one.
“And Elestren has been removed from her position among my royal guard.”
“Elestren should be removed from this world,” Briec said.
“No.” Keita glanced at her brother, shook her head. “I won’t allow it.”
“Why do you protect her, Keita?”
“She thought I betrayed the queen—she was doing her job. Perhaps a little overenthusiastically. Besides, she’s family.” Rhiannon sensed her daughter had been forced to have this conversation with her brothers quite a lot since they’d left for Castle Moor.
“The decision’s been made,” Rhiannon said, returning to her throne.
“Ghleanna will decide Elestren’s fate.” She sat down and glanced to the Elders. They all nodded, and Rhiannon focused on her children. “Now, there’s one last thing….”
Together, Keita and her siblings, Ragnar and his kin, walked through the courtyard and up to the Great Hall steps. It had been a long flight home, and all of them were exhausted, looking forward to getting some food and some sleep.
But they stopped at the very bottom of the steps and waited. They waited for Annwyl the Bloody. She sat in the middle of the stairs, watching them all. Behind her stood Dagmar, Talaith, and Brastias.
“Annwyl?”
Annwyl looked her mate in the eyes. After a time, she spoke. “We proceed with the celebration feast for the children as planned. Then, once all is ready, I’ll be leading my legions to the Western Mountains and into war against the Sovereigns.”
Fearghus let out a breath. “And I’ll be leading Queen Rhiannon’s troops into the Northlands to fight against the Irons.” The mated pair stared at each other a long moment until Annwyl stood and said, “Then, my love, we best get ready.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Celyn waited for Izzy by the small lake they liked to go to together. It was growing late, and the first day of the three-day feast to celebrate the twins’ birthday would be starting soon. His mother expected him to attend, and the way she was feeling about him right now, he was loath to miss it.
But he needed to see Izzy alone.
“Celyn!” She charged through the trees and into his open arms. “You won’t believe it!” she gushed, arms and legs tightening around him.
“I won’t believe what?”
She dropped to the ground and held his hands. “I’m going with Annwyl into the west. I’m going to be her squire!” She bounced up and down on her toes. “Mother’s absolutely livid!” She laughed and hugged him again. “I’m out of formation and fighting by Annwyl’s side!” He forced himself to smile. “That’s wonderful.”
“And Brannie will be coming with us. Your mum doesn’t want to split us up. She says we work well together. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Amazing.”
Izzy frowned a little. “What’s wrong?”
“Izzy…” He decided just to break it to her. “I’m being sent with Queen Rhiannon’s troops into the Northlands.” Izzy’s eyes grew wide, and then she hugged him. “You lucky bastard!”
“What?”
She pulled away and grinned at him. “You’ll be fighting alongside Lightnings! Meinhard and Vigholf and Ragnar. Me and Brannie have been training with them every morning the last few days, and they’re brilliant! I think they’re part of the reason Annwyl’s made me her squire. You’re going to learn so much. I’m so jealous!” She punched his shoulder.
He gawked at her, and she frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Aren’t you going to miss me at all?”
“Of course! I’ll miss you terribly.” But then she clapped her hands together and squealed, “But I’m going to be Annwyl’s squire!” Gwenvael sat in the chair, his foot tapping.
“So,” Dagmar said from behind him, her voice very calm, very controlled, “you’ll all escort Esyld back to Outerplains when you leave?”
“Aye,” he replied, clenching his hands. “She still smiles, but I think she grows weary of my mother. Any longer and I’m afraid she’ll crack from the pressure.”
“Are you sure she’s strong enough to return?”
“Morfyd said she will be by the time we leave. But she is still healing.”
“I know she is, but I’m sure she’s ready to return to her home and try to find a way past what she’s been through.”
“You’ll be sure to have someone keep an eye on her, won’t you?”
“Already taken care of,” she said, her hand on his shoulder. Her soft, reassuring hand. “And remember I love you very much, Gwenvael.”
“I know you do.” He waited, teeth gritted. And he lasted right up until he felt Dagmar pick up that first lock of his precious, precious hair!
“I can’t!” he said, jumping out of the chair and scrambling across the room.
Dagmar tapped those viperous scissors against her leg. He knew those scissors were out to get him. He could feel it.
“You cannot go into the Northlands and battle with all that hair.” He noticed that her voice was no longer calm and controlled. “It’s unseemly.”
“Will you not miss my hair at all?”
