“We do. But she lies to protect us.”

“She doesn’t want you to know she’s sad. She sees sad as a weakness.”

Gwenvael sat on the bed next to his daughter and brushed her golden hair off her forehead. It was finally growing back after he’d found her shaved bald a few weeks ago. Arlais had not reacted well when she’d discovered that Seva and the others had made it rain . . . inside her bedroom. For hours. Until everything Arlais valued had been ruined. Gwenvael’s Five could also set fires, control lightning, and create enough wind to blow people out of any room they chose. And since his daughters never used their skills against him, Gwenvael found it all highly entertaining.

But shaving off his child’s beautiful, golden hair? Unacceptable!

“So why is your mother sad?”

Seva pursed her lips and looked up at Gwenvael with an expression that had clearly been inherited from his Dagmar.

“The boy?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“How can he not love it here? I love my uncle Bram, but he’s not exactly fun. It’s just him and books . . . and reading. So much bloody reading.”

“Var likes to read. He likes quiet. He doesn’t much like you.”

“But I’m darling.”

Seva placed her small hand on Gwenvael’s forearm. “We all know that, Daddy. And we love you just as you are. But Var . . . he might kill you while you sleep. Although I’m sure he’d feel badly about it . . . eventually.”

Gwenvael doubted that, but it didn’t matter. “She doesn’t want to let him go, does she?”

Seva shook her head. “She loves us all, but Var and Mum understand each other the way you understand the five of us. She doesn’t want to let that go.”

“I see.” He leaned down and kissed Seva’s forehead. “I’ll talk to your mum. And thanks for the heads-up.”

“Of course.”

Gwenvael stood and walked over to the fireplace and the dying fire within. He unleashed some fresh flame to warm it up again and added wood to keep it going for a bit. Then he blew out the candles that lit the rest of the room and walked to the door. There he stopped and looked back at his daughters.

“We’re all close, yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, Daddy,” his girls replied.

“And your mum has Var.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Then who is my Arlais close to? I don’t want her to feel alone.”

“Keita,” they all replied together.

“Oh. You’re probably right.”

“All Auntie Keita and Uncle Ragnar have are those ridiculous male offspring,” Seva explained. “They’ll only ever have males. Arlais will be like Auntie Keita’s own daughter.”

“Hmm.” Gwenvael reached for the door handle, remembering growing up with Keita and her way with herbs and turning them into poisons.

“Well,” he said to his girls, “just remember . . . never eat or drink anything that Arlais gives you, and I’ll make sure the kitchen staff lets us know if she’s ever lurking around . . . touching the food.” He opened the door. “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” Seva promised around a yawn. “We’ll warn you if she decides to kill us all. Then we’ll get her first.”

And her sisters agreed with a “Destruction-ho!” Their favorite chant.

Gwenvael walked into the hall and closed the door. “They’re so cute,” he gushed.

Chapter Thirteen

Elina walked into the center of the store and stood in front of the Dolt. He sat in a chair and studied her. Her hands kept clenching and unclenching. They did that because she so desperately wanted to punch him.

When they’d gotten up that morning, he’d told her that they’d be getting her clothes to help her “blend.” To be honest, she assumed they’d steal some freshly cleaned clothes that someone had hung out to dry. Instead, he’d taken her into a nearby town where he knew the proprietress of a clothing store. Most of the clothes were made to order, but she had some clothes at the ready in different sizes.

Which was why Elina was now standing in the middle of this ridiculous store in a full-length white silk dress.

The dragon, one foot resting on his thigh, his large body somehow comfortable in that chair, made a circle motion with his forefinger. “Turn around.”

“No.”

“I need to see the back. You have fuller hips than I originally thought and we don’t want you looking too wide from behind.”

Elina’s hands curled into fists again . . . and stayed that way.

“I will not wear this ridiculous garment!”

“You look lovely . . . from the front. I just want to check the—”

“Shut up!”

“Here we are,” the shopgirl trilled as she walked up to Elina and placed on her head a large white hat decorated in feathers.

The shopgirl stepped back. “Ohhhh,” she breathed. “That’s lovely. What do you think, Celyn?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Lovely.”

“That is it!” Elina exploded, unable to stand another second. “I will not do this anymore!” She slapped the hat off her head and stomped on it several times before kicking it so that it hit the dragon right in the face. “I will not wear these ridiculous Southlander clothes! You are a reckless, corrupt, immoral race that are not worthy of my help or the help of my people!”