“My bed grows cold, mate,” she murmured behind him. “Don’t leave me waiting.”

With that she turned and walked back to her bedchamber. Her chain dragging behind her.

Bercelak focused on his family. “We leave them for now as she said, but we’ll be ready for them should they return.”

His brothers nodded as did his sister. They were all part of Rhiannon’s court now. No longer the low-borns . . . but royalty.

With a nod, he turned and walked back up the stairs. He heard one of the other dragons, not his kin, mutter to a comrade beside him, the voice filled with disgust, “She’s marked him already. Look at his back.” The dragon snorted. “Well, we see who has the c**k in that family.”

Bercelak kept walking, even as he sensed his kin silently backing away from the one who spoke. As he reached one of the weapon stands at the edge of the hall, he grasped a long pike, turned, and threw it with unerring aim.

The pike slammed through the dragon’s neck, yanking him back, and impaling him against the marble wall behind him.

Bercelak turned to the rest of the court who watched him in fear. All except his kin. They looked down at their feet or at the ceiling. Because they knew if they looked at each other they’d burst out laughing. Which would definitely destroy the terror thing they were all striving for at the moment.

He smiled, which seemed to scare the royals even more. “I didn’t hear him. What did he say?”

No one answered. No one dared.

“That’s what I thought.”

With that last bit sneered at those too weak to challenge him, he went back to his bedchamber and made his mate scream his name for the remainder of the morning . . . and well into the afternoon.

Epilogue

195 years later . . .

Snarling, Rhiannon marched back toward the family’s cave. While Devenallt Mountain held her throne, it was this cave where she raised her hatchlings. And what spoiled, rotten little hatchlings they were!

Without even thinking, she stormed past her mate, busy with his kin looking at attack plans. Her throne was at risk and they would be going to war. Already her two eldest had been given the armor of battle dragons. She didn’t want them to go, but they were old enough now to make their own choices.

Bercelak’s claw grabbed her upper forearm, holding her in place. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She tried to pull away, but his grip was like a vice.

“Leave us,” he commanded the dragons in the room. And, without hesitation, they did.

“What’s wrong, Rhiannon? Tell me.”

She yanked her forearm away and glared at her mate. “Your,” and she punctuated that “your” with the tip of her tail in his face, “viper offspring cut off his tail!”

Bercelak shook his head in confusion. “Cut off whose tail?”

“Gwenvael’s!” she shouted, so angry, she could barely see straight.

But instead of Bercelak demanding his offspring’s presence so he could tell them what horrible little bastards they were, he burst out laughing.

“I’m sure he deserved it.”

Her tail slapped him across the neck. “This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, Rhiannon, just repair it. You baby him too much.”

She slammed her foot down, shaking the cave walls. “I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“When I caught them, I yelled right as Fearghus was throwing it to Briec. He was so startled that it slipped past his hands and into the river . . . they have not been able to find it.”

Bercelak cleared his throat and worked hard to keep his face straight. “It’s an easy enough thing to happen, my love.”

Her tail slammed into Bercelak’s chest, which didn’t even budge him. “You raised them very much as your father raised you, my love. Those little bastards don’t get startled!”

Unable to hold it back anymore, Bercelak once again burst out laughing. “I know!”

“Oh!” Rhiannon turned and started to storm away, but Bercelak’s forearms wrapped around her and he pulled her dragon body tight against his own.

“Don’t be angry, love. Please. I’m sorry.” He gave a valiant try at not laughing.

“It was horrible, Bercelak. Blood was flying everywhere, and he just kept swinging that tail around.”

With one snort, Bercelak started laughing again.

“You know,” she growled, “you wouldn’t think this was so funny if it were your precious Morfyd or Keita.”

As she knew, that sobered him immediately. “No, I would not.”

“Well that’s how I feel about my Gwenvael.”

“Again . . . you baby him too much.”

“And you’re too hard on him because he reminds you of your father.”

“From the time he was twenty winters I kept finding him with my father’s kitchen staff.”

“He’s lusty.”

“He’s a whore.”

“Oh!” She pulled out of his arms. “I won’t discuss this anymore. You’re irritating me, Low Born.”

She turned to walk away from him, but his voice stopped her.

“Don’t walk away from me, Rhiannon.” There was no threat in his voice. Only delicious promise.

“Shift,” he ordered with a low purr.

“Why should I?”

“Because I told you to.”

She did her best to hide the shudder that went through her body and shifted to human. In seconds, his human arms wrapped around her from behind, then his low voice muttered in her ear, “You are much too tense, Princess.”