Dragon Actually (24 page)

Morfyd, however, stayed by her side as counsel. With almost two hundred and fifty years of knowledge trapped inside that beautiful body, she helped Annwyl with the decisions involving peace and politics. Brastias did what he could, but it was Morfyd who kept Annwyl from taking nobles’ heads on a whim. An amazing dragon, that one.

He’d just passed an unused bedroom when he heard a sound from the other side of the door. The sound of a turning page.

Brastias walked back and pushed open the heavy oak door. He found her reading by a window, a lone candle the only illumination in the room.

“Annwyl?”

“What now?” Her snappish tone increased as the months passed.

“We need you in the main hall.”

“Why?”

“Delegations are here to bring you tributes.”

“Again?” She sounded so annoyed, he wasn’t about to tell her the truth. “Can’t you do it, Brastias?”

“I do not rule this land.”

“
Fine!
” She threw her book across the room and stormed past him. Once she was too far away to get in a good punch, he sighed quietly in relief and followed her.

He cringed when he saw what she wore. Leather breeches, leather boots, and one of those damned sleeveless chainmail shirts she insisted on wearing. Her branded forearms exposed for all the court to see. He thought about asking her to cover them with gauntlets, but he really liked his throat uncut and he had every intention of keeping it that way.

He thought of the upcoming evening and hoped that Morfyd had thought out this plan of hers carefully.

Annwyl stalked into the throne room. Some of the nobles began to bow, but seemed to remember how much Annwyl hated it and they stopped themselves. If she weren’t so annoyed with the whole process, she would laugh. But she
was
annoyed. Very, very annoyed.

Annwyl threw herself into the high-backed stone chair her brother and father once used as a throne. She hated it. And she only used it for occasions like these.

“Lady Annwyl—” Morfyd began, but Annwyl cut her off.

“Can we just get this over with?”

Morfyd nodded. “As you wish.”

Delegations from surrounding kingdoms began to come before her. They offered her a tribute of precious metals or gems. Or presented something that meant a great deal in their land. But Annwyl also began to notice something else. Every last one of the nobles who came before her brought a son. A strong, virile, unmarried male. When the House of Arranz presented three sons, one of them a boy no more than ten and two years of age, she’d had enough.

“Excuse me.” She stood up and walked over to Morfyd. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

She didn’t give the dragon a chance to answer, but grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the throne room and into a servant’s hallway.

“What is this?” Annwyl demanded.

“What do you think? And get off me.”

Annwyl silently reminded herself that Morfyd
was
a dragon. She could decide to shift right now and take the whole castle with her.

“I don’t want this.”

“No one is saying you have to take any of them as a mate. But you should at least look like you’re considering it. If they think one of their sons has a chance at being your consort, we’ve got a little more bargaining power.”

“Bargaining power for what?”

“Grain from Kerezik. Lumber from Madron. The list goes on and on. Do you not listen to our daily meetings about the state of your lands?”

“Of course I don’t. They’re dead boring.”

“Not everything can involve bloodshed, Annwyl.”

“Can’t you come get me when there is bloodshed? Otherwise just leave me alone to read.” Morfyd took Annwyl by the shoulders and none too gently shoved her back into the throne room.

Grudgingly, Annwyl returned to her throne and let the painful procession continue.

Eventually she stopped looking at any of them. She sat sideways in the big chair, her legs thrown over the arm. She responded to each representative politely enough, but she could no longer hide her annoyance at the entire process.

But when the heir to the House of Madron strutted in with his entourage, she knew she’d about hit the end of her tether.

The Madron advisor made the announcement. “Lady Annwyl of Garbhán Isle, the people of Madron bring you their thanks and undying loyalty.”

Annwyl glared at Brastias and Morfyd, huddled together in a corner watching her. They both knew her feelings about Hamish Madron. And how Hamish Madron felt about her.

Hamish stepped forward. “Lady Annwyl. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other.”

“Lord Hamish.” She gave a wave of her hand and prayed the torture would end soon.

