Dagmar stared at the kind-faced servant, and Fannie leaned back a bit so she could examine Dagmar closely.
“Water for a bath, fresh clothes, and I believe food is already being sent up,” Fannie suggested.
Dagmar nodded in agreement. “That’s fine.”
“Wait.” Annwyl pointed at her. “I thought you told Gwenvael you had bags. Should I send someone to—”
Wincing, Dagmar shook her head. “Uh … I was … I was just being rude. I don’t have any bags.”
The four women glanced back and forth among them, and then, the laughter started all over again. Only this time Dagmar happily joined in.
Gwenvael walked into the queen’s bedchamber. Fearghus sat at a desk, writing. Éibhear on the floor with a book in his lap.
“Does no one care that I’m not dead?”
Éibhear looked up and smiled. “I care.”
“You don’t count.”
Fearghus spoke to Gwenvael without pausing in his self-important scribbles. “Why are the servants telling me you brought back a trophy from the north?”
“She’s not a trophy.” He sat down on the bed. “She’s more a toy for my amusement.”
Éibhear snickered until Fearghus glared at him.
The eldest of the siblings placed down his quill and turned in his chair to focus on Gwenvael. “I know I’m going to regret asking, but what the hell is going on?”
“You’re right. You’re going to regret asking.”
The door opened and Briec walked in. He saw Gwenvael and slammed the door behind him. “Thanks for the warning about Izzy, you idiot.”
“I did warn you, but you were too busy doing the Briec-Talaith form of o**l s*x to hear me.”
“Well, if you thought she was mad before …” he announced to the room.
Fearghus rested his elbows against his knees. “What happened with Izzy?”
Briec went face down on the bed, mumbling something into the fur covering it.
“What?”
He lifted his head. “I said, ‘she was playing Run and Jump.’ ”
Fearghus cringed. “And Talaith saw her? Gods.”
“You forgot the best part,” Gwenvael added. “She was playing Run and Jump with Celyn.”
Briec buried his head back into the bedding while Fearghus sat up straight, scowling. “That dirty little bastard.”
“My thoughts exactly, brother. I say we go out there and kick the shit out of him.”
Éibhear let out a bored sigh. “Who cares?”
Gwenvael looked at Fearghus, Fearghus looked at Briec, and Briec’s head popped back up off the bed.Leaning over the foot of the bed, Gwenvael asked, “What was that?”
“I said ‘who cares?’ ”
“You don’t?”
“No. I don’t.”
“He’s such a liar,” Gwenvael mouthed to Fearghus.
“I know!” Fearghus mouthed back.
Éibhear slammed his book closed. “And whatever you two bastards are doing, stop it.”
Dagmar soaked in the tub, her hair and body scrubbed clean. And while she relaxed in the steaming water, Annwyl and Lady Morfyd ate from large platters of food placed on the table in front of them.
Morfyd, it turned out, was another bloody dragon in disguise, and Gwenvael’s older sister. She was beautiful with long white hair and a long, lean body, easily seen once she pulled off the voluminous witches’ robes she wore and relaxed at the table in a thin pale pink gown. She was nothing like Gwenvael, however; that was clear enough. Sweet, borderline shy, and soft-spoken, she didn’t seem to have anything in common with her sibling.
“Here.” Morfyd handed her a small plate piled with food easily eaten without utensils. “A little something while you relax.”
“Thank you.” Dagmar popped a round ball of fried dough into her mouth and sighed.
Oh, yes, she could definitely get used to this.
“Minotaurs?” Annwyl asked again. “I didn’t think they existed.”
“You said the same thing about Centaurs,” Morfyd reminded the monarch, “until you got that hoof to the back of the head.”
“She snuck up on me,” Annwyl snarled between clenched teeth. And, just as quickly, her anger faded and she held up a bottle. “Wine, Dagmar?”
“Yes, please.”
The queen poured a chalice of wine, and Dagmar asked what had been perplexing her for some time. “Why do they want you dead? It’s the question I haven’t been able to get answered.”
“That’s easy—” Annwyl began, but Morfyd quickly cut her off.
“It’s very complicated. There’s much that leads us to this point. So I will start from the beginning—”
“Fearghus knocked me up,” Annwyl blurted out.
“Gods dammit, Annwyl!” Morfyd exploded.
“That’s the main part of the story.”
“I’m not sure why it matters.” Dagmar picked up another piece of baked something or other and nearly melted away in her bath it tasted so delicious.
“Gwenvael didn’t tell you who Fearghus is, did he?”
“He’s Annwyl’s consort.”
“And our brother.”
Dagmar swallowed her food. “So he’s a …”
“Yes.”
“But Annwyl is …”