Extremely calm.

“As I said, I know she’s family and has been useful in the past,” Var explained, “so I’d never suggest we kill her.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“That we get and maintain control of her. She’s a danger.”

“She’s a witch.”

“And your point?”

Bram gave a small jerk of his head at Frederick and the boy, a survivor like his aunt Dagmar, immediately moved out of his chair and to the back of the room.

Bram followed. He’d been working with Rhiannon for centuries. He knew her almost as well as he knew Ghleanna. And he knew the dangers of both. Sadly, his grandnephew had not bothered to learn those dangers yet. Nor had he learned when to listen to Bram.

“There was once a royal,” Rhiannon told her grandson, “who attempted to control witches. He marked them so they’d be easy to spot. Your aunt Morfyd, because she didn’t want the humans she tended to know she was dragon and be frightened of her, stood while a human marked her as a witch on her face.”

“I . . . I wasn’t suggesting—”

“Do you know what happened to that monarch?” Rhiannon asked. “Your aunt Annwyl killed him and took his head. His name was Lorcan and he was her brother. She never mentions him,” she continued. “With reason. Of course, if Annwyl hadn’t killed him . . . I would have. I’d called Keita back to do just that once I saw what he’d done to my daughter.”

“Grandmother, I—”

Rhiannon twitched her fore- and middle fingers and the heavy wood table Var was still sitting at slid hard across the room and slammed into the far wall.

She took a few steps until she stood in front of her still-sitting grandson.

“So I’m sure you’ll understand,” she went on, “if I’m concerned that you want to bind and trap a witch for being a witch.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I will not allow you, Unnvar, to travel down a path made up of those Annwyl has already killed. Not my grandson. Now, if Brigida does something that concerns me, then I will handle it. Witches will handle it. Not you, with the backing of legions. Do we understand each other?”

“We do.”

“Good.” She turned and started toward the door. “In future, you may want to discuss these sorts of concerns with your uncle Bram first. He’s very good at knowing how to handle situations before they ever have to come to me. The mark of a good representative of a queen, wouldn’t you say?” She opened the door and looked back at Var. “And you, my good lad, still have a bit more to learn.”

After the queen walked out, slamming the door behind her, Bram and Frederick went across the room, picked up the table and carried it back until it was in front of Var again. They then pulled their chairs out and sat down.

Var, eyes downcast, said, “That was a bit of a miscalculation on my part.”

Bram and Frederick exchanged surprised glances. The boy wasn’t one for admitting when he’d screwed up. It wasn’t in his nature. He might be thinking it, but he rarely admitted it.

“It was,” Bram agreed. “But you care about your kin. Nothing wrong with that.”

“So what do I need to do next time?”

“Make sure there’s not a next time.”

“Do you know what your mother does?” Frederick asked. “She learns from others’ mistakes. But she especially learns from her own. Master that, and I’m sure you’ll keep your head.”

Frowning deeply, Var turned to gape at his human cousin, his mouth open.

“What?” Frederick asked. “We all know how Annwyl is about witches and her kin. Especially kin that are witches. You cross that line, Var, and she’ll take your head right off.”

Bram laughed and his grandnephew now looked at him with his mouth open.

“Oh, Var, you have to know that your cousin is right.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

They didn’t bother to leave the room and no one visited. Not even Uther and Caswyn. Food was left at the door for them along with a jade jar of salve with handwritten directions explaining how it was to be used on Brannie’s back.

Somehow, that particular process led to Branwen being held upside down with Aidan’s cock in her mouth.

She didn’t mind, though. No. Not at all.

Because Aidan was not one of those stingy bastards who expected to receive but wasn’t much in the way of giving. For every time she had the Mì-runach’s cock in her mouth, she would soon find herself with her legs over his shoulders and his head bobbing between her thighs.

All of that was amazing too, but there was just something about Aidan being buried deep inside her, fucking her hard. Or sometimes fucking her slow and easy. It didn’t really matter which, it all just felt . . . perfect.

Brannie didn’t know what was happening. She should have been done with Aidan the Divine a while ago. After their first time.

She might go back a time or two with some blokes, but only if she was bored and had nothing better to do that day. But staying locked in a room all this time with the same being who wasn’t Izzy, telling her the most delicious gossip about whom Dagmar was blackmailing or which cousin was fucking which royal whose father was none too happy? That simply didn’t happen to Brannie.

Even worse, Brannie couldn’t dismiss what was happening because they were mostly fucking and had no time for words. They did have time. They talked. Then they’d fuck. Then they’d talk some more.

And she was really starting to hate him for making her like him so much.

* * *

Naked, their backs against the floor, their legs on the bed; they gazed up at the ceiling.

“Why,” Aidan had to ask, “would your parents have so many offspring?”

“That’s nothing. My aunt Maelona . . . she has eighteen.”

“Offspring?”

“Aye.”

“Why would she . . . why would anyone . . . I don’t understand.”

“She’s very happy. Her mate and my cousins adore her. Of course, she did move as far away from her siblings as she could manage. But I think that had a lot to do with her mate. He didn’t really get along with me uncles.”

“I can see that. I don’t get along with your uncles.”

“Not many do.”

“Tell me . . .”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember all your kin’s names?”

“Oh, no. I barely remember your name.”

“That’s lovely.”

“Just being honest.”

Aidan thought a moment. “They must take that sort of thing personally, though.”

“Oh, they do. But I learned from my uncle Bercelak, who pretends he remembers everyone’s name . . . but he doesn’t. You see, he just does the same thing to everyone. He points to someone and says, ‘You. Come here!’”

“That’s how he’s always talked to me. And Éibhear.”

“I said everyone. Except his daughters. Never his daughters. Never Auntie Rhiannon or Dagmar, but I think that has a lot to do with fear.”

“No one ever said your uncle was stupid.”

“True. Anyway, there’s a look to all the Cadwaladr that makes them easy to spot. So when I see someone I’m sure is a cousin and they greet me warmly, with a big hug, I reply, ‘Hey, you!’”

Aidan looked away from the ceiling so he could gaze at Brannie. “‘Hey, you’?”

She shrugged. “It works. I just make sure to do it with a smile. I’ve learned from Rhiannon that you can get away with almost anything as long as you smile while doing it.”

“That really only works for females. When a male smiles like that . . . he just looks sadistic.”

“You might have a point. No one in the universe likes it when Uncle Bercelak smiles.”

Aidan returned his gaze to the ceiling. “Do you think Keita will want to leave tomorrow?”

“No. She won’t. But we will.”

Surprised by that answer, Aidan pulled his legs off the bed and rolled to his side, resting on his elbow. He looked down at Brannie, whose focus was still on the ceiling.