Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(142)

Fearghus let out a breath. “And I’ll be leading Queen Rhiannon’s troops into the Northlands to fight against the Irons.” The mated pair stared at each other a long moment until Annwyl stood and said, “Then, my love, we best get ready.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Celyn waited for Izzy by the small lake they liked to go to together. It was growing late, and the first day of the three-day feast to celebrate the twins’ birthday would be starting soon. His mother expected him to attend, and the way she was feeling about him right now, he was loath to miss it.

But he needed to see Izzy alone.

“Celyn!” She charged through the trees and into his open arms. “You won’t believe it!” she gushed, arms and legs tightening around him.

“I won’t believe what?”

She dropped to the ground and held his hands. “I’m going with Annwyl into the west. I’m going to be her squire!” She bounced up and down on her toes. “Mother’s absolutely livid!” She laughed and hugged him again. “I’m out of formation and fighting by Annwyl’s side!” He forced himself to smile. “That’s wonderful.”

“And Brannie will be coming with us. Your mum doesn’t want to split us up. She says we work well together. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Amazing.”

Izzy frowned a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Izzy…” He decided just to break it to her. “I’m being sent with Queen Rhiannon’s troops into the Northlands.” Izzy’s eyes grew wide, and then she hugged him. “You lucky bastard!”

“What?”

She pulled away and grinned at him. “You’ll be fighting alongside Lightnings! Meinhard and Vigholf and Ragnar. Me and Brannie have been training with them every morning the last few days, and they’re brilliant! I think they’re part of the reason Annwyl’s made me her squire. You’re going to learn so much. I’m so jealous!” She punched his shoulder.

He gawked at her, and she frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Aren’t you going to miss me at all?”

“Of course! I’ll miss you terribly.” But then she clapped her hands together and squealed, “But I’m going to be Annwyl’s squire!” Gwenvael sat in the chair, his foot tapping.

“So,” Dagmar said from behind him, her voice very calm, very controlled, “you’ll all escort Esyld back to Outerplains when you leave?”

“Aye,” he replied, clenching his hands. “She still smiles, but I think she grows weary of my mother. Any longer and I’m afraid she’ll crack from the pressure.”

“Are you sure she’s strong enough to return?”

“Morfyd said she will be by the time we leave. But she is still healing.”

“I know she is, but I’m sure she’s ready to return to her home and try to find a way past what she’s been through.”

“You’ll be sure to have someone keep an eye on her, won’t you?”

“Already taken care of,” she said, her hand on his shoulder. Her soft, reassuring hand. “And remember I love you very much, Gwenvael.”

“I know you do.” He waited, teeth gritted. And he lasted right up until he felt Dagmar pick up that first lock of his precious, precious hair!

“I can’t!” he said, jumping out of the chair and scrambling across the room.

Dagmar tapped those viperous scissors against her leg. He knew those scissors were out to get him. He could feel it.

“You cannot go into the Northlands and battle with all that hair.” He noticed that her voice was no longer calm and controlled. “It’s unseemly.”

“Will you not miss my hair at all?”

“I’ll miss you more, but the hair needs to go. Now get in this blasted chair!”

“I can’t do it. It’s my hair. It loves me for who I am.”

“You act as if I plan to shave you bald. I only plan to cut up to the middle of your back or so.”

Gwenvael gasped, horrified! “You might as well shave me bald!” Dagmar threw down the scissors, and Canute slipped under the bed in the face of his mistress’s rarely seen rage.

“Just let me get through the feast,” he said, bartering. “Three more days not only for me, but for you to luxuriate in my hair.” Dagmar crossed her arms over her chest. “My father was right, you know…. You are completely insane.”

Briec sat on the bed, his elbow resting on his knee, his chin in his palm, and watched his lady love rage.

“Who does she think she is? Making my daughter her squire?”

“Perhaps she thinks she’s queen.”

“Shut up!” She paced in front of him, looking wonderfully yummy in a dark blue gown he’d had made for her. “And that simpering idiot—”

“You should just call her Izzy.”

“—is running around announcing it to everyone like it’s a good thing.

‘I’m going to be Annwyl’s squire. I’m going to face death on a daily basis with this crazed monarch.’”

“I don’t remember our Izzy’s voice being so high before.”

“Shut up!”

Izzy charged down the hallway toward her bedroom. She needed to get dressed; the guests were already arriving for the feast. She turned a corner and ran head first into that slab of brick that someone had the nerve to call a chest.