What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(104)

She didn’t recognize them as any of Gwenvael’s kin, but she could tell they were old. No matter the color of their scales, their manes were nearly white and grey with age. They landed and looked around. The old Gold in front looked down at her and she knew immediately this male was a problem.

They weren’t here to give their condolences, or to offer assistance. In fact, she knew exactly what they were here for.

Knowing this would turn ugly very fast, Dagmar went to put her plan in motion.

Gwenvael cut in front of his father, pressing his hands against the old dragon’s shoulders and stopping him midway down the Great Hall steps.

“Father, no.”

“You dare come here?” Bercelak snarled at the dragons in the courtyard with such lethal anger that Gwenvael feared the veins pulsing across his father’s temples would burst.

The Elders had shifted to human and wore the boring, brown robes they brought with them. Four of them stepped hastily back at Bercelak’s angry words, but only Elder Eanruig had the balls to look bored.

“There is no disrespect intended, Lord Bercelak,” Eanruig sighed. “But I made it clear to Her Majesty that we would come for the babes after they were born.”

Gwenvael and his father locked gazes before Gwenvael swung around and demanded, “What now?”

“We’ve come for the babes, young Prince. They will leave with us and be raised where we choose is best for them.”

“You’re not taking those children.”

“The Elders have decided, Lord Gwenvael, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I don’t care. You’ll not take those children. Fearghus will decide where they live and how they are raised. Not you. And not some bloody council.”

Briec came down the steps from the Great Hall, stopping beside Gwenvael. “What’s going on?”

Their father couldn’t even answer. He simply shook his head, his hands resting on his hips as he paced back and forth on the long step.

Gwenvael looked at his brother, the anger fairly choking him. “They’ve come for the babes.”

Briec focused on Eanruig. “Under whose authority? Clearly not our mother’s.”

The Elder smirked, and Gwenvael winced when Briec began to yell in his head, We’re killing him! We’re killing him right now!

Gwenvael placed his hand on Briec’s shoulder. We can’t. Let’s just be calm.

Fuck calm!

“The Council has made its decision, Bercelak the Black—”

“You’ve made the decision,” Bercelak cut in. “This is about you!”

“—I would strongly suggest you don’t stop us from doing what we’ve come to do.”

Dagmar came around the corner of the castle. She gave Gwenvael a small wink and motioned to Addolgar and Ghleanna who stalked in behind her.

“Lord Gwenvael,” she said, smiling softly, “who do we have here?”

He passed a quick glance to Briec.

What the hell is she doing? Briec demanded.

Trust her, brother. For Gwenvael certainly did.

Going down the stairs, Gwenvael grasped Dagmar’s outstretched hand and said, “Lady Dagmar this is Elder Eanruig of our Council. Elder Eanruig, this is Dagmar Reinholdt of the Northlands. Only Daughter of The Reinholdt.”

Eanruig puffed up a bit when he realized Dagmar was as close to Northland royalty as one could find among the warlords. “Lady Dagmar. It’s an honor.”

She gave a small bow of her head. “I’ve read so much about the mighty Dragon Elders of the Southlands. And I am most honored to meet you.” She gave the most innocent of smiles. “So what brings you here today?”

Eanruig sighed sadly, making Gwenvael want to pull the bastard’s lungs out through his nose. “We heard about poor Queen Annwyl and we’ve decided that for the safety of her children, we should take them under our protection.”

“Ahhh,” Dagmar nodded. “I see.”

“What’s this?” Ghleanna asked, stomping forward. “I don’t understand. What are they saying, Dagmar?”

“It’s very simple,” Dagmar explained cheerfully. “For the safety of the twins, the Council has decided to rip them—in a sense only, of course—from Fearghus even as we are preparing the funeral pyre for Annwyl’s eventual death.”

Eanruig gave a smug chortle. “It’s not that simple, my lady.”

“No, it is,” Dagmar countered, still cheerfully. “You see, Ghleanna, if Elder Eanruig has the twins, he has control over the queen, because she’d never do anything to risk her own grandchildren.”

Now Eanruig frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Don’t be shy,” she praised, latching on to the Elder’s arm, a bright smile on her face. “It’s brilliant politically. Think of it. He who controls the twins, controls the queen. Yet if she denies Elder Eanruig the babes, he can rally those who’ve never been large fans of Queen Rhiannon anyway to his side and start a delightful civil war.”

Ghleanna crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And we’re letting him get away with this?”

Eanruig snatched his arm away from Dagmar. “There is nothing to get away with, Low Born,” he sneered. “What the Council decides to do is none of the business of the Cadwaladr Clan.”