“It’s lovely, my lady. Very relaxing.”

“That’s what I wanted. A place I can come simply to relax. To think, to strategize without all the distractions I have to deal with in my court.”

“It seems perfect.”

“It is perfect,” she said, squeezing Aidan’s forearm. “Perfect and private. It’s the only place I can go and be assured the Zealot clergy can’t listen in or even hope to invade my sanctuary.” Arms raised again, the queen slowly turned. She was just so proud! Aidan couldn’t help but smile along with her.

“Only those I’ve chosen may come here, dear Aidan. And you are one of the . . . one of . . .”

Now scowling, the queen’s words trailed off, her angry crystal-blue eyes locked on what now walked toward them.

Her name was Brigida the Most Foul. It was once just Brigida the Foul, but the royal twins had renamed her some time ago and it had stuck.

The ancient She-dragon—who many felt should have died long ago merely from old age—was a Cadwaladr and, like Rhiannon, one of the rare white Dragonwitches.

She wore dark gray robes, the hood pulled onto her head but not quite covering her face. And that face! Aidan knew that old age was hard on everyone, but Brigida had clearly given up much more than most to maintain her life in this world and the mighty powers she possessed.

There were scars on top of scars on her face and neck. Even some gouges. What, exactly, had the dragoness fought in her search for power?

And then there were her eyes. One was a bright blue, seemingly untouched by age. But the other . . . a milky white and gray that seemed to possess a life of its own.

As Brigida limped past them, her walking staff slamming into the ground again and again as she moved, her blue eye stayed focused right in front of her, locked on exactly where she was headed. But the other eye . . . that one moved to each of them. Examining every being in Rhiannon’s sacred space.

Studying each—it seemed—for risk and threat. Were any a danger to her? And, if not, did they have a soul worth taking?

At least that’s how Aidan felt when that eye swiveled his way.

“Don’t mind me,” Brigida announced as she walked past a livid Rhiannon. “I needed to get somewhere fast, is all, and this was the quickest way.”

The queen suddenly jumped as Brigida passed behind her; blue eyes growing impossibly wide, she looked stunned, and he realized that Brigida had pinched Rhiannon’s ass.

“Good day to you all!” the old witch called out before opening another mystical doorway and disappearing through it.

“Locked up like a right fort, Mum,” Keita ruthlessly teased. Not even her mother’s glower stopped her from giggling in the angry She-dragon’s face.

“I should have smothered you at hatching,” the queen lashed back at her youngest daughter.

That’s when Aidan decided it was time to check on Branwen and her mother. Anything was better than getting caught in a fight between two royal females.

But before Aidan could make his escape, Keita was standing in front of him, blocking his way.

Flipping back her red hair, Keita sized him up like a side of meat, and nodded. “You’ll do.”

“I’ll do for what?”

“Aye,” the queen echoed. “He’ll do for what?”

“I need a bit of a favor, Mì-runach.”

“I don’t do favors.”

“Fine. It’s an order then. I need you to fuck my cousin.”

Aidan gawked at the princess for a moment before turning to his queen. That’s when they both laughed, and Rhiannon put her hand on Aidan’s shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” Keita snapped.

“Hard to say,” the queen replied. “There’s so much to choose from!”

“First off,” Aidan explained, “I don’t take orders from you. Only my queen. And second, it’s funny that you’d think I’d put my friendship with Branwen the Awful in jeopardy for you.”

“Don’t make me poison your food, Mì-runach.”

“You will do no such thing!” the queen warned. “You will not harm a hair on his golden, perfect head.

“Besides,” the queen went on, “why would you want someone—anyone—to do such a horrible thing to your own cousin?”

“I expect him to make it good for her!” As if that excused everything. “But I need her distracted.” Keita stepped closer to them, glancing back to make sure Brannie and Ghleanna were still caught up in their own conversation. “You know how Brannie is with her ridiculous moral ground.”

Aidan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Aye, such evil.”

“Shut up,” the princess growled at him, before returning her focus to her mother. “I’m merely trying to keep Brannie from getting in my way.”

“Then figure out another way,” the queen told Keita. “I will not have my dear Aidan’s heart broken because you can’t find another non-sexual or non-poisonous way to distract your cousin.”

Aidan blinked. “My heart?”

The queen patted his shoulder. “I’m saving you.” She leaned in and whispered, “She’s just like her mother, our Brannie is, and I don’t think you’d enjoy being one of many.”

“Wait . . . what?”

But before the queen could say more, Ghleanna returned with a clearly despondent but resigned Branwen behind her.

“It’s settled,” the general informed the queen.

“Good.” The queen stepped close to her niece. She raised her hand and gently pushed strands of black hair behind Brannie’s ear. “What you’re doing is more important than you realize, Branwen. And greatly appreciated.”

Brannie nodded, her gaze down. “We’ll take care of it”—Brannie lifted her head, dark eyes locking with Rhiannon’s—“my queen.”

Without another word, she walked off. But where she might be going, Aidan didn’t know. The queen still had to release them.

Brannie seemed to realize that after a minute. She stopped, swung her arm wildly at the air, and bellowed, “Would someone mind letting me the battle-fuck out of here?”

The queen leaned over and loudly whispered, “She’s also moody like her mother. . . .”

Chapter Five

“Why isn’t Uncle Gwenvael back yet?” Talwyn asked her father.

“He’ll be along.”

She didn’t trust her father’s glib reply but she was just so glad to see him, she decided not to argue. Instead she hugged him again and desperately attempted to ignore the ridiculous drama going on several feet from her.

“Oh, Daddy!” Rhi cried. “It was horrible! Horrible!”

“My poor, perfect, perfect daughter!” Uncle Briec glared over Rhi’s shoulder at Talwyn. “I thought I told you to protect my perfect offspring, demon child!”

“She’s breathing, isn’t she?” Talwyn told him, one eyebrow purposely raised to antagonize him. Because, honestly, was all this necessary?

Had her cousin been through a lot? Yes. Of course. Talwyn would never deny that. But she was still alive and breathing so all the sobbing and accusations were more than Talwyn would ever be willing to tolerate.

“Of course,” she felt the need to add, “if you want your perfect, perfect daughter not to suffer, I can always put a pillow over her head when she’s asleep. And all her troubles will be gone”—she snapped her fingers—“like that.”

Now she had father and daughter glaring at her.

“Why do you have to be so horrible?” Rhi demanded, her arms still around her father’s big neck, her tiny feet miles from the ground because he was still holding her up like she was a fragile doll.

The kind Talwyn had used for archery practice when she was a five-year-old.

“Because my daddy loves me whether I’m perfect or not,” Talwyn replied. “So, I can be as horrible as I want.”

Laughing, her father kissed the top of her head. “I adore you.”

She shrugged at her cousin. “See?”

Lips a thin, angry line, Rhi patted her father’s shoulder, telling him to let her down.