“And why will that happen?”
“Because he’ll f**k you until your eyes roll into the back of your head and that’ll be it! There will be no getting free from that, my dear. You’ll be trapped here. In this hell.”
Dagmar calmly glanced around. “This hell?” she asked flatly. “This castle-hell with pleasant servants to do your bidding, beautiful rolling hills and forests filled with fresh game, a benevolent queen, fierce dragons bent on protecting you and your daughter, and a gorgeous silver-haired warrior who’s madly in love with you? That hell?”
“Yes! You understand!”
“Perfectly. And I will keep this in mind if and when I get around to … uh … fucking Gwenvael.”
“Just make sure it’s what you want. Because once you’re in, you’re not getting out. And don’t let him brand you. You’ll be trapped with him forever!”
“Talaith!” Morfyd exclaimed.
“Branding? With actual irons?”
“No! It’s not like that,” Morfyd argued. “It’s called a Claiming. The brand is placed on you by the dragon you love without implements. It’s quite mystical and … romantic.”
“It’s hardly romantic,” Talaith muttered before she perked up and nearly shouted, “But it will make you come!”
Morfyd dropped her head into her hands. “Gods, please stop drinking and talking.” She glared at the human witch. “Just pass out already!”
Dagmar simply had to ask. “Talaith, are you unhappy with Briec?”
“Absolutely not!” She sighed deeply and looked moments from emotional tears. “I love him so much.”
“All right then.”
Morfyd shook her head when Dagmar glanced at her. “I won’t discuss it. I just accept they’re my kin and go on about my day.”
Patting Morfyd’s leg, Dagmar offered what comfort she could, “That’s probably for the best.”
Éibhear handed his brother a pint of ale when Gwenvael stumbled to a stop beside him. He grinned. “Duchess Bantor again?”
“It may appear that she only has two hands, but clearly she has six.”
“She’s been trying to get you into her bed for over a year.”
“Although never acknowledged by the lot of you, I do have standards.”
“She’s very pretty—huge br**sts—and from what I understand willing to do anything.”
“Her hands grip me like claws. It makes me uncomfortable. She makes me uncomfortable.”
“And you have your sights set on someone else tonight.”
Now Gwenvael grinned. “I do.”
Éibhear pursed his lips and glanced away.
“What?” Gwenvael sighed. “What was that look for?”
“Nothing.”
“Just spit it out, little brother.”
Éibhear peered at his brother, wondering how to broach the topic tactfully. “It’s just …”
“It’s just what?”
“Don’t you think Lady Dagmar’s just a little … well … that she’s …”
“That she’s what?”
Éibhear decided to be cautiously direct. “A little bit beyond you?”
“Sorry?”
“She reads an awful lot. I talked to her for quite a bit, and she’s so knowledgeable. Extremely knowledgeable.”
Gwenvael put his hands on his hips. “You think she’s too smart for me?”
“Perhaps ‘more savvy’ is a better phrase.”
“You oversized cub!”
“Don’t get mad. I’m only suggesting you should aim … a little … lower.”
“What kind of brother are you?”
“An honest one. Would you prefer I lie to you?”
“Yes!” Gwenvael yelled, slamming the ale back into Éibhear’s hand. “As a matter of fact, I would prefer that!”
Dagmar was sneaking out the back of the castle when she saw her leaning against some fencing, her head on her folded arms. She approached slowly, cautiously.
“Annwyl?”
The queen’s head snapped up. “Oh. Dagmar.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just needed some fresh air.”
She needed bed. There was a light sheen of sweat on her and her hands trembled.
Dagmar heard the soft mutterings all evening from the few human royals who were at the court. Annwyl was not the Annwyl they remembered. Her hair had thinned; her face had lost its luster, becoming drawn and lined. Her arms and legs were much too thin for someone so weighed down with child. Since Dagmar knew nothing of the queen before she’d met her—except for the rumors, of course—she couldn’t tell one way or the other. But Dagmar did know when a birth was at risk. She knew the signs well.
“Why don’t I get Fearghus to—”
“Please don’t.” She forced a smile. “It’s been so long since he’s had some time to himself and he’s enjoying his kin—for once.”
Dagmar chuckled. “I understand that. I can help you up, though. To your room.”
“You don’t have to.” Yet her eyes were begging for that bit of help.
“You’re giving me a reason to get out of there.” She went over to Annwyl and slipped one arm around what remained of her waist. Dagmar forced herself not to physically flinch when her fingers felt actual ribs beneath the queen’s gown. She took Annwyl’s arm with her free hand. “Come on. I think two mere humans can manage this, don’t you?”