“Why, if you no longer care for him?”
Talaith shoved the female farther into the dark alcove. “Would you keep your voice down. Honestly, I don’t know why you keep on about it.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy. With my daughter.”
“And that’s all you want?”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted. So leave it be, Morfyd.”
Talaith walked off and kept walking even when Morfyd whispered much too loudly, “What about the Duke of Winsley? He’s quite cute and has loads of riches.”
* * *
Annwyl thought about setting herself on fire. Anything had to be better than listening to this man go on and on. Who was he again? Lord Winsley? Duke Winsley? Whatever. He was boring and his nose was excessively long. She desired to break it. Would he cry like a babe? Or take it like a man? She’d wager on the crying. He looked weak. She hated weak men. She hated weak women. She hated weak in general.
Besides, he kept referring to her as queen. True, Morfyd said no head taking during the feast. But what about an arm? Or a leg? Of course, the screaming would start, but she’d prefer the man screaming rather than boring her to death.
Annwyl looked over the man’s head—she would tower over him even in her bare feet—and saw Fearghus standing by the entrance to an alcove. When he realized he had her attention, he smiled and motioned to the alcove with his head. Then he disappeared inside.
Knowing what awaited her, she glanced down at the duke or earl or whatever he was and said, “That’s fascinating, but I have to go.”
Without waiting for him to say another painfully boring word, she slipped through the crowd and went into the dark alcove. As soon as she walked in, Fearghus’ hands slipped around her waist and dragged her deeper inside. He pushed her up against the wall, his lips against her throat and his hands pulling up her dress.
She dug her fingers into his hair and bit her lip to keep from crying out. Didn’t help, though. Not with Morfyd’s personal “battle dog” stalking her every move.
“My liege?”
Fearghus’ hands stopped moving and Annwyl felt her rage slowly simmer to the surface.
Through gritted teeth, she snarled, “What, Brastias?”
“Your humble servants await, m’lady.”
“And they can keep waiting,” she growled back.
“No, my queen, I don’t think they can.”
“Brastias—”
“Don’t make me get Morfyd, my ladyship.”
Damn him. He called her those names to irritate her. And irritate it did.
“Fine!”
Annwyl pulled away from Fearghus, ignoring her mate’s growl of warning, and stalked out of the alcove.
“Happy now?”
“Aye. I truly am, my—”
“If you give me one more title, I promise I’ll cut your throat.”
Brastias grinned. The bastard. “As you wish, Annwyl.”
“Not really. Otherwise I’d be back in there.”
Brastias laughed and glanced into the dark alcove. “And you, my lord Fearghus? Will you be joining us as well?”
A deep sigh came from the darkness and then Fearghus’ tense voice replied, “Not at the moment, no.”
Annwyl winced. She may be a little slippery between her legs, but her long dress hid it well. But she knew poor Fearghus’ chainmail leggings could never hide the erection she’d felt pushing against her stomach only moments before.
* * *
“You know, you really don’t look that old.”
Talaith slapped her hand over her daughter’s mouth. Forcing a smile at the duke her kin had just insulted, she dragged the girl away.
“All right, little miss, I need you to get control of that tongue.”
Izzy frowned at her mother and nodded. She pulled the hand off her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult him. It was only, I couldn’t believe how old he was.”
“And how did you find out his age?”
“I asked him.”
Talaith sighed. “You can’t do that, Izzy.”
“Why?”
Clearly her daughter’s dragon protector hadn’t taught her much in the way of manners. But now that Talaith thought about it, dragons and manners were not synonymous. Brutal honesty and directness—that was where their strengths lay.
“Because it’s considered rude.”
“I’m sorry.” She appeared horrified she may have insulted the man. “I’ll go apologize.”
“No.” Talaith grabbed her daughter’s arm before she could move away—the girl moved like lightning. “I’m sure he won’t give it another thought. But point it out to him…”
Izzy closed her eyes. “I’m not good at this, am I?”
“Izzy, you’ve been living with three hard soldiers for the past nine years. You’re doing fine.” It was merely her eagerness that continually got away from her. “Just watch your tongue and remember to think before you speak.”
Izzy nodded. Suddenly, she leaned over and embraced Talaith, pulling away only after she’d kissed her cheek.
Mother and daughter smiled at each other before Izzy bounced off in search of more people to accidentally insult.
* * *
Brastias watched the partygoers carefully. True, he was supposed to be a party guest as much as any of the others, but the two assassins sent to kill his queen had made him excessively wary.