“That is Annwyl’s tower.”

“Tower? What does she need a tower for? Does she plan to torture a lot of people?” Rhiannon frowned. “Gods, she plans to torture a lot of people.”

“Mum,” Fearghus said. “You left your mountain fortress for a reason. Why not just tell me rather than giving me a lot of horse shit. What is it?”

She stroked her hand against Fearghus’s cheek. “Always so smart. You make me so very proud.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I know.” She grinned and walked around him. “I know.”

Boots on, their father stood beside Gwenvael. “Why are we just standing here?” he demanded.

Fearghus frowned. “We were waiting for you.”

With a grunt, the dragon pushed past his sons, but before Fearghus could throttle the mean bastard, Rhiannon caught one of Fearghus’s arms and Gwenvael caught the other.

“Why is he always such a rude bastard?” Fearghus growled.

“Only to you lot,” Rhiannon reminded him, patting his arm. “He adores me.”

Celyn and Brannie neared the open front doors of the Great Hall while the arguing between Briec and Annwyl continued.

The siblings had only this one chance to escape and they knew it. But just as they reached their last step to freedom, they were suddenly blocked by the Dragon Queen and more of their royal cousins.

“Brannie! Darling!” Rhiannon called out happily, her arms opening wide to grab Brannie in a smothering hold.

Celyn eased past his queen, more than ready to leave his sister to fend for herself as she would have done to him if their positions were reversed, but a large hand gripped him around the throat and pushed him back.

“Cousin!” Gwenvael falsely cheered. “How wonderful to see you! It’s been . . . days. At least.”

Celyn pushed against his cousin’s chest, but tried his best to hide his desperation from his queen and uncle.

“Come!” Gwenvael continued. “Join us!”

“Let me go, you bastard!” Celyn snarled softly at his older cousin.

“No, no! You’re family! You must join us!” Gwenvael’s voice lowered to a mean whisper. “I insist.”

It had been years—bloody years!—since Gwenvael had warned a very young Celyn not to go near his adopted niece, Iseabail the Dangerous. A warning Celyn had promptly ignored. And a few years later, when it had come out that Celyn and Izzy had become lovers, Gwenvael had made it his business to torment his cousin. Celyn didn’t know why. Chasing after unrelated, beautiful females was something Gwenvael had always done himself before he’d mated with Dagmar. And, according to Annwyl, Gwenvael had definitely at least tried with her before Fearghus had properly Claimed Annwyl as his.

Surprisingly, though, Gwenvael was shockingly sly about his small bouts of revenge. Never making a big deal of it, or involving his brothers. It was as if he wanted to hide the fact that something so minor bothered him so much. He was considered the jovial one of the royal siblings, after all.

But none of that changed the fact that the golden-haired bastard was currently making Celyn’s throbbing head that much worse.

Gwenvael reached out and grabbed Celyn’s shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him forward.

“Mum!” the bastard cheered. “Look who’s here to escort you home once you’re ready to go? Our wonderful cousin Celyn!”

With her arm tight around Brannie’s shoulders, her grin appearing as plotting and unholy as her son’s, the queen said, “Wonderful! And dear, sweet Brannie can stay, too! I simply adore family time!”

Gwenvael’s arm looped around Celyn’s neck and his chin rested on Celyn’s shoulder. “So do I, Mummy. So do I!”

Chapter Five

Éibhear the Contemptible shifted to human and quickly pulled on leggings. He had to drag on his boots while following an angry, stalking Izzy. The only thing keeping her from completely outpacing him was that she wasn’t running and he had longer legs.

“Izzy, wait!” he yelled after her, even though he knew she wouldn’t listen. Not when she was this pissed off. “Iseabail!”

But it was no use.

Éibhear got the last boot on and ran after his mate. He’d just cleared the last step when he saw Izzy, in front of everyone, walk boldly up to Rhiannon, point an accusing finger, and say, “What have you done—?”

“My lovely granddaughter!” Rhiannon exclaimed, cutting off the rest of Izzy’s words. Then she grabbed Izzy about the neck and yanked her into her body, hugging her tight. So tight, Éibhear was sure Izzy couldn’t breathe; her arms desperately flew out from her body, trying to push Rhiannon away.

“Oh, my dearest girl. How I’ve missed you! It’s been what?” Rhiannon asked. “Days? Weeks? Since I’ve seen you last?”

Éibhear ran over to extricate his mate from his mother, but then, suddenly, his idiot cousin Celyn was between him and his goal.

“Move,” Éibhear snapped at him.

Celyn the Charming—yeah, right, bloody “charming” all right—gave a bit of a smile before turning to Éibhear’s brothers and asking, “Aren’t you all glad to see your little brother returned to the safety of your collective bosom?”

“Not really.”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Who?”

Éibhear was about to move Celyn himself since the black dragon couldn’t seem to get out of his way with any speed, when Éibhear stopped, and faced his brothers. “Wait . . . what? You don’t care I’m home?” he asked his brothers. “To the big, fat, disgusting warmth of your collective bosoms?”