The walls were made of stone, but not the doors.
Aidan lifted his head to look at Gaius. “Just so you know, you’re expected to pick a queen from one of my sisters. But only the two eldest because no one cares about my younger sister or even knows where she is.”
“No offense, Aidan, but—”
“You don’t even have to say it. I wouldn’t wish my two oldest sisters on my worst enemy. Besides, they’re already queens. Queens of vapidity.”
“I’m sorry we needed to bring you here.”
“I offered. I just forgot how hard it is to deal with them.” He turned on his side, resting his head on his fist, his elbow on the bed. “Two decades I’ve been away and they’re still intolerable.”
“You haven’t been home in twenty years?” Brannie asked.
He leveled his gaze at her. “Do you feel comfortable here, Cadwaladr?”
“No,” she quietly admitted. “But I thought I was just being paranoid.”
“You can’t be paranoid enough around my family.”
Gaius again raised himself up on his elbows, but he wasn’t about to move Kachka. He liked her right where she was, even if there was an audience.
“Are you sure we have to go through your father for this? Can’t we just bypass him and the rest of your family?”
“No. In order to get to the dwarves, we have to go through this castle and into their tunnels. My father’s soldiers guard those entrances. It’ll be a fight if we try to get by them without his permission.”
“You keep them busy,” Kachka offered, “and I will get by them.”
“And then what?” Gaius asked.
“He’s right. Without my father providing you with an invitation, with his seal, the dwarves will chop you to pieces. They hate Riders.” Aidan shrugged. “They actually hate everyone. But they do tolerate my father. Speaking of which . . .”
Aidan sat up. “I also think I should mention that my father is slightly . . . uh . . . hmmmh . . . insane.”
Gaius blinked. “Wait . . . what?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s insane? Like Annwyl insane?”
“See, I don’t view our dear Annwyl as insane so much as quirky. My father, however . . . he’s what I would classify as truly insane. Thinks the walls are talking to him. Thinks stray dogs are plotting his death. Thinks his hair is magickal.”
“What?”
“Don’t ask. Just let me handle him.”
“Are you good at handling him?” Gaius had to ask.
“I still have all my limbs and my scales so . . . yes.”
“But he sent you to be one of the Mì-runach,” Brannie reminded him.
“That was my decision.”
“Why would anyone choose to be that?”
“I knew working directly for the Dragon Queen could only be good for me.”
Flabbergasted, Brannie pointed out, “I’ve seen you in battle. You could have easily taken the trials and been a Dragonwarrior, and worked directly for the queen. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
“If you think taking the trials under the oh-so-gentle tutelage of your Uncle Bercelak is easier than being thrown in a pit with sixteen drunk Mì-runach attempting to cave my head in with their warhammers . . . then I must point out that you’re very wrong.”
Once the two dragons left, Kachka was still sitting on Gaius’s lap—and she was quite comfortable. She could feel his big cock pressing against the inside of her thigh and she was tempted to suck the whole thing into her mouth. But she knew they’d have to go to dinner soon.
“Are you going to wear that to our meal tonight?” he asked, gazing at her.
Kachka had put on leather leggings and a sleeveless fur vest and fur boots. She still had open wounds on her arms from her last fight with Salebiri’s troops, although the cream that Brannie had insisted putting on her cheek each morning as they’d traveled had healed the face wound much more quickly. The stitches were still in, because Uther was not willing to pull them out for another day or two.
But she wasn’t about to hide herself away. She was as proud of her scars as any Daughter of the Steppes should be.
“Yes.”
He grinned. “Good. Make sure to sit next to me.”
“What if they try to make me sit somewhere else?”
“Be your usual, etiquette-minded self. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Kachka leaned in and kissed Gaius’s nose. “You are funny for lizard.”
“Oh, your compliments. How I do adore them.”
Unlike Gaius, Aidan couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t nap. He couldn’t relax.
So he headed deep into the Stone Castle, as the Western Mountain Riders called Aidan’s home. He’d spent his early decades exploring every nook and cranny of this place. It was his escape when he felt no escape was possible. And it was while exploring as a young dragon that he’d met the Master of the Guards. A green dragon and distant relation of the Cadwaladrs, the older warrior had taken pity on Aidan. He’d trained him how to fight. First with claws and tail, then flame and fang, then sword and shield—then with everything else. He taught him how to be a warrior dragon while Aidan’s grandfather taught him how to think. How to maneuver in a world of politics and royals.
His grandfather thought Aidan would one day take over protecting the Western Mountains for the Dragon Queen. According to him, “One brother is a mouth-breathing idiot. The other is so pliable as to be ineffective. Two sisters who are as vapid as your mother and a baby sister who will be crushed under the weight of so much uselessness. So . . . that leaves you.”
It had also been his grandfather who’d sent Aidan away. “Go to the queen,” he’d said. “She’ll treat you better than your own kin.” And, as usual, he’d been right. Going to Queen Rhiannon had been the best thing Aidan had done. As had choosing the Mì-runach. The queen had been downright giddy when he’d told her. She adored her Mì-runach while the rest of the world loathed them. In fact, she’d been the one to give him the name “Divine.”
“Not only because you’re pretty like my Gwenvael,” Rhiannon had said, “but you are just absolutely delightful!”
Gods, he missed the queen. He wished he was back at Devenallt Mountain, the seat of power for the Southland dragons. Nothing more entertaining than sitting around and watching the growling Lord Bercelak snarl and snap at the royals and Elders who made the mistake of breathing near him.
Yet Aidan knew that he belonged here. At this moment. King Gaius, whom Aidan had grown to greatly respect, wanted to help his Rider lover find the artifact before Salebiri’s people could. How could Aidan not help?
Aidan was about to turn down another corridor when he knew—knew—that he was being watched.
Smiling, he raised his gaze up to the rocky ceiling above. “Hello, sweet Orla.”
Wide brown eyes stared down at him, gold hair falling in her face, gold scales glinting in the torch-lit cavern as Orla hung by her talons.
“Hello.”
“What are you doing up there?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Have you been hiding from the family again?”