What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(105)

“He’s right, Ghleanna,” Dagmar cut in. “This has to do with the royal bloodline and those connected directly to it like Bercelak. Unfortunately”—she seemed to mock Ghleanna by winking at Eanruig—“that has little to do with you or Addolgar.”

“Bercelak is our brother.”

Dagmar patted Ghleanna’s forearm. “This is about bloodline, dearest. Am I correct, Elder Eanruig?”

“You are,” he snidely agreed.

“And coming from a low-born bloodline, you have no real connection to the Dragon Queen or any say in these decisions. Now, why don’t I get the babes?” She smiled at Eanruig.

“Thank you kindly, Lady Dagmar.”

As Dagmar walked up the stairs, Ghleanna scowled up at Bercelak. “You’re going to let him get away with this, brother?”

Sighing dramatically, Dagmar took hold of Bercelak’s arm.

“What choice does he have?”

“He can strike the bastard down.”

“No. He can’t. Nor can Briec or Gwenvael. Because of their connection to Queen Rhiannon, they could never strike an unarmed Elder down. Even if openly challenged … as some might consider this situation to be.”

Ghleanna blinked, her scowl lessening. “ ’Cause they’re directly connected to Rhiannon?”

“Right.”

“But we’re not?”

“Unfortunately, you’re just meaningless low borns who could easily interpret this as a threat to the twins and act accordingly.”

Eanruig frowned. “Wait … what?”

“Well, they are low borns, my lord,” Dagmar stated flatly as they all watched him back away. “What exactly did you expect?”

Even if Eanruig was hundreds of years younger, he’d never have been able to move fast enough. He was a politician, like Dagmar, not a trained warrior. He had no speed, no skills, and no hope of outrunning a battle-trained dragoness who was quite pissed off.

Ghleanna sliced through Eanruig’s human body with her sword, cutting him from right shoulder to left hip. As she pulled her blade from his torso, his screams making the observing humans run for their lives and the other Elders scramble away in fear, Addolgar’s blade was slicing through the air overhead, slamming into the middle of Eanruig’s skull. The weapon didn’t stop its descent until it came sliding through the Elder’s groin.

And with that, the screaming stopped.

Flames briefly burst and Eanruig’s human remains returned to their natural form. Dagmar felt nothing as she stared down at what remained of Elder Eanruig. Perhaps it should have been other babes he’d set his sights on, but he’d come after Annwyl’s. That had made it almost a pleasure to work with the Dragon Queen to make sure the laws of her kind would protect Ghleanna and Addolgar, who’d been told nothing and yet reacted as Rhiannon guessed they would.

Ghleanna raised her blood-covered weapon and pointed it at the remaining Elders falling over each other. “Now listen up, you lot. As of this moment, Fearghus the Destroyer’s twins are under the protection of the Cadwaladr Clan. You come near them again without express permission from one of us or the queen herself, and the Cadwaladrs will come down on you like wolves on a wounded deer. We will tear the walls of Devenallt down around you and show you what the true meaning of civil war is.” She stepped closer. “Don’t f**k with my kin, or I’ll kill every last one of you and leave your rotting bones in front of the dens of your offspring.” She flicked her sword up, Eanruig’s blood splattering across the Elders, before she shoved it into the sheath tied to her back.

“Get out of our sight. And never come back here again without an invitation.” When the Elders only stared at her in mute horror … “Move!”

The old dragons shifted and slammed into each other as they fought to get away.

Brushing one hand against the other, Ghleanna headed back toward the training grounds Dagmar had dragged her and her brother from.

With a wink and a smile, Addolgar followed after his sister.

Dagmar realized she had the attention of Gwenvael, Briec, and Bercelak. “Yes?”

“She’s good,” Briec muttered.

“That she is.” Gwenvael slid his arm around her shoulders, his lips grazing against her temple. “With an impeccable sense of timing and knowledge of our bloodlines.”

“Don’t be nosey.”

“Tricky, tricky, tricky.”

“My Lady Dagmar!” A young soldier called out as he ran toward her. “Lady Dagmar!” He slid to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

“Take your breath first, lad, and then tell me what you think I need to know.”

Hands on his knees, his breath coming in gasps as he bent over at the waist, he finally spit out, “You told me to tell you if I heard anything—”

“Yes, yes. What is it?”

“About three hundred leagues from here, my lady. Hoof prints.”

“You’ll have to tell me something a little more interesting than that, I’m afraid.”

“Pairs. What I mean to say is pairs of two hooves, marching, side by side. And then they just disappear. We can’t find where, although it looks as if they disappeared into rock.”

Not disappeared into rock, she’d wager, but under it. The way of the Ice Land Minotaur. Not only could they find their way underground with ease, but they could also cover their tracks quite well. They didn’t fool her. She’d bet they’d gone underground several leagues from where those tracks were found, most likely aware Annwyl’s army had been warned of their coming.