“I’ll miss you more, but the hair needs to go. Now get in this blasted chair!”
“I can’t do it. It’s my hair. It loves me for who I am.”
“You act as if I plan to shave you bald. I only plan to cut up to the middle of your back or so.”
Gwenvael gasped, horrified! “You might as well shave me bald!” Dagmar threw down the scissors, and Canute slipped under the bed in the face of his mistress’s rarely seen rage.
“Just let me get through the feast,” he said, bartering. “Three more days not only for me, but for you to luxuriate in my hair.” Dagmar crossed her arms over her chest. “My father was right, you know…. You are completely insane.”
Briec sat on the bed, his elbow resting on his knee, his chin in his palm, and watched his lady love rage.
“Who does she think she is? Making my daughter her squire?”
“Perhaps she thinks she’s queen.”
“Shut up!” She paced in front of him, looking wonderfully yummy in a dark blue gown he’d had made for her. “And that simpering idiot—”
“You should just call her Izzy.”
“—is running around announcing it to everyone like it’s a good thing.
‘I’m going to be Annwyl’s squire. I’m going to face death on a daily basis with this crazed monarch.’”
“I don’t remember our Izzy’s voice being so high before.”
“Shut up!”
Izzy charged down the hallway toward her bedroom. She needed to get dressed; the guests were already arriving for the feast. She turned a corner and ran head first into that slab of brick that someone had the nerve to call a chest.
She fell back, her ass hitting the floor. And while rubbing her forehead, which seemed to have taken the worst of the impact, she scowled up at the big idiot in her way.
“Are you all right?” he asked, trying to sound so concerned.
“I’m fine.” He reached for her, and she slapped his hands away. “I don’t need your help, thank you very much.”
“Are you going to keep acting like this?”
“Yes.” Izzy stood. “You’re a prat. I knew you were a prat—I just didn’t realize the extent of your pratiness!”
“Fine. Be that way.”
Éibhear walked around her, and Izzy tossed out, “And nice move getting Celyn sent to your brother’s troops.” He stopped and faced her. “What are you talking about?”
“Like you didn’t know.”
“Celyn’s going to be in the Northlands? With me? Well, I’m going to end that centaur shit right now.”
She caught his arm before he could search out Fearghus. “Or you could stop this shit between you. I don’t need you watching out for me, Éibhear. I don’t need you beating up my lovers—”
“Never use that word to me again.”
“—or deciding who I can f**k and who I can’t.”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“He’s your cousin,” she reminded him.
“And you f**ked him! ” Éibhear bellowed in her face.
Izzy was calm when she replied, “I did. More than once. And you’re not going to make me feel bad about that. But he’s your cousin. Don’t ruin what you have with your kin over something you can’t control. Which is namely me.”
She headed to her room, slamming the door behind her.
And Branwen didn’t even look up from the book she was reading when she gleefully stated, “I swear, you two have the best arguments.” Fearghus dashed across the room and yanked the small eating knife from his daughter’s hand, his son falling back on the bed laughing hysterically, as Annwyl finished turning around to show off the new gown Keita had chosen for her.
“It’s not bad, is it?”
“No.” Fearghus shook his head, probably more times than was actually necessary. “Not bad at all.”
“Are you all right? You look like you’re sweating.”
“Just seeing you in that dress has my blood surging.” Annwyl scowled, her gaze locking with her daughter’s. “Did she just snort?”
“No.” Fearghus placed his hand over his daughter’s giggling face and pushed her back to the bed next to her brother. “She probably just has a little sniffle.”
“You are such a bad liar. How did you ever convince me that you and the knight were two separate beings?”
“Probably because you never let me finish a sent—”
“It’s insane to even imagine it now—you’re such a bad liar.” Keita, who hadn’t quite managed to get any clothes on for this evening’s dinner, removed herself from Ragnar’s c*ck and clambered across the bed until she faced him.
“What did you just say?” she demanded.
Covered in sweat and, well, covered in her, Ragnar lifted his head. “I said you should accompany us all to the Northlands as a Battle Maid.”
“Is that like a tent whore?”
“No. ” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Let it out. “It is an honored position among my people.”
“You sure this isn’t just a way for you to get me back to the Northlands and keep me busy with your c*ck when you’re not out fighting the Irons, so that I’ll eventually stay with you forever?” Ragnar gazed at her, blinked once. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”