Gwenvael saw soldiers moving toward him. He shifted, forcing the girl to dash off to the side to avoid the crush of his dragon body.

“Dragon!” He expected them to run. They always ran before. But these troops didn’t.

And he suddenly realized that Annwyl hadn’t been the only one expected. So had a dragon.

Annwyl slammed her blade into another soldier’s belly and sliced him open. She snatched the man’s sword from the sheath at his side, ignoring the bowels that fell to the ground in front of her, and turned to face the next attacker. They wanted to get her in those nets, but she knew what that meant. Going back to her brother and any tortures he had planned for her. The thought chilled her to the bone and spurred her speed and malice.

She began first by hacking off arms. Any arms holding nets. She realized quickly how her training with Fearghus benefited her as she lobbed off another arm and removed the man’s head. She moved faster now. Her attacks more pointed, more deadly. For a moment she forgot how angry she was with him. But then she remembered and practically cut a man in two with her rage.

She heard Gwenvael’s roar of anger and turned to find that a separate group of men were trying to take the dragon down. They had ropes wrapped around his neck and at least thirty men were trying to pull the beast to the ground. He blasted a few with a breath of fire, but she recalled that in his human form Gwenvael had been quite ill. She now realized that same illness affected the dragon as well. A few more moments, and he would be down and the soldiers would take him.

She ran toward him, taking another soldier’s head as she passed by. She slid to a stop under the dragon’s neck and slashed at the ropes holding him, slicing as many as she could into two. Gwenvael pulled up as some of the pressure lessened, dragging the men holding the last few intact ropes with him. As they came close, Annwyl gutted several of them, and took a few heads.

“Fire!”

Annwyl crossed her blades in front of her as archers released a volley of arrows. But they never reached her as white flame destroyed them in midflight. A silver dragon appeared over the battle, his flame taking out almost an entire battalion. A white dragon swooped down and snapped up a carriage of soldiers, tossing them like toys. Then Annwyl saw him.

He landed beside his golden brother, blasting the last of the men still holding ropes.

“Take her!” he barked at the now-free Gwenvael.

“What about you?”

“We’re fine. Take her!”

Another group of men charged Annwyl. She readied her blades but suddenly found herself gripped firmly about the waist and airborne. She watched the land recede from her sight.

“You bastard! Let me down!”

“Not on your life, beauty.” The golden claw gripped her tighter. “You get hurt, he’ll kill me. Now quiet. I’m trying not to vomit.”

Fearghus watched Briec and Morfyd unleash lines of flame, destroying anything in their wake. A small group of men, about twenty, ran toward him, their blades drawn. In disgust, Fearghus spit out a fireball and watched with little satisfaction as the men writhed and screamed.

He saw another group trying to escape. “Briec! Kill them! Leave none alive!”

Briec followed and Fearghus walked out among the remains, stepping on any men he thought still lived. Morfyd landed in front of him.

He nodded toward the empty spot where Gwenvael first stood and the ropes that lay there. “Seems I was expected as well.”

His sister nodded. “Seems so.”

Fearghus growled. “I am not happy, sister.”

“I can tell.”

“And you still have no idea who’s helping Lorcan?”

“It’s Hefaidd-Hen.” Fearghus watched as a wounded Bercelak landed gingerly in front of him, making sure not to further damage his wounded claw.

“Hefaidd-Hen? The Hefaidd-Hen?”

“Well, that’s just bloody wonderful,” Morfyd spat out as Briec continued to fly overhead blasting flames.

“And when were you planning to tell us?”

“Never. The girl shouldn’t have even been here. And you shouldn’t have been helping her.”

“Why would Hefaidd-Hen help Lorcan?” Morfyd cut in before Fearghus could go for their father’s throat.

“How should I know? And why should I care? These are human concerns, not ours.”

“You should care because Hefaidd-Hen’s a dragon,” Morfyd snapped angrily.

“If he gets Lorcan’s loyalty, then he gets his troops, which no doubt would triple once he’s secured the loyalty of the other regions.”

“And once he gets his troops, he moves on the queen,” Morfyd summed up quickly.

Fearghus saw his father suddenly realize the implication to them all of Hefaidd-Hen’s involvement.

“He wouldn’t dare.” If there was one thing Fearghus had always been sure of it was his father’s feelings for the queen. He had no doubt this little revelation would change everything.

“That dragon craves power more than anything,” he reminded Bercelak. “And all he’s ever wanted was the queen’s throne.”

“There’s much power in her blood,” Morfyd added. “If he takes it . . .”

“That won’t happen.”

“Then you best hope Annwyl defeats Lorcan, father. If she doesn’t, however, then we’d best prepare for war. Because no dragon will be safe.”

Fearghus watched Bercelak struggle with all this. The old dragon hated being wrong. Especially when his own children pointed it out to him. But Bercelak knew, in his heart, how right they were. And Fearghus knew that he would do what was best for the queen, as Bercelak always had.