Light My Fire (Dragon Kin #7)(52)

The second reason was a simple one: Annwyl might hate the day-to-day, but she protected her power as queen the way she protected her children. With a blinding, passionate force of will.

Besides, Dagmar had worked hard all these years to rein in the queen’s quirkier tendencies. Not that Dagmar didn’t enjoy that side of Annwyl, but she wasn’t just some soldier or even some respected general. She was queen. And she needed to represent herself as such. Especially if she hoped to keep control of her lands and her alliances.

But that’s what Dagmar was here for. To help Annwyl any way she could.

Mabsant, who’d worked with Dagmar for nearly eight years now, placed another parchment in front of her.

“This is from Baron Neish. He’d like some of Queen Annwyl’s troops to help him keep order.”

Dagmar squinted up at her assistant. She didn’t need her precious spectacles to do close-in work, but she couldn’t hope to see anything more than a few feet away without them. “Why can’t he maintain his own order?”

“There seems to be some discord among the religious sects in his city.”

Dagmar leaned back in the big wood chair. “That’s the . . . third?”

“Aye, m’lady.”

“Yes. The third time we’ve heard such complaints from one of the outer cities.” The Chramnesind cults were growing bolder—and meaner. Which was interesting since they preached unity and love. But Dagmar was not fooled. The truth was Chramnesind’s worshippers believed in hate. Hatred of the ones they called the Abominations. The mixing of human and dragon blood that had created . . .

By all reason, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the likes of Priestess Abertha were using the fear people had for dragon-human offspring to advance their real agenda of complete domination. For their god, but more importantly, for the Salebiri family.

The Salebiris had always felt they should rule all these lands, from the Northlands to the Desert Lands, from the Western Provinces to the Eastern Coast. They didn’t think much about the Ice Lands, because there was little in those harsh territories to interest them.

But everything else—they wanted. No matter how they had to get it. Something that annoyed Dagmar greatly.

Of course, nothing irritated Dagmar more than when the perfectly ordered kingdom she’d helped to create was being disrupted.

“Let me talk to Queen Annwyl and General Brastias before we do anything.” She didn’t like that Annwyl’s armies were being separated so much. Going off to fight petty skirmishes here, there, and every gods-damn where.

Massaging the fingers of her left hand—they always ached a bit after she did a lot of writing and when it was getting colder, like it was now—Dagmar glanced up and, with a squint, she noticed that her assistant was staring past her.

Dagmar turned her head and came nose to leggings-covered cock with some male.

“By all reason,” she squeaked, slapping at the groin that had been right by her face.

“Ow!” she heard her mate snap. “I thought we decided you’d treat my hair and my cock like they were the most important things in your world . . . since they are.”

“I never agreed to that, and stop shoving the damn thing in my face.”

“You didn’t say that last night, my dearest heart.”

“Gwenvael!”

“Aye, my love?”

Dagmar let out a breath. She knew, after so many years with the gold dragon, that yelling at him would do no good. It merely spurred him on.

“Could you excuse us?” she asked her assistant.

With a nod, Mabsant picked up a few papers and scurried from the room.

“I think I make the lad nervous,” Gwenvael said, grinning.

“I’m sure you do.”

“Don’t you find that odd? Everyone usually adores me.”

“Gwenvael,” she cut in, “what do you want?”

“You’re not being very nice to me.”

“Gwenvael, my patience is waning.”

“I thought we should talk.”

“Talk?” She squinted up at him. “About?”

“Varry.”

“Don’t call Var that. He hates when you call him that.”

“Which is probably why I call him that. He’s so bloody uptight. He reminds me of Fearghus in his younger days. Something that wouldn’t be a problem except that humans don’t do well when they try to live alone in caves.”

“Is this what you want to talk about?”

“No.”

“Then perhaps you could get to it? I have much to do today. Would you like to see my list?”

“Threatening with those stupid lists only works on my mother.”

Damn.

Gwenvael went to his knees beside Dagmar’s chair, and using the arms, he turned it so she faced him. When he pulled her closer so that she didn’t have to squint so much to see his face, Dagmar announced, “I will not talk about Var leaving.”

“Dammit, woman.”

“Sending my son away is not a viable option. It will never be a viable option.”

“You can’t hold him here forever. He wants to go. And now that Uncle Bram’s last assistant has finally died of old age—and most likely grave boredom—we have no excuse not to send him.”