“Get down from there!”

“What? Can’t hear you!”

He rolled his eyes as Celyn winked and did an impressive dip that had Izzy squealing and laughing.

“Stop worrying, nephew. We won’t let anything happen to Briec’s girl.”

He looked at his aunt Ghleanna. Her black hair with the silver streaks of age was cut short, ready for battle as always, battle scars littering the face and torso of her dragonform.

“Her mother doesn’t want her flying. And I don’t want her flying with Celyn.”

“Celyn knows she’s family. And she and Branwen have become fast friends. Besides, we’ll watch out for her.” She motioned him away with her front claws. “Go. Take your lady to the castle and see your sister. I know she’s been worried for you.”

He smiled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. Before pulling back, he whispered, “She’s young, Ghleanna. Too young for Celyn.”

“She’s not as young as you’d like to believe,” she whispered back. “But I think we both know her heart belongs to another.”

Startled, Gwenvael leaned back and asked, “It does?”

She laughed and shoved his shoulder, nearly sending him flying. “Go on with ya, boy.”

Gwenvael took one last look at his niece, wincing when she raised her arms in the air and cheered when she should be holding on to Celyn with both hands.

No. Best not to think about it. But he would need to let Briec know to keep an eye out. Izzy listened to him above all others.

“All right, Beast, let’s go.” He motioned Dagmar forward with his claw. “Time for you to meet the queen.”

They had an array of human clothes lined up right outside the gates of Garbhán Isle, and yet none of the peasants or entering travelers went near them. They all seemed to know they were clothes for the dragons.

It must have been odd, Dagmar realized, for the Southland humans to suddenly realize they had dragons living among them so casually. As it was, Dagmar was still getting used to it. Believing a being existed was quite different from finding out you’d been tutored by at least one for the last twenty years.

Gwenvael changed into his human clothes, and they entered Garbhán Isle through the massive iron gates. It was then that Dagmar decided she might have actually chosen well with this ally. She didn’t know firsthand what Garbhán Isle was like under the former warlord’s rule, but now it was a thriving city, pulsating with power—and soldiers. Merchants sold everything from fruits, vegetables, and meats, to furs, and jewels, to more weapons than she could ever imagine. Weapons not only for humans but for dragons as well. In fact, there seemed to be just as many items for dragons as humans, ranging from whole skinned cows and deer for dinner to enormous lances made from the finest steel for battle.

“It’s all amazing, isn’t it?” Gwenvael asked her, his hand against her back as he led her through the large crowds of soldiers, travelers, merchants, and peasants.

“It is that.”

“I hope my family wasn’t too overwhelming back there by the lake,” he murmured as he gently led her around two arguing merchants.

“I find it amusing you’d ask that after meeting my kinsmen.”

He chuckled, his hand lingering on her waist as he pulled her to a stop. “Now before we go inside—”

“Gwenvael!” The trio of shrieks startled Dagmar, and she turned in time to see three young and rather attractive women throw themselves onto the Gold, their arms wrapping around his neck, shoulders, and chest. They squealed again, showering his face with kisses.

Dagmar glanced around and quickly surmised they were in a section of the market where sex was sold. She rolled her eyes, wondering why the idiot couldn’t have found a less obvious place to have a chat.

Remembering each woman’s name, Gwenvael greeted them kindly and kissed each on the cheek. He asked questions about their children and business, surprising Dagmar with his knowledge of their personal lives. Her brothers barely knew the camp girls’ names, much less whether they had children or not.

Dagmar turned when she felt a tug on her sleeve, a human male standing next to her. “Yes?”

“Yeah, how much for the blonde?”

Dagmar blinked, glanced back at Gwenvael and the three girls before asking, “Pardon?”

“The blonde. How much for the blonde? The bigger one. Just for an hour or so?”

Of course. Dagmar would never be one of the whores … she must be selling the whores.

“Five coppers for an hour,” she replied. “Any more than that and it’ll cost you.”

“An hour will do.” He reached into his pocket and handed her five copper pieces. She dropped them into her satchel, tapped Gwenvael on the shoulder, and said, “He’s bought you for an hour of sex. Enjoy.”

She walked off, heading toward another set of gates that would lead her to more stables, more soldiers’ quarters, a main courtyard, and, eventually, the queen’s castle. But she laughed when the man behind her yelled, “Wait one damn minute!”

Why was she the villain in this scenario? Why was she the one everyone was clucking their tongues at when all she wanted to do was protect her only daughter?

For the last three days she’d heard nothing but pleas on Izzy’s behalf, as if Talaith had ordered her execution. It was unfair, and she was tired of it. She was especially tired of her mate. As much as she loved him, there were some days she knew she’d have no trouble kicking the living crap out of him.