“Perhaps, lady, when you are done here we can dine together and discuss the future of our kingdoms.”

Annwyl smirked at the sudden look of panic on Brastias’s face. She knew what her old friend feared and she delighted in giving him exactly what he expected.

“No.”

A long pause followed as the Madron representatives took in her short, but direct answer.

Hamish pushed. “I’m sorry, lady. Is there something else that keeps your attention this night?”

“No. I just don’t like you.” Brastias rolled his eyes in exasperation. Poor thing, he didn’t realize that the torture had only begun. “You were ready to force me into marrying you. You’re lucky I let you keep your lands and your head.” Hamish glared at her. “Besides, Lord Hamish, any attempt to seduce me to get my crown would only have my dragon hunting you down and killing you. And I’d let him.”

Hamish became very pale and he didn’t bother hiding his disgust. “So the rumors are true then? You have mated with a dragon.”

“Very true. But, of course, if it bothers you, Lord Hamish... please, feel free to come and take my throne from me.”

* * *

Rhiannon landed and watched the men run for their lives. She really never tired of that moment. The panic on their tiny little faces. The sounds of their screams as they scurried off. She would have laughed and maybe sampled a few of the delicacies, but she had a purpose.

She needed that little human girl to get off her precious throne and return to her son. Any more time apart and there would be war. Already she’d regretted her recent insistence Fearghus come to the court. It cost Kesslene his life. It started with a simple, although admittedly crass, remark on Fearghus’s choice of mate. It should have led to a challenge between the two. But this time no challenge came. No warning. Fearghus calmly told him to apologize. Kesslene wondered aloud if he, too, would enjoy bedding the girl. And Fearghus snapped the dragon’s neck without a moment’s pause. All court activity stopped. True, it wasn’t the first time a brutal death happened in her court. Mostly due to Bercelak’s rage or parts of Gwenvael being where they should not. But this was the first time that Fearghus had caused the problem. And then Fearghus challenged any and all in the hall to take his rightful place among his clan. After seeing his hearty dispense of Kesslene, no dragon stepped forward. Not even his own kin would approach him.

Later, Rhiannon spoke with her children, asking them about their brother. His siblings expressed worry about their brother’s sadness. A word she would never use with Fearghus. He wasn’t as exuberant as Éibhear or as lusty as Gwenvael or as cocksure as Briec. He wasn’t even brutish and grumpy like her Bercelak. Instead, he lived quietly and calmly. He only became upset when he couldn’t have time to himself. He left the court earlier than any of her others because he couldn’t stand the noise or his siblings constantly pestering him. And she let him go with her blessings. She prided herself on understanding all her hatchlings. She understood them better than any of them realized. She knew he needed to be alone. And even when he took the throne as king, he’d be the same way still. Nothing would change that. Or him.

Then the chatty little human girl came along. Because of the girl, people now knew dragons could shift into human. Her sweet Éibhear, whom she always had such high hopes for, only spoke of mating for life with a human. A human! And her own daughter, heir to her Magick and power, actually
served
the human female at Garbhán Isle.

In the beginning, Rhiannon became convinced that the girl seduced her son—and clearly the rest of her family—with her feminine wiles. At least, that’s what she thought before she met her. But she quickly realized the girl had absolutely no feminine wiles to speak of. A hard warrior who risked death so she could protect all her tiny human kin. Rhiannon even stopped referring to her as “it” the moment she took her flame. She screamed, true, but mostly because the pain was excruciating. But once the process changed her body, the girl had gone on to take her brother’s head, become ruler of all Dark Plains and Garbhán Isle, and still unite with a dragon.
All in the same day
.

That still impressed Rhiannon. But now she had an unhappy son and she blamed the girl. A year had passed. The female tamped down all forms of insurgence with her tiny but mighty fist and now she needed to return to her mate. He’d Claimed her, she now belonged to him. If the girl changed her mind . . . well, it would be in her best interest
not
to change her mind.

Rhiannon’s offer to Annwyl was simple. “Return to Fearghus now or suffer my wrath.”

