Dragon Actually

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.