Читать книгу Dragon on Top - G.A. Aiken - Страница 6

Chapter 1

Ghleanna the Decimator took another gulp from her battered ale cup and wallowed, quite magnificently, if she did say so herself, in her misery. It was ridiculous, she knew, to still be as devastated by all this as she had been. It would be going on six months and yet she could not move past it. Instead, she sat and she drank and she wallowed and she tried to forget. And this had been the way of things for a long time now. Too long, her kin would say.

This was all her own fault, though. She’d trusted where she shouldn’t have, believed lies when she damn well knew better, and most importantly, forgot the one thing that no one else ever forgot—that her father was Ailean the Wicked. Also known as Ailean the Slag, well-known whore of the dragon and human world.

And, with a single stroke of idiocy, Ghleanna the Decimator had become Ghleanna the Idiot.

Ghleanna the Fool.

Ghleanna the Failure.

Yet perhaps “failure” was too harsh a word. She’d never thought of herself as a failure before. After years on the battlefield, she’d proved herself again and again. But a failure was how she felt now. Like a failure and a fool with no one to blame, but herself. So, in morbid shame and self-pity and with no wars or battles interesting enough to occupy her mind or sword arm, Ghleanna had returned to the safety of her cave home’s ancient walls to be miserable and—if she were to be honest—hide. Venturing out only for food and ale.

Although these last few days she’d mostly just gone out for more ale.

She had no idea what her long-term plans were, but then again, should failures have long-term plans? Since Ghleanna wasn’t sure, she drank more ale until sweet blackness took her and she didn’t have to think about her inherent stupidity and the misery it had caused her anymore.

Ghleanna had no idea how long she’d been passed out, but as much as she might want to, she couldn’t ignore the beating her head was currently taking. She forced her eyes open and watched the blunt end of a steel spear come down to crack her forehead again. She rolled away but the end of another spear hit her on the side of the jaw.

“Wake up, ya lazy sow. Wake up!”

“Leave me be, you mad bitches!”

“Is that any way to talk to your dear, sweet aunts?”

“You’re not my aunts,” she lashed back.

“Close enough. It’s better than Great Cousins, isn’t it? Makes us sound old, don’t it, Kennis?”

“That it does, Kyna. Now get up before we strip the scales from ya bones.”

Pissed that her kin didn’t have the decency to leave her alone to wallow in her ale and drool, Ghleanna sat up and snarled, “What is it, you old hags? What is it you want from me?”

“Well, first, you can stop feeling sorry for yourself. Isn’t that right, Kyna?”

“That’s right, Kennis. Nothing worse than a mighty dragoness sittin’ around in a dark, dank cave, boo-hooing over some bloody mistake of a dragon.”

“I am doing no such thing,” she lied.

“Look at her lying to us, Kennis!”

“I see it, Kyna. Lying to us and thinking we won’t know. It’s a shame.” Kennis shrugged. “I say we hit her again. On principle.”

“I agree.”

Ghleanna quickly raised her claws to protect her head. “Go away! Leave me be!”

“So you can sit here and continue to feel sorry for yourself? Over him? I’d rather put you down here and now, ain’t that right, Kyna?”

“Aye. Like a poor, wounded horse.”

“I hate all of you.” Ghleanna let out a big sigh, dragging her claws through her too-long black hair. She hadn’t cut it in months and it showed. She knew she must look like cold shit, but she’d not give her kin the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

“Hate us? Even though we’re all worried about your worthless hide?” Kyna asked.

“All them brothers and sisters of yours whinin’ about you. Och! The sound of it makes us mad. We had to do something, didn’t we, Kyna?”

“Aye, Kennis. That we did. Or kill them all just to make them stop. But that didn’t seem right, did it, Kennis?”

“No. Not at all.”

“So you come here to do . . . what? Exactly?” Ghleanna demanded. “Besides annoy the bloody fuck out of me?”

“You’re lucky it was us come to fetch you, brat. Not sure your wake up would have been so kind if it had been your mother who’d come here instead. Isn’t that right, Kyna?”

“Och! Beaten your scales to a different color, she would have. She’s been sick to death with worry over you, only to find out you’re sitting in this cave, drinking your sorrows away on some cheap ale.”

“Well, if I’d really wanted to end it all, I would have just used your ale,” Ghleanna sniped.

The spear butt came at her again but this time Ghleanna caught and held it. “Stop hitting me with that bloody thing.”

