“Quiet.”
“But—”
She raised her right forefinger.
“She—”
Dagmar raised that damn forefinger higher.
“It’s just—”
Now she brandished both forefingers. “Stop.”
He gave Dagmar his best pout, which she completely ignored, turning her back on him to again face Annwyl. “Think there might be some place private we can talk, my lady?”
Gwenvael’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just dismiss—”
Dagmar held up that damn forefinger again but didn’t even bother to look at him when she did.
Annwyl’s grin was wide and bright. A smile Gwenvael hadn’t seen from her in far too long. “Right this way, Lady Dagmar.”
“Thank you.” Dagmar brusquely snapped her fingers at Gwenvael. “And don’t forget to bring my bags up once I get a room, Defiler.”
Annwyl fairly glowed as she followed Dagmar from the room, her smile growing by the second. Gwenvael faced his sister. “It’s Ruiner, which is a vast difference.”
“Uh …”
“So get it right!” he yelled at the empty doorway. He shook his head, fighting his smile. “Rude cow.”
His sister stared at him so long he began to worry. “What?” He brushed his hands over his face. “Is something marring my beauty? Besides these hideous scars that I received while protecting those I love?”
“You like her.”
“I like everyone. I’m filled with joy and love and—”
“No. Nitwit. You like her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not even the kind of female I’d be attracted to.”
“Because she can construct and verbally repeat full and complete sentences?”
“That’s top of my list.”
Morfyd leaned forward. “Good gods … you haven’t f**ked her. Have you?”
“What kind of language is that from my sister?” He wagged his finger at her. “It’s that Brastias. A bad influence. I know something’s going on there. I’ll find out.”
“Don’t try to turn this on me. You like a girl.”
“I do not.”
“You do. You like her.”
“Shut up.”
Laughing, Morfyd pushed away from the table and stood. “This is a great day in Dark Plains! I must trumpet it from the rooftops!”
“You’ll do no such thing. And does no one care that I had a near-death experience with Lightnings?”
“No!” his sister crowed, still laughing as she left the room.
“Your betrayal will not be forgotten!” he cried dramatically.
The statement would have meant more, however, if someone was there to witness it.
Chapter 18
Dagmar couldn’t believe the room the servants led her to, with the queen and Lady Morfyd following behind—laughing hysterically. She had no clear idea what they found so amusing, but she was used to the ways of bitchy women. She’d lived with a group of them for years. Yet for her people and her father, she’d suck it up and pretend that she was no better than they were.
The room she was to use as her own for the next few days was enormous, with a huge bed, a table that could be used as a desk or for eating, a pit fire built right into the wall, several plush chairs of different styles, several straight-back chairs, a big standing chest filled with drawers that could hold anything she may have, a large claw-footed tub she couldn’t wait to make use of, and a standing washbasin.
“This is wonderful,” she said, pivoting in a circle. When she’d spun completely around, she found Lady Morfyd whispering to the queen and the queen leaning against the wall so she could be held upright while Her Majesty howled in laughter.
This was almost as bad as her first meeting with Gwenvael.
“We’re done, Lady Annwyl,” one of the servants said.
“Good. Have food sent up and—” She took a long look at Dagmar before adding, “Fannie.”
“Right away.”
The servant left and Morfyd helped Annwyl to one of the chairs. Once the queen sat down, she said, “I have to say, Lady Dagmar, and I mean this very deeply … I love you.”
Now Dagmar was beginning to panic. “Uh … my lady—”
“The bit with the forefingers. I thought he was going to break a blood vessel.”
The laughter started all over again, so badly that Morfyd had to sit on the floor and Annwyl kept trying to stop.
“We’ve got to stop, I’m about to have an accident.”
“But the look on his face!”
“That was the best part!” Then Annwyl started laughing all over again.
That’s when Dagmar understood. They weren’t laughing at her. Not at all.
There was a knock on the door, and a woman at least a decade older than Dagmar stepped in. “My lady? You asked for me?”
“Aye, Fannie.” Annwyl wiped tears from her face and took a breath. At least now she was no longer crying from sadness. “This is Lady Dagmar Reinholdt. While she’s here, I want you to help her with what she needs.”
“Of course.”
Annwyl relaxed back in her chair. “Tell her what you need.”
Dagmar had no idea what to ask for. Ask for too much or the wrong thing and she could alienate Annwyl. And considering the monarch nearly snapped Dagmar’s neck for using her proper title, this was a far bigger risk than she’d imagined.