Feel the Burn (Dragon Kin #8)(87)

“Rude,” Brannie boldly stated, but Gaius quickly placed his hand on her knee under the table. She had to let this go. They still needed Jarlath, even if he was incredibly difficult.

Or, as Gaius’s sister would say, “An *. He’s an *!”

“It’s fine, Lady Gormlaith. Perhaps Lord Jarlath will be more comfortable talking tomorrow. After a good night’s sleep.”

“Of course, of course.”

But one look at Kachka’s face told Gaius she wasn’t about to wait for Jarlath or anyone else to help her meet with the dwarves.

Kachka was not about to wait for some ridiculous royal to give her permission to go see the dwarves. She’d been sent here for a reason and she had no time for this sort of thing.

And she was just about to point that out to the entire table, when Gaius suddenly leaned over and kissed her on the side of the head. To those watching, it probably looked like the sweet gesture of one male f*cking one female. The She-dragons of Aidan’s tribe gawked at Kachka as if she’d abruptly grown another head—because they didn’t hear Gaius softly growl against her skin, “If you try to go off and handle Jarlath without me, I will lose my gods-damned mind.”

Kachka felt herself smirk but didn’t argue the point with Gaius. She’d quickly learned that arguments in front of others brought out the worst stubbornness in the royals. She’d seen it again and again every time Annwyl and Dagmar got into one of their disputes in the Great Hall. So why turn this into a struggle that neither would really win?

They needed each other. At least for now. Besides, Kachka was simply in no mood to fight with him. Not here. In this place. Where she knew damn well they weren’t safe.

She watched the royals pretend everything was perfectly fine, which was such a lie. There was nothing perfectly fine here. Absolutely nothing. She’d never disliked a place as much as she disliked the Stone Castle and this tribe. The Foulkes de chuid Fennah. Every one of them—save Aidan, of course—were liars. The kind of royals that Tribes leaders talked about. True imperialist dogs. They were the ones who held back the workers. Who had no respect for the servants, the farmers, the people who dug the soil, hunted the elk, cleaned their mess.

Unlike Annwyl and Rhiannon, these royals didn’t get involved with “the little people.” Whether those little people were human or dragon.

No. Kachka didn’t like these people. And she knew from their silence that neither did her comrades. They wouldn’t be searching out a pub tonight as they did when they were in Garbhán Isle. She doubted any of them wanted to be here longer than was absolutely necessary.

She’d give these dragons the night to get Lord Jarlath under control. If they couldn’t, he’d be facing her in the morning. Kachka waited for no male.

As she pushed her half-empty plate away—Zoya was right, the food was bland—Kachka noticed Aidan’s brother Ainmire suddenly get up and walk out the front doors. None of his family seemed to notice or care, and Kachka just found it odd.

Then again, was there anything about these dragons that was normal?

Gaius had never been so happy to have a meal end. At least not since the Thracius days. And even then his uncle had ensured the food was excellent, the entertainment actually entertaining, and the company interesting.

Sadly, none of these things held true for this dinner at the Stone Castle. Gaius couldn’t remember ever being so bored before. Except when he tormented the Foulkes de chuid Fennah, that is, which he only did because it seemed to bring such joy to poor Aidan and his youngest sister, a sweet but painfully shy—and a little sad—dragoness.

Now they stood around in the hall, sipping wine and waiting for this night to mercifully end.

“I don’t like him.”

Gaius blinked and looked down at a narrowed-eyed Brannie, who studied everyone in the hall as if she expected a massacre at any time.

“Don’t like who?”

“Jarlath mostly. But all of them.”

“Is that what you told your mother?”

Feigning innocence with those big brown eyes of hers, Brannie asked, “My mother?”

“You said something to your mother, didn’t you?”

Unable to keep up any façade, she snapped, “He’s bordering on treason.”

“I’d say he’s more than bordering, but I don’t need a herd of angry Cadwaladr storming the gates here to make that point. Not yet.”

“I didn’t tell her to send anyone. I just told her what happened.”

“Do you think she’ll tell your Uncle Bercelak?”

“Well . . . uh . . . maybe.”

“So how long before your extremely protective and easily pissed-off uncle tracks down one of his brothers or sisters in a nearby town and sends them, along with a bunch of other Cadwaladrs to kick the unholy shit out of Jarlath and his sons?”

Brannie glanced off before finally admitting, “About twenty-four hours.”

“Or less.”

“Or less, but it’s kind of late and they’ve probably already started drinking.”

“Then I guess I’d better get Jarlath to help us in the morning before your kin arrive.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Kachka and her comrades sipped their tepid wine and coldly eyed the royals of the household.