“At least her reflexes are still good. Now we just need to sober her up—”

“And bathe her. She reeks!”

“—and we can get her to our queen’s court while it’s still morning.”

“Queen’s court? Why do I need to go to Rhiannon’s court?”

“Ohhh. Hear that, Kennis?”

“Aye, Kyna. Rhiannon she calls her. Like they’re old friends.”

“Best of chums!”

The twin She-dragons cackled and Ghleanna felt the need to start destroying things.

“She’s gettin’ pissy, Kyna.”

“That she is, Kennis.”

“So we better get her up and ready so we can get a move on.”

Fed up, Ghleanna nearly roared, “I don’t want to see Rhiannon! So get the fuck out of my cave!”

Kyna crouched down low so she could look Ghleanna in the eyes, one side of her snout pulling back to show row after row of deadly fangs, many having shown up as she’d aged.

“Now listen up, little girl. You can talk to your father and brothers like that if you want—but you’ll not talk to us that way. And when the queen gives you an order—”

“—you get off your ass and you follow it. Or by the gods—”

“—we’ll make you wish you had.”

Ghleanna understood now why the Cadwaladr Twins had been sent to fetch her. Although many of her siblings would put up a good fight, only her brothers Bercelak and Addolgar really had a chance at taking her, but neither would because she was their sister. The same with her father. And her mother was a peacekeeper, not a fighter. So her kin had sent the most feared Dragonwarriors in the land, the Cadwaladr Twins. Old She-dragons they might be, but that only made them more dangerous—and unstable.

“You coming, girl?”

“Yes,” Ghleanna hissed, using her front claws to push herself all the way up. It took a moment for the cavern to stop spinning and another moment for the nausea to pass. But once they did, she was ready to at least get into the lake outside and bathe.

“What does Rhiannon want with me anyway?” she asked, heading outside with the twins right behind her, debating on whether to make a run for it.

“Unlike you, brat, we don’t ask a bunch of questions.”

“Our queen asks us to do something, we do it. That’s our job.”

“That’s your job,” Kennis insisted.

“Did we not train her well enough?”

“I hope that’s not the case, Kyna. Hate to put her back through training.”

Ghleanna winced, hearing the threat in those words loud and clear. “Won’t be necessary,” she muttered.

“Good. You were always one of our favorites, Ghleanna. We’d hate to have to beat you within an inch of your life because you’ve forgotten where you come from.”

Kyna caught Ghleanna’s forearm, made her look at her. “And there’s no shame, girl. No shame in who you are, who your kin are, or who you want to be.”

“And don’t let anybody convince you different,” Kennis finished. “You are special, Ghleanna. And some blokes—they can never handle that. While others . . .”

“While others what?”

“While others were born to be the sheathe to your sword—you just need to find that one, lass. Like we did.”

“Like your Da did. But she can’t do that if she stinks of ale and misery, Kennis.”

“Not unless she wants a miserable bastard like herself, Kyna. And gods! Who’d want that?”

And Ghleanna, realizing the truth of that, headed toward the lake and prepared to meet with her queen.

Please don’t hug me. Please don’t hug me.

But she did. She did hug him. Right there in front of her entire court and, more importantly, in front of her consort. The most unpleasant of dragons, Bercelak the Great himself.

And Bram the Merciful, royal emissary for Queen Rhiannon of the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, knew his queen did it on purpose. He knew she did it because she enjoyed torturing her mate, but she often failed to realize that she also, in the process, tortured poor Bram. Or perhaps she realized it but simply didn’t care.

“Oh, Bram! You look so wonderful. Doesn’t he look wonderful, Bercelak?”

Bram heard that growl of disapproval across the queen’s chamber.

“Bercelak thinks you look wonderful, too,” the queen lied. She patted Bram’s shoulder and stepped away. “So my dearest Bram, are you ready for your most important of trips?”

“I am, my queen. I think nothing but good can come from this and I look forward to—”

“Yes, yes.” She sat down on her throne, a bit of rock jutting from the cave wall. It never looked very comfortable to Bram, but the queen didn’t seem to mind. “But I’ve been worrying about your safety.”

“My safety? I’ll be fine, Your Majesty.”

“I’ve been hearing rumors. There are those who do not want this alliance to go through. They will try to stop you.”

“Why? It’s not Lightnings I go to see. The dragons of the Desert Lands have never been our enemies.” He was simply ensuring that they would not side with those who were.

