“I’d better go.” He pushed the window open and easily climbed through it and out onto the tiny ledge. She had no idea how he managed to do it every night and morning, but she’d be eternally grateful that he did.

“Brastias, wait.”

He pivoted toward her on the balls of his feet, those large feet the only things that kept him from falling, if not to his death then definitely to a broken body part or two.

“I love you,” he said. Then he was gone.

Morfyd had no idea how long she stood there, gazing at the spot he’d been standing in like some kind of lovesick child. He loved her? He’d not said it before now, and she knew he wouldn’t have said it unless he meant it. And, tragically, she loved him as well. Could either of them be more foolish? Taffia tugged at her elbow. “My lady? Your mother.”

“Yes, yes.”

To say she was in no mood to see her mother would be an understatement, but she had no choice. Quickly donning her witches’ robes, Morfyd dashed down to the first floor, through the Great Hall, and out into the courtyard. They’d expanded the size of the courtyard nearly two years ago to accommodate the comings and goings of dragons, and most of the humans were quite used to them now. But none were used to the Dragon Queen. Her mere presence brought out the dragonfear in nearly all the humans who served Annwyl.

Morfyd watched as her mother landed. Beside and behind her were the loyal dragon guards who protected the Dragon Queen with their very lives. Not an easy task when her mother insisted on shifting to human and demanding of all that could hear, “So where’s the whore?”

Briefly closing her eyes, trying to rein in her rarely shown temper, Morfyd said, “Stop calling her that.”

“Well, that’s what she is, isn’t she? The whore who betrayed my son?”

“Why do you refuse to believe she carries Fearghus’s babes?”

“Because it’s impossible.”

“Of all beings, Mother, you should know that anything is possible once the gods are involved.”

A panicked scream sounded and Morfyd stomped her foot at the sight of one of Rhiannon’s guards holding a stableboy in his mouth.

Frustrated, Morfyd snapped, “Mother!”

Her mother huffed impatiently. “Fine. Fine. Put him down, Cairns.”

“But my queen”—the dragon guard whined around a mouthful of screaming human—“I’m hungry.”

“Then go to the clearing and get a cow or something. But put him down!”

The human, rudely spit out, rolled across the courtyard grounds. Morfyd signaled to Taffia, and her trusted assistant went to care for the poor boy.

“Now where is she?” her mother snapped. “Where is the whore of Garbhán Isle?”

“I can’t believe you’re still not talking to me.”

“And I can’t believe you wouldn’t bring my dog.” Dagmar waited until Gwenvael settled in a clearing no more than a league or so from their destination—if she was guessing correctly—before she slid off his back. She tried to walk away, but her legs wouldn’t hold her steady and she had to grab onto the dragon’s neck to keep from falling to her knees.

“Gods!” Gwenvael growled, ignoring her discomfort. “Are we here again?”

“Yes! We are here again. You saw how upset he was!”

“Woman, he’s a dog! And I am not a beast of burden to carry your pets around.”

“He’s more than a pet. He’s my companion and protects me.”

“I’ll protect you now.”

“And somehow that gives me so little ease.”

The dragon moved away and Dagmar stumbled, almost falling. But his tail landed against her ass, keeping her upright … and taking liberties!

“Oh!” She planted her feet firmly, reached back, and slapped at his exploring tail. “Stop molesting me with that thing!”

“I’m not. I was merely helping you stand.”

She gritted her teeth. “Then why is it between my legs?”

“You moved.”

Feeling her strength return right along with her annoyance, Dagmar stepped back and raised her foot, slamming it down on the tip.

“Ow! Evil barbarian viper!” He rose on his hind legs, his front claws grasping his tail. “You are aware this is attached to me?”

“Yes. That’s how I knew it was taking liberties!”

Gwenvael put the tip in his mouth, sucking it as she might suck on her finger after slamming it in a door. They scowled at each other, neither speaking. Then his gaze drifted and he said. “I know that city.”

Dagmar looked out over the ridge, exhaled. “The great city of Spikenhammer. I’ve always wanted to come here. They have the most amazing library that you’ll find anywhere in the Northlands.”

“Spikenhammer,” he sneered. “Could that name be more obvious?” The dragon abruptly dropped his tail and frowned, “Wait. I don’t understand. I thought we were going to a monastery.”

“Why would I go to a monastery?” She pointed at the big city she’d always heard about but had never been to. “We’re going there.”

“But you told your father—”

“I lied. He never would have let me come here, with or without him.” She headed down the ridge, eager to reach the city. “We have a bit of walking, so you’d best hurry.”

“What else have you lied about?” he yelled after her.