“So you say you won’t use this against me.”

“I won’t.”

“And why is that? We both know there’s something you want from me. Something I won’t give. So why wouldn’t you use this to bargain with?”

“For two reasons. One, that would make you an enemy. And I don’t want you as an enemy. In fact, you’re the last person in all the Northlands that I can afford to have as an enemy.”

“You’re right,” she admitted.

“I know. Were I to use any of this, I’d get the truth, to be sure. But only part of it. Enough to make me go away, but not enough to really help me. Not enough to keep Queen Annwyl safe.”

He was right. He was exactly right. “And the second reason?”

The dragon smiled. “I like to watch too. It would be hypocritical of me to use that against another.”

“I do not watch for enjoyment. I merely need to be sure—”

“Don’t”—he shook his head, his expression serious—“don’t lie to me.” He swung his arm out, encompassing the vast lands around them. “Lie to everyone. Tell them all that they want to hear while you get what you want. But don’t lie to me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because we understand each other too well, Dagmar, to bother with the smaller games.”

She was confused by his directness. Confused and intrigued.

“So what are you suggesting, Lord Gwenvael?”

“Is that the dessert from tonight?”

She glanced at the rich dessert lying on a cloth beside her. For a moment, it seemed she didn’t even remember bringing it. “Yes.”

“Mind?” he asked while reaching over her and grabbing it. “It was really good. You have excellent cooks.”

“We do.”

He used his fingers to tear off a piece of the dessert and drop it into his mouth. He let out a sigh as the flavor burst against his tongue. “Just wonderful.”

“What are you suggesting, dragon?”

He licked his lips and said, “I’m suggesting several things. But most importantly that we not see each other as combatants.”

“But aren’t we?”

“Only if we want nothing out of this.” He licked delicious paste and dough from the tips of his fingers. “I’m not blind, Dagmar. These are serious defenses built on your father’s lands. There are hidden pits filled with oil just waiting to be lit, constant patrols, the lovely spikes you have built into the ground, waiting for the right trigger to unleash them. And I know those are only the few I spotted.”

“And your point?”

“There are basic defenses, and there are wartime defenses. Clearly war is coming here.”

“War is here.” She let out a breath, and in that moment, all pretenses, all illusions went away and Gwenvael knew he was talking to the true Dagmar Reinholdt. The one her kinsmen never saw and didn’t want to see. And it was this Dagmar who was taking a chance on him.

“My father earned this land when he was only seventeen. Six of his brothers are loyal to him, three of them are dead, two side with Jökull, and then there’s Jökull himself.”

She pulled off a chunk of the dessert as he held it out for her. “Jökull is determined to get this land for himself. He and his armies raided the town and lands near the fortress a few years back. We were caught unprepared and … It was very bad. Eymund’s first wife was there and she was killed. It’s a great source of shame for him.”

“Jökull killed her?”

“It depends who you ask. The Code which my father and kinsmen live by, says that blood- or marriage-related females are to be kept unharmed.” She looked off, out at the lands. “The men of my family refuse to believe Jökull would stoop so low, would willingly break the Code. They prefer to believe her death was an accident.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I believe Jökull follows no code but his own.”

“And you think he’s planning to strike again.”

“Whether he is or he isn’t, it behooves us to be ready.”

Gwenvael pulled off another piece of the dessert. “And an alliance with Annwyl would—”

She shook her head. “I cannot bargain with you over that alliance. You’ll have to do that with my father.”

“Charming as your kinsmen may be, Lady Dagmar”—he licked cream off his thumb—“it is you that I trust to handle anything that requires actual thought and reason.”

She looked away abruptly, and he knew she was trying not to laugh.

“Allow me to handle your father, Lady Dagmar.”

Her smirk illustrated her lack of faith in his skills. “If you think you can.”

“I know I can.”

Dagmar took another drink of wine and handed him the bottle.

“Interesting,” he finally said.

“What is?”

He gestured toward the stablemaster’s open windows with the wine bottle. “What he’s doing to her.”

Dagmar again lifted up to her eyes those large pieces of glass wrapped in leather. “Oh, my.” She lowered the glasses, looked at him. “Isn’t there some sort of proper preparation that’s necessary for that sort of thing?” she asked.

“If you want her to enjoy it as well … yes.”

“Then that’s just rude.” She brought the glasses back up. “He is all over the place, isn’t he?”