“Always so logical, my old friend. Logical and thoughtful and smart. But still . . . nothing is ever easy in the world of dragon politics, and you of all dragons should know that.”

“Understood, my queen. And I promise you that I’ll be quite care—”

“So I’ve arranged for your protection.”

Uh-oh.

“Your Majesty, my contact in the Desert Lands is only expecting me. Not an entourage.”

“An entourage sounds so large and daunting, and it’s nothing of the sort. Just a few of my most trusted Dragonwarriors to ensure you make it safely to and from your destination.”

“Dragonwarriors?” Gods, kill him now.

Which nightmare Dragonwarriors had this female dug up from the pits of hell to send him out with? Probably Bercelak’s brothers. Or, even worse, Bercelak himself. The black dragon had never liked Bram due to Bram’s apparent affliction to “thinking too much and lusting after my sister.” And Bercelak was right, of course. About the thinking—and the lusting.

Ghleanna the Black, now the Decimator, had been Bram’s unobtainable dream since he was a young dragon, barely even sixty winters. She’d stolen his heart from first glare when she’d slammed Bercelak’s head into the wall and ordered him to, “Leave off the royal!”, meaning Bram. Ghleanna had been in a recent battle, one of her first, and she’d gotten her first scar. A six-inch thing that cut across her collarbone. Bram had seen that scar and his mouth had dried up, his knees had gone weak, and he’d forgotten words. Not specific words, but all words. She’d rendered him temporarily mute.

But unlike Bercelak, Ghleanna barely noticed Bram after that, barely paid attention to him, barely remembered his name. He was the royal who sometimes visited her mother or her sister Maelona. The “thinkers” in the Cadwaladr Clan.

“And which warriors would that be, my queen? Anyone I know?”

The queen smiled—something that did not give Bram ease—and he heard a voice he knew so well say from behind him, “I can’t believe you sent those mad bitches to fetch me, Bercelak. Do you not care for me at all?”

Bram briefly closed his eyes before looking at the female who now stood beside him. They eyed each other for a long moment until Ghleanna the Decimator sneered and demanded of her brother, “Babysitting? You dragged me all this way to be a babysitter to a weak-willed royal?”

“Thank you, Ghleanna,” Bram murmured. “That was very nice.”

“Nothing personal,” she muttered back, her claw patting his shoulder. “Long night.”

Long night? Looked more like a long century. Although he knew what it was that had one of the most decorated and feared captains of the last few centuries appearing as if she hadn’t slept in years. Her hair, always short and well groomed, now reached her shoulders, the ends uneven. Her armor, always spit-shined and battle-ready, was now covered in dirt and dents and, if Bram wasn’t mistaken, bits of some poor sod’s brains. Even her battle axes, her favorite weapons as far back as Bram could recall, looked as if they had not been cleaned in months, the blade edges still encrusted in blood and bits of bone. No, this was not the Ghleanna he had known all these years. The Ghleanna he’d adored. More fool him.

“Oh?” Rhiannon asked Ghleanna. “Are you frightfully busy at the moment?”

“I know I’m too busy for this centaur sh—”

“Honestly, my queen,” Bram cut in, “there’s no call to involve Captain Ghleanna. I’m quite fine traveling on my own.” In fact, he preferred it. This trip was too important for him to be distracted by the one female who still kept him up some nights. Sweating.

“Nonsense, Bram. I won’t hear of it.”

“Well, find someone else,” Ghleanna told them all. “I didn’t go through half-a-century of training and more than that of battles to end up the babysitter of Bram the Merciful.”

Insulted, Bram snapped, “Would you like an actual blade to twist in my gut, Ghleanna?”

“It’s nothing personal,” she said again.

“Right. Nothing personal.”

“What I find amusing,” Rhiannon observed, ignoring them both, “is that you think I’m asking you to do this task, Ghleanna of the Cadwaladr Clan. After all this time being Captain of the Tenth Battalion, one would think you could tell an order from a request.”

Ghleanna made a noise through her snout that sounded like an angry bull about to charge. “And one would think that a queen wouldn’t waste the skill of her Dragonwarriors with centaur-shit tasks like babysitting!”

“Don’t raise your voice to me, Cadwaladr! I am not one of your troops!”

“I can tell that because they don’t waste my bloody time!”

“That is it!” Bercelak the Great roared, silencing both females. Black eyes, so much like his sister’s, locked on the angry Captain. “Apologize, Ghleanna.”

