“You demanded my presence, Queen Addiena?”
The queen didn’t even look up from her book. “Is it so hard for you to call me Mother?”
Actually . . . yes it was. “You demanded my presence, Mother?”
Sighing, the queen laid down her book and looked at her oldest daughter. “How I do love that sneer.”
Rhiannon, First Born of the Dragon Queen, First Born Daughter, White Dragonwitch, and heir to the queen’s throne, sat back on her haunches. She brushed her long white hair out of her eyes and stared at her red-haired and red-scaled mother. “Can we just get this over with? I have things to do.”
“Really? Like what?”
Damn. She really didn’t have anything to do; she just didn’t want to be here. Rhiannon and her mother had never gotten along. Never learned to tolerate each other. There was even a story passed among the queen’s court that when freshly hatched, Rhiannon bit her mother on the neck when she tried to cuddle her new daughter. But Rhiannon didn’t believe that for one second. True, she believed she bit her mother, but she didn’t believe her mother had tried to cuddle her.
“What I have to do is my own concern. Can we just speed this along?”
“Fine.” Her mother moved forward a bit and Rhiannon’s entire body tensed at her approach, especially as she watched the queen’s guard follow. “I’ve made a decision.”
Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed. “About?”
“You. It’s time for you to be mated. To be Claimed. And I’ve chosen your mate. One of my finest warriors. Bercelak the Great.”
Snorting a laugh, Rhiannon stared at her mother. “Bercelak the Great? Don’t you mean Bercelak the Vengeful? And that low-born lizard is your choice of mate for me?” She laughed louder, harder. “You have gone mad!”
Her mother’s blue eyes glittered dangerously in the lowlit chamber. “He’s the one I’ve chosen. He’s the one who shall Claim you.”
Rhiannon’s laughter died in the face of her mother’s cold expression. “What? Why?”
When the red dragon only stared at her, Rhiannon exploded. “You callous, deceitful bitch!”
Her mind screamed when she thought of Bercelak the Vengeful. A Battle Lord of her mother’s court, everyone knew Bercelak as dangerous, mean, and generally unpleasant.
In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him smile to anyone . . . except her. And it was only once. Constantly he watched her, ignoring the rules of rank, until finally she told him in all honesty to stop staring at her like a horse cooking on a spit or she’d rip the horns from his head. He’d only smiled at her. For the first and only time, he’d smiled. When she’d threatened him. She did not take that as a good sign.
At the time, she’d feared she’d have to protect herself from a forced Claiming. They were rare, but they happened. Then the Dragon Wars began. A battle of dragon against dragon in pursuit of power. As her mother’s champion, Bercelak led that war and she hadn’t seen him since.
But the wars were over, her mother’s reign secure. And apparently, as reward for his loyal service, her mother planned to hand Bercelak her.
“I’ve made up my mind. We’ll have a ceremony at the next moon to celebrate your union. You will attend. You will look beautiful. And you will let him have you.”
“I know why you’re doing this. I know what you’re up to.” She hated the desperation in her voice. She hated her mother.
When the queen only stared at her, Rhiannon continued. “You fear I’ll take your throne before you’re ready to give it up. You’re afraid if I mate with someone not loyal to you, I can have it all . . . and you’ll have nothing. So you hand me over to that piece of trash!”
“Why, Rhiannon. That’s a horrible thing for you to believe about your loving mother.”
She said it so flippantly that Rhiannon knew she’d been right. Her mother feared her. Feared the loyalty she’d built up among the other dragons and in court. She feared her Magick skills, still weak, but growing excessively—and surprisingly—strong.
Her mother feared her. And for that the bitch was willing to hand Rhiannon off like a human slave.
Rage blinding her, Rhiannon lashed out at her mother with one of her claws, but her damn guards, who protected the queen’s life as if it were their very own, were there before her forearm barely left her side. They shoved her back. Her! A princess!
“You’ll not do this to me, you old whore!” she screamed, unable to control herself any longer. The hurt and pain eating away at her like a parasite. “I’ll take your throne . . . I’ll take your power and your treasure! And I’ll leave you to rot!”
Cold, crystal blue eyes stared at her and she knew she’d never find mercy there. Never. “You’ll regret this, little bitch.”
“Go to hell.”
Rhiannon took several steps back until she stood a good distance from her mother and those insane guards of hers. Then she turned and stormed off.
She’d regret nothing. But she would make sure her
mother regretted everything.
Bercelak the Great, Dragonwarrior of the Dragon Queen Throne, Ninth Born Son of Ailean the Slag, Ruling Commander of the Dragon Queen’s Armies, and on and on and on, marched through the place he’d grown up in. Unlike most dragons, his first home had not been a cave . . . but a castle.
He stalked through the halls, nodding in greeting to his many siblings as he passed. Including himself, there were fifteen of them. Some mated. Some not. Some already with their own offspring. Before entering his father’s home, he had to shift to human and put on human garb. His father, Ailean, insisted on it. For reasons unknown to any of them, their father loved being human. Not for part of the time, like some of his kin and, at times, even himself. But all the time. He only turned back to dragon to fight or to fly somewhere quickly.