And she knew that when dawn came, he’d leave her. Tragically, she’d been right.

Annwyl dragged herself up to a sitting position, the fur cover slipping to her waist. She ached all over. And she did mean all over. Wounds from the battle littered her body. And her muscles and skin were sore from Fearghus’s Claiming of her.

Remembering the Claiming, she glanced down at her forearms and froze.

“Brastias!”

In a few moments her head battle lord strode into her tent, his eyes averted from her naked br**sts that she didn’t bother to cover. “Is Morfyd still here?”

“Aye.”

“Fetch her.”

He didn’t ask questions, he just moved. In a few minutes Morfyd came in, she saw the look on Annwyl’s face and immediately became concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Your brother’s gone.”

Morfyd nodded. “Yes. I saw him this morning.”

“Why?”

“He said you needed to do this on your own. You would be the one ruling these people. It was up to you to earn their loyalty. All he could do was bring their fear.”

Of course, he spoke true. The bastard.

Annwyl pointed to the marks on her chest. The pain she endured made her hope it had some useful significance and wasn’t merely the queen having a bit of fun. “You never gave me a straight answer about this.”

“That is the Chain of Beathag. It’s now a part of you, like your skin. The marks will never go away. And it has extended your life five . . . maybe six hundred years. Perhaps a bit more or less than that. Hard to tell, really.”

Annwyl stared at her friend. “Oh.” Well, that might be worth a few minutes of excruciating pain.

She cleared her throat and held out her arms. “And these?”

Morfyd took Annwyl’s forearms in her hands and studied them. She smiled. “Fearghus Claimed you last night, I see.” Clearly Morfyd slept somewhere else last night, since anyone within a league of the camp site could hear their exhaustive couplings.

“Yes. Now what are these?”

Morfyd shrugged. “He branded you.”

Annwyl looked again at the wounds. Last night they had just been areas of burned skin. She assumed that once she healed, scarred flesh would remain. But that’s not what she saw now. Instead she saw a dragon brand on each of her forearms. The lines were dark, the dragons clearly defined. Easily seen. Each dragon different from the other, both wrapped around her forearms. Otherwise the flesh on her arms remained healthy and clear.

“He really branded you,” Morfyd added.

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve just never seen one so . . . dark before. Except my mother’s. These lines are coal black.”

“He said it would be clear that my love and loyalty was to the dragon. Your brother was not joking.” Annwyl blinked as she remembered all of the Claiming from the previous night. She lifted the fur covering over her legs and sighed. “Oh, honestly!”

Morfyd peeked over the fur covering and snorted out a laugh at the sight of Annwyl’s thighs. Dragons, larger than the ones on her forearms, clearly branded on her flesh. “He’s more like Bercelak than any of us realized,” Morfyd laughed.

“Well, I’ll not wear a chain. I’ll leave that to the queen.”

Morfyd leaned back, her smile revealing what a beautiful woman she was even with the scar. “If you like I could have some gauntlets made that would hide the ones on your arms. If you are feeling unsafe.”

Annwyl shook her head. “No. What are a few more scars, brands, burns? Besides, I’ll not hide my loyalty to your brother from any man.” She stood and headed toward the tub. “And if one of them dares call me a dragon’s whore, I’ll take his head.” She stopped and motioned to the tub. “Now, can you do that trick with the water?”

Chapter 20

Brastias searched the castle for her. She kept disappearing on them. And once they found one hiding place, she would simply find another.

One year had passed since Annwyl took her brother’s head and his place as leader of Garbhán Isle and Dark Plains. For six months she squashed rebellions as quickly as they rose. She also created alliances with other nearby kingdoms that hadn’t been in place for almost a century.

But once the battles stopped and Annwyl’s kingdom became peaceful, she seemed increasingly unhappy. It didn’t take him long to realize that she was a wartime ruler. Her leadership born of blood and struggles for ground. That was all she knew.

But Brastias also knew that if Fearghus had been by her side, she’d be much less restless. Yet the dragon never came for her. And she never returned to Dark Glen to find him.

Morfyd, however, stayed by her side as counsel. With almost two hundred and fifty years of knowledge trapped inside that beautiful body, she helped Annwyl with the decisions involving peace and politics. Brastias did what he could, but it was Morfyd who kept Annwyl from taking nobles’ heads on a whim. An amazing dragon, that one.

He’d just passed an unused bedroom when he heard a sound from the other side of the door. The sound of a turning page.

Brastias walked back and pushed open the heavy oak door. He found her reading by a window, a lone candle the only illumination in the room.

“Annwyl?”

“What now?” Her snappish tone increased as the months passed.

“We need you in the main hall.”

“Why?”

“Delegations are here to bring you tributes.”