“Like hells I—”

“Apologize!” the consort’s voice boomed across the cavern, every royal beside Bram making a hasty move for the exits. Ghleanna immediately lowered her gaze.

“I’m sorry if I offended you, my queen.”

Rhiannon grinned. “Now, now, sister. We’re all friends here.” We are? “And I know you’ll do this favor for me.” The queen rose, walked down to Bram and, to his horror, patted his shoulder. “Bram means so much to me and to this court. We grew up together—and his safety is of the utmost importance. Do you think I would trust that with just anyone?” She laid her head on Bram’s shoulder and Bram curled his claws into fists, desperate to move away from this crazed female. “Isn’t Bram simply marvelous? The way he negotiates such important alliances and truces for me? Don’t you simply adore him as much as I do?”

The queen’s consort stood in front of Bram now, towering over him as most males of the Cadwaladr Clan did, and he glared at Bram with such loathing that all Bram wanted to do was scream out, “It’s not me! I swear, it’s not me!”

But before the terrifying bastard could remove parts of Bram that would definitely be missed, Ghleanna caught hold of her sibling’s forearm and tugged, sighing loudly.

“Come, brother. Tell me what this all-important task is and why I, of all Dragonwarriors, must do it.”

She dragged Bercelak from the cavern and Bram gazed at his old friend and now ruler of all Southland Dragons. And, with all honesty, he asked, “Why, Rhiannon? Why do you hate me so?”

“What is going on?” Ghleanna demanded of her brother once she’d found them a quiet alcove.

“How should I know? I mean what could Rhiannon see in that overthinking bastard? All he does is read all day and write papers. It’s like his mind is a thousand miles away at all times. He’s a talker that one, not a doer.”

“I’m not talking about that, you git. I’m talking about what’s going on that you think it’s necessary for me to accompany the peacemaker anywhere. And it better be a good reason, brother. Or I’m likely to get cranky.”

Bercelak took in a deep breath, trying to calm his desire to tear poor Bram wing from wing. Gods, the two of them would never be friends. “The royal is going into the Desert Lands to get us an alliance with the Sand Eaters.” Their kind’s nickname for the Sand Dragons of the Desert Lands.

“Why? We’ve had no problems with them before.”

“And that royal”—and Bercelak sneered a bit—“wants to keep it that way. But I don’t see why you’d have a problem babysitting—I thought you liked this one.”

“I do. Bram’s sweet.” Sweeter than any other dragon she knew, which also made him the oddest dragon Ghleanna knew. “So is that it then? Rhiannon just needs me to make sure Bram gets there and back?”

“Actually your taking him was my idea.”

Incredulous, Ghleanna asked, “Whatever the bloody hells for?” If anyone knew how ill-equipped Ghleanna was for babysitting duty, it was her brother. Even their own mother stopped allowing Ghleanna to babysit Bercelak after she’d dangled him over an active volcano, threatening to toss him in. And then there was that other time when she’d left Bercelak alone on a mountaintop when he still couldn’t fly, but not before she told him, “It’s not that Mum and Da don’t love you—they just don’t want you anymore. But I’m sure someone will come along who does.”

Cruel perhaps, but he was such an arrogant little shit, even then, that she’d been unable to help herself. And her parents had eventually tracked down his sobbing, wailing ass and brought him home.

“Because,” her brother replied, “I need someone I can count on. Until recently, you were the most reliable of us all. I sincerely hope that hasn’t changed for good.”

“Don’t go there, brother.”

“Over some male not worthy of you.”

He went there!

“I will not speak of that,” she growled and started to walk away. But her brother’s tail wrapped around her throat and yanked her back. “Ack!”

“My sister,” he said, his tail tightening around her neck so she had trouble breathing, “would not be so foolish as to let any male cause her to lose all that she has worked so hard for. My sister,” he went on, ignoring Ghleanna’s talons tearing at him, “would never let some idiot dragon convince her that her exemplary skills on the battlefield make her less than any other female.” Bercelak began to slam her repeatedly into the cave floor like he used to when he’d gotten bigger and realized his sister had purposely tortured him for years. “And my sister would never, ever let some male who was never worthy of her in the first place, stop her from taking direct orders from her queen.”

He slammed her to the ground one last time, the cave walls shaking, before he removed his tail. “That,” he said softly, “is not what a sister of mine would do, correct?”

“You are a mean-hearted bastard!”

“But you already knew that about me, Ghleanna. You didn’t think that would change simply because I found a mate, did you?”

