“Do you know what I am, human?”
Keita watched her brother’s mate closely. For such a tiny thing, she showed no fear. Instead, she leaned around a bit and said, “Based on the large horse’s ass attached to you”—Dagmar moved back, her gaze fixed on Bríghid’s—“I’m going to go with centaur.”
Bríghid, straightening up, folded her arms over her bare chest. “And who are you?”
Years from now, they’d never know why they did it, but before Dagmar could say a word, their small group recited as one, “She’s Dagmar Reinholdt. Thirteenth Offspring of The Reinholdt, Only Daughter of The Reinholdt, Chief Battle Lord of Dark Plains, Adviser to Queen Annwyl, Human Liaison to the Southland Dragon Elders, and mate to Prince Gwenvael the Handsome.”
“She’s also known as The Beast,” Talaith tossed in for good measure.
And it was The Beast who turned on them. “Was that really necessary?”
It was only a glimpse, but Keita saw the brief smile on Bríghid’s face.
The centaur quickly hid it and said, “At three thousand and eight winters, I am much too old to be running around, chasing somewhat human children.” Keita remembered well how stubborn Bríghid could be. Especially once she’d made up her mind. If she put her hoof down now, there would be no going back. Desperate, she quickly looked to her sister, and Morfyd said,
“Of course you deserve your time to relax, Bríghid.” Wondering how her sister could be so stupid, Keita lifted her hands and mouthed, What are you doing?
Morfyd mouthed back, Shut up! She placed her hand on Bríghid’s hip, where her human form met her horse form. “But perhaps you have someone you can recommend. Someone Fearghus will trust as he would trust you.
Someone who—”
“I’ll do it.” Bríghid’s body tensed as a young female separated from the herd. “I’ll do it.”
“Princess Keita, Princess Morfyd, Queen Annwyl…this is my daughter, Eadburga. We call her Ebba for short. She’s my fifth oldest and—”
“I’ll do it.”
“And apparently quite eager to leave the herd.” Bríghid leaned over and said low in her daughter’s ear, “Although I hope you’re leaving for the right reasons.”
“I am.”
Bríghid straightened up. “You commit to this, Ebba, you are to stay and help raise the children until they are of age. For humans that’s at least their eighteenth winter. My commitment to the Dragon Queen was much longer, but I made it and stuck by it. You agree to this, you swear to the same as I’ll not have you bring shame to this herd by flitting off.”
“I have nowhere to flit to.” Ebba’s tail flicked nervously against her back. “Let me do this, Mum. We both know I’m ready.”
“Perhaps you are.” Bríghid kissed her daughter’s brow and nuzzled her jaw. She stepped back and, after clearing her throat, said, “Let’s see this queen.”
Keita motioned to Dagmar to move, but she shook her head. Damn difficult humans!
Keita reached over and yanked Dagmar out of the way. Bríghid motioned to Annwyl with a crook of her finger, and the queen approached.
Bríghid examined Annwyl for several long moments, her expression getting darker and darker the more she looked.
“What’s wrong?” Keita asked.
Bríghid stared at Annwyl and asked, “Do I know you?” Dagmar whispered against Keita’s ear, “By all ancient reason, she killed one of them once, didn’t she?”
Ragnar walked in to the Great Hall. Although none of the royals were up, his brother and cousin were already at the dining table eating.
“Where have you been?” Vigholf asked once Ragnar sat down and reached for bread.
“Out.”
“What’s wrong, brother? Did Her Majesty leave you all to your lonesome last night?”
In answer, Ragnar grabbed the back of Vigholf’s head and slammed it into the table.
Curses and blood oaths followed, but Ragnar ignored them, instead choosing to dig in to the bowl of hot porridge placed in front of him by a servant.
“I thought you’d want to know,” Meinhard said to Ragnar.
“Know what?”
“Heard some of those Cadwaladrs talking outside earlier this morning—they know about Keita and Esyld. I didn’t know what they were talking about until one of their females cornered me, and asked about our trip here through Outerplains.”
“And?”
“I told her everything—mostly. Figured that’s what you’d want. But you should have warned us beforehand.”
“You’re right,” Ragnar admitted. “Sorry.”
Meinhard watched him for a time, until Ragnar demanded, “What?”
“So when you going to tell her?”
“Tell who what?”
“Keita. Tell her that she’s yours?”
“If I really want her to be mine?” Ragnar sighed. “Never.” When Bríghid combed her fingers through the left side of Annwyl’s hair, Keita thought she’d have to shift, grab the human queen, and make a desperate run for it.
“When I met you,” Bríghid remarked, “this wasn’t here.” Annwyl shrugged, her gaze focused on something far past Bríghid’s arm. “My brother had shaved it off the night before.”