“All right then.”

But instead of leaving, Izzy looked up to see the big bastard take off his fur cape and toss it onto a nearby chair. Then he began to remove the many weapons he had strapped on his body.

Fascinated—gods, was he getting naked? And would she mind?—Izzy walked around the table and leaned her butt against it, arms crossing over her chest. Éibhear removed the majority of his weapons until he finally was able to drop onto her bed and stretch out with his arms behind his head, incredibly long legs crossed at the ankles.

When he closed his eyes and let out an exhausted sigh, she finally asked without rancor, “What the battle-fuck are you doing?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“I’m Mì-runach. I don’t stop until I fulfill my duty.”

“Which means what exactly?”

“That until you’re ready to go, I’m here with you. By your side. Attached to you until I can deliver you to Garbhán Isle.”

“Attached to me?”

“Aye.”

“Like a parasite?”

“I prefer loyal companion. But don’t worry.” He smiled up at her. “You’ll get used to me.”

Somehow, Izzy doubted that.

Chapter 5

Princess Rhianwen, Daughter of Talaith and Briec the Mighty; Granddaughter of Dragon Queen Rhiannon and Bercelak the Great; Sister of the feared General Iseabail the Dangerous; Nolwenn Witch by birth; Niece of Morfyd the White, Fearghus the Destroyer, Keita the Viper, Gwenvael the Handsome, Lady Dagmar, Beast of the Northlands, and Annwyl the Bloody, human Queen of Dark Plains; and future great artist of the Southland realm, sat in the forest doing what she loved best. Drawing.

Rhi loved getting away from the castle when she could, spending some time on her own. Especially when outside royals staying in the guest homes had the whole house buzzing with activity—for the servants—and annoyance—for Rhi’s kin. Auntie Annwyl didn’t like outsiders or royals, so both combined . . .

But that was all right. Because the visiting royal, Lord Pombray, had a son of seventeen winters. And he was quite handsome and tall. He was human, but Rhi was at least half human. Her mother was a Nolwenn witch and her father a mighty Southland dragon prince. It wasn’t easy being made of two completely different species—many believing it was an abomination that she and her twin cousins even existed, though that wasn’t something Rhi allowed herself to worry about—but there were definitely benefits.

For instance, Rhi’s superb sense of smell allowed her to scent Lord Pombray’s son nearly a mile back. He smelled very good, so she didn’t mind much.

Glancing around, Rhi quickly swiped her hands down her hair and fluffed out the edges of her gown. Then she picked up the board she’d pinned a piece of parchment on and pretended to sketch while simultaneously looking serene. She knew she looked serene because she often practiced in the mirror in her room. She’d found that boys responded better to a serene countenance than to an angry, kill-everything-in-my-way one. A major reason why Rhi’s cousin Talwyn had pretty much given up on boys in general.

“Princess Rhianwen?”

She slowly looked up, smiled, and nodded her head at the young royal. Not even eighteen and he’d already begun to grow a very nice beard and he had such a handsome smile. He stood before her now with his arms behind his back and what looked to be his best clothes on. “Lord Albrecht.” She carefully lowered her drawing to the ground. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes, yes.”

“Do you have everything you need? Are your rooms satisfactory?”

“Oh, they’re wonderful. And so large.”

“Our guest house is quite popular among our visitors because of the size.” And because it meant the visiting royals weren’t forced to put up with Rhi’s kin at every meal. Her father and his brothers were bad enough to human royals, snarling in the mornings and basically ignoring them in the evenings. But it was Annwyl the Bloody, Rhi’s aunt and the Southland’s human queen, who made it near impossible to have royals, human or otherwise, staying within the queen’s castle for any length of time. She had little patience for outsiders, trusted few, and when she threatened to remove someone’s head, she often meant it. So Rhi’s Aunt Dagmar had had a large guest house built on Garbhán Isle for any visiting royals. It was a small castle that was equipped with its own staff and human guards. Once the house was finished, royals were more comfortable traveling to Dark Plains for important meetings with their queen. Something Rhi could easily understand.

“The queen believes in providing visitors with a lot of space.”

Albrecht nodded, glanced off. Rhi waited. No use in rushing him.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he finally said.

“Oh, you didn’t really. I was just sketching. I like to come out here where it’s quiet. It can get so busy in the house.”

“I’m sure.”

When he appeared at a loss for words, she prompted, “Would you like to join me for a bit?”

“Um . . . yes. Yes, I would.”

He started to walk toward her, but stopped. He blinked and suddenly brought his arms around, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “I nearly forgot. These are for you.”

“Oh! Those are beautiful!” She held her hands out and Albrecht was leaning down to hand them to her when a stream of flame torched the gorgeous blooms and had the poor boy screaming like a small animal.