Ghleanna stood, her claws kneading her bruised throat. “No. I really didn’t.”

Her brother placed his claw on her shoulder, ignoring the way she flinched. “I know he hurt you, Ghleanna—”

“No.” She had to stop him. She couldn’t hear anymore. “He didn’t hurt me, Bercelak. He made a fool of me. In front of my kin—in front of my troops.”

“And he did that because he’s jealous.”

She had to laugh. “Of what?”

“Of the fact that he could never take you in a fair fight. It eats at him that you’re stronger than him, faster, definitely smarter, and worshipped by your troops. And instead of standing your ground, you let his centaur shit push you into hiding in your cave like some worthless human. Drinking yourself into a blind stupor and ignoring those who care for you. Like Mum and that bastard.”

“You mean Da?”

“Call him what you like.” Bercelak’s perpetually scowling face softened a bit. “And, yes, sister, he’s well aware that this is partially his doing.”

“It’s not really.” And Ghleanna swiped at the tears sliding down her snout. “My own stupidity got me here.”

“Then fix it, sister.” He had both claws on her shoulders now. “Do this task for your queen with no questions. Bring a few of our kin with you. I hear things are winding down at Bolver Fields in the Southern Hills near the peacemaker’s home. Addolgar is there. He’ll be up for this trip, I think.”

Ghleanna shook the rest of her pitiful tears off, pulled herself together. “Addolgar as well? You need both of us on this? Why?”

“Because, if that weak kitten of a dragon gets the Sand Dragon King to sign this alliance . . . it’ll make Rhiannon one of the strongest monarchs in this region in the last millennium.”

“Oh . . . that’s why.”

“There has to be someone else, Rhiannon. Anyone else.”

“No one you’ll be as safe with as Ghleanna.”

Bram sighed and tried to think of how to carefully explain this to his dangerously unstable queen without insulting her or her recently acquired kin. At least now, though, they were in her privy chamber and away from the prying eyes and ears of her court.

“These are delicate negotiations, Rhiannon. The Sand Dragon King has to be handled with care. Infinite care.”

“Och! These moody foreign royals. How do you tolerate such moodiness, my friend?”

Did she even listen to herself? Probably not.

“With patience,” he answered. “And none of the Cadwaladrs are known for their patience.”

Rhiannon’s head tipped to the side, her blue eyes watching him. “But we are not speaking of the Cadwaladrs, are we, old friend? I sense that if we were speaking of any of Bercelak’s other kin this wouldn’t be such an issue. But we’re not. We’re speaking of Ghleanna.”

Bram swallowed. “So?”

The queen began to circle Bram, the tip of her tail drawing little signs in the dirt floor as she moved. “Pretty, strong, defiant, difficult, and scarred Ghleanna.”

“I know who she is, Rhiannon. I just don’t see—”

“All those scars from all those battles, littering her body. Her long, strong body. Even her tail has scars—and an extra long . . . tip.”

“Stop.”

“And when she gets angry, Bram . . . when she gets right up close and is threatening and vicious and cold; and you know in that second that you’ll never meet someone as deadly as—”

“Please stop.” Bram realized he was panting.

“We’ve been friends a long time, Bram. Do you really think I’ve forgotten?”

“I didn’t think you’d noticed.” No one else ever had—especially Ghleanna.

“Ghleanna is like the rest of her kin. Wonderful, but dense as thick marble.”

“That’s lovely, Rhiannon.”

“I adore them all but you need to be more direct with them when you want something.”

“She doesn’t know I exist. She never has.”

“Because you aren’t direct with her. You’re direct with everyone else, but once Ghleanna comes around you’re suddenly a shy schoolboy.”

“So? I should be like Feoras the Fighter instead?”

Rhiannon winced. “Heard about that, did you?”

“Everyone’s heard about it because the bastard’s told everyone.”

“That annoying little rodent. I should have his veins removed.” When Bram didn’t say anything, Rhiannon noted, “No calls for mercy, peacemaker?”

“Not this time, no. And stop looking at me like that. I never like cruelty from anyone. So it’s not as if I’m being particularly vicious here.”

“It’s endearing that you think not calling for mercy is vicious.” Rhiannon waved all that away with her claw. “Look, when it comes to males, Ghleanna the Black doesn’t know what she wants. So you’ll have to show her.”

“Show her?”

“It’s the perfect time. She’s absolutely ripe for the plucking.”

