What a Dragon Should Know

Dagmar laughed. “You’ll have to be much more specific than that, I’m afraid.”

The guards told him his mother had arrived, but he would have been able to tell without the notification. He could hear the yelling throughout the castle.

He stepped into the Great Hall and saw the two females standing toe to toe. Because neither female would let the other finish a sentence, Fearghus had no idea exactly what they were arguing about, but it was definitely heated and poor Morfyd was caught in the middle as always, trying desperately to calm the situation.

His mother towered over the other yelling female, but that didn’t make the smaller one back down—and she wouldn’t. Fearghus had learned that about her shortly after meeting her, and, at the moment, he appreciated it.

And while the two females argued, no one noticed him as he crouched down next to the chair of the woman he loved.

“What did I miss?” he murmured, his lips brushing against Annwyl’s cheek.

“Not sure. I walked in, your mother took one look at me, and it simply blew up from there. They talk over each other, so I’m not sure what they are saying. But Talaith does seem quite angry,” Annwyl said.

Fearghus chuckled, enjoying the way his brother’s mate, Talaith, practically dared his mother to turn her into a ball of flame. “I’m glad she’s handling it. I wouldn’t be nearly as nice.”

“Let your mother say what she wants about me, Fearghus. I don’t care.” It was true, Annwyl didn’t care. Not like she used to. Not like the Annwyl he remembered, who, Gwenvael once said, “would fight her own shadow if she thought it was getting a little haughty.”

But his mate, his consort, was tired. At twenty-nine winters, she shouldn’t be so tired. Even heavy with twins, she shouldn’t be this tired. Circles under her eyes, lines around her mouth. She wasn’t aging, so much as … He didn’t know. He didn’t know what was wrong. And it terrified him.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” He motioned to one of the servants standing around, watching the sideshow. “I’ll be up in a bit and we’ll nap together.”

“Your mother is here for a reason. I should find out why.” She looked down at her hands resting on the table. They were strong, capable hands that had many scars and had done much damage over the years. “But I just don’t care, Fearghus.”

“And you shouldn’t. I’ll handle it. So will Morfyd.” He kissed her forehead, stepped back, and helped her out of the chair. Handing her off to the servant, he said, “Take her to our room and make sure she has everything she needs. Then return here. Make sure you close the door to our room when you leave.”

A smile teased Annwyl’s lips. “That was awfully specific, Fearghus.”

“You like when I’m specific. Now go.”

Leaning against the table, he first watched Annwyl make her slow, laborious way up the stairs. When she disappeared down the hall, he turned his attention to his mother and Talaith.

“What did I miss?” Briec asked, stepping up beside Fearghus.

“The arrival of our mother.”

“Talaith’s in a fine spitting rage … Mother call Annwyl a whore again?”

“Don’t know.” Fearghus glanced at his brother. “What happened to your face?” The gash went from his cheek down under his chin, and his bare chest and black leggings were covered in dirt and blood.

“My daughter.”

Fearghus flinched. “By the dark gods—you didn’t get in the training ring with her, did you?”

“I had to make sure Brastias was right before I ever talk to her mother.”

“And?”

Briec smirked. “I’m sure.”

“I could have told you that myself.” He handed his brother a rag lying on the table. “Blood’s dripping.”

Pressing the rag to his face, Briec said, “I heard from Gwenvael this morning.”

“And?”

“There’s a cult from the Ice Lands coming for Annwyl.”

“The Ice Lands?” He’d heard people lived there but could never imagine anyone surviving that horrible terrain. “Shouldn’t be too hard to spot then. We’ll alert our troops near the Outerplains—”

“He thinks they may be traveling underground.”

Wonderful. Fearghus exhaled and briefly closed his eyes. “Has luck deserted us completely?”

“No. But nothing’s ever easy. Not for us. Don’t worry, though. We’ll take care of it.”

“We will?”

“Gwenvael had a suggestion; I agreed it was good, so we set Éibhear to do the rest.”

“Why Éibhear?”

“Father never hits him.”

“Gwenvael’s grand plan involves Father?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it under control.”

Fearghus doubted it, but he was in no mood to argue and was simply grateful his siblings had stood behind him and Annwyl during all this. They were an annoying lot, but they were his.

The servant appeared again at the bottom of the stairs, indicating he’d done what Fearghus bid. Knowing Annwyl was resting and out of hearing range, he straightened, motioned his brother back a bit, and swung his fist overhead, bringing it down on the table. The table splintered and buckled where his fist landed. Both Rhiannon and Talaith jerked back from one another, Talaith with her dagger now in hand and Rhiannon with a spell on her lips.