Without a word, Annwyl began to walk off and Morfyd grabbed the back of her dress, yanking the monarch to their side. “Don’t you dare go over there and tell that man you’re undead!”

“Please let me go over there and say it! Please!”

“No. Tell her, Dagmar. Tell her it’s a horrible idea.”

“Well …”

“Well? What do you mean well?”

“My suggestion?” She motioned the two women closer with a tilt of her head. “Don’t say you’re the undead. That’s too obvious and can be used against you with the other monarchs. But if he fears you’re the undead that could definitely work to your advantage.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“I know.”

“It is,” Annwyl agreed. “But I have no idea how to do that.”

“Leave it to me.” Dagmar shot back the rest of her wine, straightened her shoulders, and tossed her hair back. “By the time I’m done, he’ll be too terrified to stir up anything with anyone.”

Gwenvael pursed his lips and thought about relieving some of the pressure, but Fearghus walking over distracted him.

“Why did Dagmar convince that idiot Craddock that Annwyl might be or might not be undead?” Fearghus asked while handing Gwenvael a pint.

Ruminating on that for a moment, Gwenvael finally answered, “I have no idea. But I’m absolutely positive it was done for a good reason.”

“That I know. I was simply curious.” Fearghus exhaled and went on. “I haven’t had a chance, but … when everything was going on with Annwyl and the babes, you stood by me. I wanted to thank you for that.”

“Was there ever a moment you thought I wouldn’t stand by you?”

“Actually … no. Which surprised me more.” They chuckled, and Fearghus added, “But thanks all the same, brother.”

“No thanks needed.” When there was moaning from under his foot, Gwenvael pressed down harder.

“Are you planning to let Fal up some time tonight?” Fearghus asked.

Gwenvael glared at his cousin, annoyed Fal was getting blood on his favorite pair of boots. “He was grabby hands again with my Dagmar.” Gwenvael leaned over and snarled at the dragon under his foot. “I’ve told him again and again that’s not a good idea.”

“Apparently he’s not listening.”

“He will if I snap his neck.”

“But then we’ll never hear the end of it from Mum.”

Briec found Talaith outside, past the Garbhán Isle gates. She sat on a boulder and stared up at the sky. The moon wasn’t yet full, but it still surrounded her in a soft glow.

“There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Everything all right?” she asked, still staring up at the sky.

“Well, let’s see … My brilliant and beautiful sister is suddenly in love with some lowly human. Keita isn’t speaking to anyone. Annwyl is convinced her daughter hates her while Fearghus is convinced his son is plotting to kill him while he sleeps. I found my mother and father acting like animals in the war room—yet again. But that pales in comparison to finding my father—a dragon considered one of the greatest warriors of our time, mind you—telling his grandchildren, ‘Goo, goo, gaa, gaa,’ when he thought no one was looking. And to top the evening off, Gwenvael has Claimed Dagmar as his own for eternity by marking her ass, which he keeps slapping periodically as the night goes on.”

Talaith’s head fell forward as she laughed hysterically.

“She is brilliantly livid, if I do say so myself. And if I were him, I’d be afraid to go to sleep tonight,” Briec continued.

“Your family is amazing.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.”

Briec sat behind her, pulling her in between his legs until she could rest her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, enjoying that there was just enough room for the both of them.

“Don’t you want to come inside and dance with me for a bit?”

“I will. Soon.”

Leaning in close, he pressed his lips to her throat. As she often did, Talaith moved her head to the side, allowing him better access. He gently nipped her skin, working his way down to her shoulder, while his hands slid down her arms. His brutal lust for her always surprised him. He’d thought it would wane over time, but it had grown steadily day by day as she had grown and changed over time, becoming more confident and comfortable in her new life.

He slid his hands down her arms and onto her thighs. She had such delightfully strong thighs, he always enjoyed running his hands over them, dragging his fingers up under her gown so he could touch her smooth skin. He brushed against the leather ties that held her sheathed dagger, his c**k hardening more knowing it was there, knowing that when he took her again tonight—as he’d done for most of the afternoon—it would still be there in easy reach, making her even more deliciously dangerous.

Briec continued to travel up her thighs, but when her hands grabbed his, he let her have control, wanting to see what she’d do.

Talaith drew his hands up farther, close to her sex. But she didn’t stop there, she kept moving until she reached her stomach. She pressed his hands against her belly, sighing contentedly when he smoothed his fingers across it.

He adored how soft her skin was. How her entire body reacted to his merest touch. How … how …