Bram blinked. “What?”

“Vulnerable. That’s the word. So it’s the perfect time for a good, worthy dragon to swoop in and get her.”

“Rhiannon!”

“What? I’m only trying to help.”

“That’s not helpful. That’s sneaky and deceitful.”

She gave a soft snort. “Two words you’re well acquainted with.”

“Only when we’re discussing politics. Ghleanna is not politics. She’s . . . she’s . . .”

“Scarred? Perfectly, perfectly scarred?”

“Stop, Rhiannon.”

“So many scars,” the viper whispered in Bram’s ear. “All from the different weapons of those trying to kill her. She has a scar here”—her tail drew a long diagonal line across Bram’s back—“from hip to shoulder where an ogre from the Dark Hills tried to cut her in half. He didn’t succeed, though. And Ghleanna slaughtered their entire army. And when the healers sewed her up”—Rhiannon went on—“she insisted on being awake so that she’d fully understand that even a moment of being unaware had drastic consequences.”

She pulled back slightly. “Why, Bram, you’re shaking.”

Because he was desperately trying to control his cock. It wouldn’t do to get hard in front of his queen. No matter what the vision of Ghleanna getting her battle wounds tended did to him.

“You’re cruel, Rhiannon. You were cruel when we were young—and you’re cruel now.”

“My mother was cruel, Lord Bram. I’m merely honest.” She kissed his snout. “And don’t ever say I’m not a good friend. I’m the best friend a dragon like you could hope for.”

He turned slightly, both of them very close to each other, and smiled. “Best friend, my ass.”

She laughed until that black snout pushed between them, forcing them apart, pitch black smoke streaming from the nostrils.

“Oh, hello, my love,” Rhiannon said to her consort. “I was just giving Bram here a pep talk before he goes to face those difficult Sand Dragons. Wasn’t I, Bram?”

“Uh . . . yes. She was.”

“Now go with my blessing. And good luck to you.”

Please don’t hug me. Please don’t hug me.

But she did.

Ghleanna waited outside the Queen’s Privy Chamber, not surprised when she heard her brother’s roar and the silver-haired royal slid-stumbled into the alcove, shoved there, no doubt by her intolerant kin.

“What were you thinking?” Ghleanna asked Bram without rancor. “Hugging her like that?”

“I didn’t hug her. She hugged me!”

“Uh-huh.”

A squeal came from the chamber and Rhiannon called out, “Bercelak! Put me down, you low-born bastard!” Although she didn’t sound nearly as angry as she wanted to.

“We better go,” Ghleanna offered, heading down the alcove.

“Yes, but—”

“No, Bercelak!” the queen cried out. “Not the collar! Not the chain! You bastard!”

“Stand there any longer, royal, and you’ll get a visual you’ll not forget for a very long while.”

Bram rushed up behind her, his eyes focused on the ground, his silver scales nearly glowing from embarrassment.

“That was . . . awkward.”

“Get used to it. Them two like to play their games.” Ghleanna shrugged. “And who are we to stop them? If it makes them happy.”

“I don’t mind what they do together. I just hate it when they involve the rest of us.”

“Then you shouldn’t be hugging the queen.”

“I didn’t hug the bloody queen!”

“If you want to believe that.”

Once out of the court, they headed to one of the exits that would lead them from Devenallt Mountain, the long-time Southland Dragon power stronghold and home to their reigning monarch.

“Look,” Ghleanna continued, “all I’m saying is that you’re my responsibility until this gets done. So perhaps you could not get me and yourself killed in the process. But especially me. I’m the most important.”

“I’ll do my best and yes, you heard sarcasm.”

Ghleanna stopped and faced the royal she was tasked with protecting. He was taller than she, but so were her brothers, and she could take most of them in a fight. And she had, too.

“Listen well to me, Bram the Silver. You may be of royal blood, but I’m a Cadwaladr who’s been given the task of keeping your peacemaking ass alive for the next few weeks, which means that until we return, you belong to me. So do us both a favor and don’t piss me off. I’d hate to return to your beloved queen with only your head in tow, your body and that precious alliance you’re so eager to have the Sand Eaters sign left back in the Desert Lands—both torn to shreds by me.”

He glared at her for what felt like several minutes until the royal snapped, “Damn that female, but she was right!”

And when Bram the Merciful stormed off, muttering to himself, Ghleanna could only shake her head and follow, readying herself for a deadly long trip she was not looking forward to at all.