“They’re all jealous of my astounding beauty. So that’s what they try to destroy.”
Smiling, just glad she was okay, Fearghus leaned in and kissed his mate’s cheek. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked her low, while Briec and Talaith argued on the other side of the table and Gwenvael and Dagmar quietly plotted in the far corner of the room.
“I’m fine. Feel a bit foolish, though. I learned long ago never go straight for a Kyvich. I should have snuck up on the twat.”
“I thought you were just going on a picnic,” he reminded his mate.
Annwyl looked off and instead of replying to his statement, she said, “She admires them, you know. Wants to be them.”
“Who? Talwyn? Our Talwyn? Annwyl, I honestly don’t think Talwyn admires or wants to be like anyone. Our daughter is uniquely horrifying.... That’s why I love her.”
“Then what—”
“It’s knowledge our girl craves, Annwyl. She uses the Kyvich as she uses everyone else she thinks can teach her something.”
“They want her for one of their own, Fearghus. And they’re not going to let me stand in their way.”
“They’ll never have her, luv. Not really. Not like they think they will. Talwyn’s soul belongs only to her. I thought you knew that.”
“But I can’t even have a bloody picnic with my own children because of these twats!”
“You didn’t think we’d hold on to Talwyn and Talan forever, did you?”
“Why not? Lots of royals’ kids live with their parents until someone dies.”
Fearghus chuckled. “Someone dies because someone poisons all those in the way of their inheritance. But for dragons—and our offspring are half dragon—living with parents for any length of time is simply not an option.”
“Why?”
“Because they irritate the living shit out of us and it’s the only way to ensure we don’t kill them while they sleep.”
“Oh.” Annwyl shrugged. “Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“Annwyl?”
Annwyl leaned forward a bit to see who spoke to her. It was Brastias . . . and he wasn’t alone. Behind him were two dragons in capes. Fearghus recognized the smell of flame if not the scent of the dragons themselves.
“Someone here to see you.”
The tallest of the pair stepped forward and pulled back the hood of his cloak. “Hello, Annwyl.”
Just one look at the steel-colored hair that fell forward had Fearghus standing, but, after a second, he recognized the face. He especially recognized the black eye patch. The Rebel King of the Quintilian Provinces.
Considering Annwyl had traveled and fought at the side of King Gaius Domitus long before Fearghus had, he’d expected her to remember the dragon. Then again, perhaps he should have known better....
“Yeah?” Annwyl asked.
The Iron blinked, glanced at Fearghus. “It’s me. Gaius.”
Annwyl frowned. “Gaius who?”
“From the west?” he tried.
“The west of where?”
At this point, Gwenvael was laughing hysterically, Briec could only shake his head, and Dagmar was rushing across the room to properly greet a powerful monarch.
Pretense gone, the king folded his arms over his chest and snapped, “Good gods, woman! Did that wolf you kept talking about lick the sense from your thick head?”
“Look—” Annwyl began but Gwenvael cut her off.
“Wait. I’m sorry. What was that about a wolf? And what was it licking?”
Annwyl swiped her hand through the air. “It isn’t what you think, Gwenvael.”
“I can think many things, so you really do need to clarify.”
“The god who helped me was a wolf, and he liked to lick my forehead.” Annwyl shrugged. “It helped me focus.”
“Wolf god?” Talaith asked. “The god who helped you was Nannulf?”
Annwyl sighed. “I guess.” She focused on the Iron. “So you’re Gaius, right? Yes. Now I remember. The Rebel King and all that.”
“Right. The Rebel King. You rescued my sister, Agrippina,” Gaius said with a sweeping gesture to the female standing behind him, “fought by my side in battle and together our armies destroyed Overlord Thracius. That Rebel King.”
“Yeah, yeah. I remember.” She studied him for a long moment before asking, “Were you always missing that eye?”
“Annwyl!” Dagmar barked, her small body now standing in front of the Iron as if trying to protect him.
“It’s a fair question! I mean, did I take it myself? Because that could be awkward!”
“No,” the Iron replied. “You didn’t take my eye. I’m not sure why you’d think you had.”
“I had a lot going on then,” Annwyl admitted. “I was killing and dismembering people all over the place. Your eye could have definitely been a casualty.” She smiled. “Glad to know it wasn’t me, though.”
Dagmar faced the Iron, quickly bowed her head. “King Gaius, I’m sorry about the confusion. I’m Dagmar Reinholdt, Vassal of Garbhán Isle and Battle Lord—”
“And my piece of ass!” Gwenvael announced from the other end of the table while he dropped into one of the chairs. “So keep your grubby Sovereign claws off her.”
“—and,” Dagmar continued desperately, “I’d like to welcome you and your companions to Garbhán Isle. If you don’t mind staying human, there are rooms here, but we do have some lovely caves—”