She stalked through the castle, her children trailing behind her, Keita desperately trying to cover up her mother’s nakedness with a cloak. Her children had arrived a bit earlier and were already dressed. They lived among the humans more than she, and she often forgot how much the humans’ own bodies caused them such distress. She paused outside the throne room long enough to pull the cloak on, but stopped and halted her children at the sound of Annwyl’s voice.

“So the rumors are true then?” a male voice snapped in disgust. “You have mated with a dragon.”

“Very true. But, of course, if it bothers you, Lord Hamish . . . please, feel free to come and take my throne from me.”

Rhiannon exchanged glances with her children. Seemed she still might be underestimating the tiny human.

Annwyl swung her legs off the arm of the stone chair and stood to her full height. She looked in the eye of each and every head of the Houses before her. She tired of games and pretending. With all the Houses present, the time now came to make sure everyone understood her reign and her.

“Perhaps this is as good a time as any to clarify the situation for all. That way there are no misunderstandings. Yes. The rumors are true. My mate is Fearghus the Destroyer, the Black Dragon of Dark Plains. He is my mate and my consort. With him I shall rule. I understand if any of you have a problem with this. And please, feel free to try and take my throne from me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, but it razored across the silent hall like a shout. “Please.”

She waited. When none stepped forward she turned her back. But the flicker of Danelin’s eyes alerted her. They’d weathered many battles together and sometimes all you had time for was a look or one word. She knew exactly what he needed to tell her and she moved with her usual speed and brutality.

Annwyl pulled the jeweled dagger Fearghus gave her so long ago from her boot and, turning only her upper body, flung it behind her. The blade skewered the throat of a member of the House of Adhamhan who wanted to kill her in the name of his people. A big man in full armor, he wore no helm and Annwyl’s blade lodged itself right in his neck. His big body crashed to the floor, causing everyone but Annwyl and her troops to jump.

Annwyl stared at him for a long moment, letting it all settle in for everyone present. Then she looked over the faces of the nobles. “Anyone else?” No one moved. “I guess we are all clear now.”

She sat back on the throne, watching as Hamish scurried to the back of the hall. She glanced at Danelin. “Are we done now?”

He leaned in low so only Annwyl could hear him.

“There were to be three more, but I believe they may have run for their lives.”

“That weighs heavy on my heart, Danelin,” she muttered under her breath.

He raised an eyebrow. “I can see that, Annwyl.” All her original troops from her squire to Brastias still called her by her name only, without the formality of title and she would not have it any other way.

“Annwyl the Bloody!” A voice rang out across the hall, startling Annwyl and Danelin as well as the entire court. “You speak of your mate and yet you are not with him.”

Annwyl’s eyes narrowed as her rage began to flow through her veins like blood. It must have been on her face as well; Danelin stepped back from her, his hand on his sword, while Brastias and her troops moved in closer. Whether they were worried
for
her or
about
her she did not know.

She stared at the woman who stood at the large wood doors of the hall. Completely covered in a light blue cloak, she was the tallest female Annwyl had ever come across.

“Not sure what business that is of yours, lady.” Annwyl wondered whether she would kill her slowly or just outright.

The woman came forward, the cloak swirling around her bare feet. “I’ve traveled far to meet with you, Lady Annwyl, but I don’t like to waste my time or bandy words about.”

“And neither do I. So perhaps you should get to your point before I lose my patience.”

Annwyl felt a hand grip her shoulder and looked up to see Morfyd beside her. “Annwyl, I’d like to present Queen Rhiannon of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar.” Annwyl cringed. What an ugly family name. She would hate to be stuck with something like that. “My mother.”

The feeling to bury one’s head in a ditch can be an overwhelming one, but Annwyl fought it all the same. The queen stood in front of her. As human. She snatched back the hood of her cloak. Snow white hair tumbled down around her shoulders and an expression of intense dissatisfaction rippled across her face. She didn’t even seem to notice the gasp that went up from the court when they saw the mark of her own Claiming, a black dragon brand that went from her jaw down her neck and disappeared under her cloak.