What a Dragon Should Know
“Me?” She couldn’t help but giggle. “Really?”
“Really. Your uncles and father are very protective of you. Briec threw me into a tree. One of those really old ones that never move. Your uncle Fearghus bit me.”
Izzy placed her hand on Celyn’s. “He … bit you?”
“Aye. He was on the floor and—”
“Why was he on the floor?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you think to ask?”
“No.” He pointed at his leg. “Bastard nearly tore out me calf muscle.”
Using the tips of her fingers, she toyed with one of the ribs on her plate. “And Éibhear?”
“What about him?”
“He’s an uncle. Has he violently attacked you for no good reason?”
“No. A cousin I was quite close to hasn’t said a word to me in three days.” Celyn took one of the ribs off her plate. “Not since he saw me flying you around.”
Celyn leaned in closer, his shoulder pressing into hers. “And if I may be so bold—if you want to call Éibhear your uncle that’s on you, but that would make him a very dirty, naughty uncle, because I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
Under the table, Izzy wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on the skirt of her gown. “How does he look at me?”
“The same way I do.”
Startled, Izzy quickly looked away. “I thought my father and uncles warned you off.”
“I said they tried.” He took another rib from her plate, laughing when she grabbed the other end and began to tug. “I never said they succeeded.”
When he saw Brastias lean over and whisper something to his sister, Gwenvael thought about setting the big bastard on fire.
“Stop it,” Dagmar murmured.
“Stop what?”
Dagmar laughed. “Don’t give me that innocent look. I invented it. And I don’t see what’s wrong with him.”
“He’s not good enough for her. She deserves—”
“Better than a human?”
“Did I say that?”
“You don’t have to.” A chalice of wine in her hand, Dagmar relaxed back in her chair while Gwenvael did the same. After the first fifteen minutes, Dagmar had held that pose most of the night. They leaned in close and chatted, her asking questions, him answering; then he would do the asking and she the answering. He loved how sly she looked as she watched everyone and listened to everything. He knew she didn’t realize it, but she’d let her guard down. The ongoing threats in Annwyl’s court among the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar royals and the Cadwaladr Clan were slight in comparison to life among the humans. His family dealt with things straight on. A fist here, a blast of flame there. It kept the general peace and didn’t kill an evening—or someone’s favorite cousin. The humans, however, were much more dangerous.
She’d probably never admit it, but she was enjoying herself. He could tell. She tugged on his shirt and he leaned back again.
“Why does sweet Éibhear look so angry? He hasn’t smiled once since we sat down.”
“He’s pretending he’s not jealous about my niece Izzy.”
“That pretty girl you pointed out to me? Talaith’s daughter?” She snorted. “Foolish, foolish boy.”
Gwenvael chuckled. “I know.”
She studied others at the table before she asked, “And do those two ever stop arguing?” He didn’t need to look to see who she spoke of, but he did anyway to find out what the argument of the evening was.
Talaith held up an apple in front of Briec, dangerously close to his nose. “This doesn’t look ripe enough. Why isn’t this ripe?”
“As ruler of all fruits and vegetables, I’ll make sure to get right on that.”
“You can’t expect me to eat fruit that’s not perfectly ripe, and I’m extremely disappointed you didn’t consider my needs.”
“I don’t expect you to have a sound thought in that head of yours, either, but I do like to keep hope alive. And your needs, woman, will be met later tonight.”
Gwenvael bit into his own piece of fruit before shrugging. “It’s not an argument. It’s their bizarre idea of foreplay.”
“Really? And what’s your idea of foreplay?”
The fruit he’d only moments ago swallowed became lodged in his throat. He coughed, twice, until it moved a bit, able to freely go down his gullet.
“You all right?”
“I’ll be better when I get you back in your room.”
“That won’t happen for hours.” She held her chalice up so a servant could pour more wine into it.
“I never knew you were such a little tease, Beast.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Not on your life.”
The pair reared back a little when they realized the dining table was no longer in front of them.
“Were we done eating?” Dagmar asked, glancing suspiciously into her wineglass.
“You haven’t had too much to drink—the table’s really gone. And it seems it’s time for dancing.”
He held out his hand and opened his mouth to speak, but Dagmar cut him off.
“No.”
“You don’t even want to try?”
“No. Trust me. There are other things I’d rather do.”
“Such as?”