Annwyl straddled him, just as he’d done to her. Snatching off the strip of leather she used to bind her hair back, she pushed her brother’s hands out of her way and wrapped it around his throat. She pulled the ends tight and ignored his flailing arms, keeping the pressure up.

There would be no noble death for him. She would not take his head while he still breathed as she would have any other warrior. He deserved no such courtesy. Instead, she gritted her teeth and kept up the pressure.

Soon his movements slowed and desperate needy sounds came from the back of his throat. She waited until he dropped off unconscious and with one strong pull, she snapped his neck.

She released him, and his lifeless body dropped to the ground. She realized that it took less time than she thought it would. The task of actually killing her own brother.

“Annwyl.”

Annwyl tore her eyes away from her brother’s body and looked up at the looming form of her dragon-lover.

“You need to turn the tide of this battle.”

She glanced over the battlefield and saw that her men and Lorcan’s were at a standstill. Both sides fighting equally well. Neither side giving up any ground.

She nodded as she retrieved her sword. “You are right.”

Brastias raised his ax to cleave another man in two when he heard her voice. Clear and strong, booming over the battlefield and the land.

“Hear me!”

On her command, they all stopped fighting and focused their attention on her. Even the enemy paused. She stood upon the black dragon’s back as if she were born to be there.

“I lead Dark Plains! I lead these troops! And now Garbhán Isle belongs to me!” With that final screech, she raised her brother’s head high in the air.

Her men screamed her name as Brastias turned to the soldier before him. “Now where were we?” he asked, just before cleaving the man in two.

Chapter 19

Fearghus sank deep into the metal tub someone placed into Annwyl’s tent. He let the hot water wrap around his human body, soaking the aching muscles. He would rather be back at his lake, but this would do for now. Besides, he would be home soon enough.

“Annwyl?” Morfyd entered the tent, but stopped short on sight of her brother. “Oh. You.”

“Yes. Me.”

“Where’s Annwyl?”

“Still celebrating with her men, I presume.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tub. “Did the family leave?”

“All except Gwenvael. He’s enjoying the camp girls, I think.”

“That better be all he’s enjoying,” Fearghus growled out.

Morfyd chuckled. “He tried, but I hear Annwyl handled it.”

“Does he still have his head?”

“For the moment.”

“Sister, I need to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“How did Annwyl survive the flames? Hefaidd-Hen’s flames?”

“Uh . . . well, you know . . . um . . .”

Fearghus jumped up and out of the tub, grabbing his sister by her arms and snatching her completely into the tent. “You let Annwyl face her alone, didn’t you?”

“It was a risk she was willing to take!” Morfyd pulled her arms away and pushed her brother.

“But not a risk that I was willing to take! Not with her life!” Fearghus pushed her back.

“I feel no guilt for what I did. I had to protect her, and the family agreed.”

“I didn’t agree!”

“We didn’t ask you!” She punched her brother in the chest.

“But Annwyl belongs to me.” He slapped his hand over his sister’s face and shoved her.

Morfyd stumbled back and glared at him. “No. She doesn’t.” Morfyd smirked at him. “You haven’t Claimed her.” Fearghus winced at that. His sister spoke true. Until he performed the Claiming Ceremony, Annwyl was as unshackled as a virgin. “You haven’t marked her as your own. So she belongs to no one. Although the way Gwenvael has been looking at her lately, you never know.”

The siblings growled at each other. Then Fearghus pulled his sister into a headlock.

“Ow! Let me go, you crazy bastard!”

He ground his knuckles into the top of her head. “You are the most irritating little—”

“Annwyl, I . . .” Fearghus looked up as Brastias entered the tent. But he took one look at the siblings and walked back out.

Fearghus released his sister and shoved her away so she couldn’t get in a good kick.

“If anything had happened to her . . .”

“But it didn’t. And maybe you didn’t notice, but it saved her life!”

With that Morfyd straightened up her robes, pushed her white hair out of her face, stuck her tongue out at her brother, and left.

Fearghus growled, smoke curling out from his nostrils. “Brat.”

* * *

Annwyl headed back to her tent. She’d grown tired of pushing Gwenvael’s hand off her thigh every ten seconds. Eventually she’d just pulled his fingers back until she heard one of them give a satisfying “snap.” It angered him to no end, but after the past day he really didn’t worry her.

She walked past rows of men feasting and celebrating. Still so much more work to do, but she let the men have their time. They earned it. And they would earn more still. Annwyl knew that she must attack Garbhán Isle and take possession of the castle before she would truly be queen. It galled her that she would have to return to a place she held with such contempt, but the seat of power for Dark Plains was Garbhán Isle. She had no choice. And once done there she would then have to defeat any and all that might still hold loyalty to her brother. Yes, she had much work to do. But tonight she would celebrate. Tonight was special.