“Pummeling you into submission!”

“You’re not very good at it.”

“So everyone keeps tel ing me.” She released his neck and dropped to the ground. Ragnar faced her and marveled at the fact that being caught in the middle of this siege on Garbhán Isle had not affected Princess Keita’s dress code. Her blue dress glittered, her jewel-encrusted gold jewelry sparkled, and she stil wore no damn shoes! Why wouldn’t the female wear shoes when she was in her human form? Was there a moral reason? A fashion one? What was her problem with shoes?

“Why are you staring at my feet?” She raised a brow. “Do they arouse you?”

“Keita—”

“They do, don’t they?” Pushing the toes of her right foot into the ground and raising the heel a bit, she said, “They are quite adorable. Just like me!”

“I missed you, Keita,” Ragnar told her, al teasing aside. “Very much.”

“Oh? That’s nice to hear.”

“Is that al you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say? What do you think I should say?”

“I don’t think you should say anything. I was just asking.”

“Wel . . . al right. I’m going to see my brothers.” She nodded, walked away, but she was heading away from the castle, so she stopped and turned, heading back. She walked by, got about ten feet, stopped.

Then Keita the Viper spun around and ran into his arms, hugging him tight. “This is al your fault!” she accused.

“What is?”

“How much I missed you! And I was shockingly worried about you. I actual y cared if you were hurt or had been damaged in some way.” She leaned back, squinted up at him. “You weren’t, were you? Damaged?”

“Not so that I won’t heal.”

“Good.” She rested her head on his chest. “Believe it or not, I don’t know what I’d have done if something happened to you.” Keita abruptly pul ed back from him and punched him in the chest. “What have you done to me, foreigner? Wel , let me make it plain that you’l not trap me in your evil web of amazing sex and unconditional love! I’m stronger than that!” And Ragnar sighed . . . loudly.

Rhiannon sat down beside her youngest offspring on the hil that overlooked the castle of Garbhán Isle and the surrounding grounds.

She’d known since his hatching that this time would come. For Fearghus and Briec it had come quite early. For Morfyd it had come quite late.

And for Gwenvael and Keita . . . wel , it had never been. It was that point in a young dragon’s life when he was no longer a hatchling, a babe. Yet being a ful adult was stil a few years out of reach. For most of them it wasn’t a hard transition. They simply went from being fil ed with wonder to cynical pains in the ass seemingly overnight. But Éibhear had always been different. A little smarter. A whole lot sweeter. She’d always feared that the transition for him would not be an easy one.

And, based on what Fearghus had told her, it wouldn’t be. Not for her sweet Éibhear. Not now that he blamed himself for something that could have happened to any of them. And, in some ways, had. As royals they al had to make decisions, had to do things that didn’t always feel good or even right, but were necessary. Austel ’s death, while tragic, was the way of war. As a soldier in Rhiannon’s army, that was the risk Éibhear took.

The risk Rhiannon took by al owing her offspring to involve themselves in war, to risk their lives picking up a sword, an ax, a hammer and set off after her enemies. To keep her throne safe, her kingdom safe.

Real y, what could she say to her son now that would make him feel better? What words of wisdom could she impart that would make him say,

“Oh? Wel , if it was to be . . .”

No. There was nothing to say. Nothing she could say or do that would make her son feel any better.

In fact, Rhiannon knew only one thing at the moment. She knew that she’d already lost the sweet hatchling she adored since she’d seen his handsome face grin at her after tumbling out of his egg, head first. And what dragon would replace that blue-scaled hatchling? Rhiannon stil didn’t know.

So with no words to ease what Éibhear was going through, Rhiannon simply placed her arm around him and tugged until he rested his head on her shoulder. And there they sat, on that hil , staring off at the bodies of Tribesmen not yet cleaned up, wishing things could go back to the way they were, but knowing that would never happen.

Chapter 38

For five ful days Queen Annwyl slept, and Izzy had never been so grateful. Annwyl had needed that sleep more than anyone could possibly know.

At first, everyone tried to tiptoe around, Fearghus snarling at anyone making too much noise. But what Izzy knew and what everyone else eventual y realized was that nothing could wake Annwyl. But when she final y did emerge, bounding down the stairs into the Great Hal , her long, light brown hair washed and a clean pair of black leggings, black boots, and one of her favored sleeveless chain-mail shirts on, Izzy couldn’t help but grin. This .

. . this was the Annwyl she knew. And gods, was she glad to see her again.

“Morning, Iz.”

“Morning.”

Annwyl dropped hard into a chair catty-corner from Izzy and put her feet up on the table. Izzy handed her a round loaf of bread.

“Sleep wel ?” she asked Annwyl.

“Like the dead. It felt wonderful.” Annwyl tore off chunks of bread and ate while looking around the room. “Where is everyone?” she asked between bites.