What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(66)

For nearly three nights he’d been alone with Dagmar. For nearly three nights he went out of his way not to make her feel uncomfortable or unsafe. And for three days his c**k insisted on telling him what an idiot he was. Yet she was entrusting him with her life, even after finding out about the Lightning’s betrayal.

He wouldn’t take that trust for granted.

Glancing down, he watched as Dagmar wandered comfortably among his kin, her steady gaze focused on the ground. She’d stop, stare at something, and move on. Finally, when he pulled away from one of his many cousins and saw her doing it again, he had to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Comparing.”

“Comparing what?”

She looked up at him, her brows drawn together in a slight frown. “Why is your tail different from the others?”

In a group that was never silent, the sound of small birds could suddenly be heard.

“They all have this sharp spike at the end,” she said while pointing at one of his cousins’ tail. “Except yours.” He saw her fighting that wicked smile when she asked, “Were you born this horribly deformed? Or are all the royals missing basic defenses all other dragons are gifted with?”

Fal leaned forward before his cousin could and began, “What you need to do, my lady, is ask his brothers—”

Grabbing one of Fal’s horns, Gwenvael twisted and yanked his cousin back, sending him skidding into the lake.

“Let’s go.” He motioned at Dagmar with his talon.

“Aren’t you going to answer my very innocent question?”

“No, cheeky wench.” He slapped her ass with his “horribly deformed” tail. “Now walk!”

“Gwenvael! Gwenvael!”

He turned, looking for the voice he knew so well, already getting an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Up here!”

Slowly Gwenvael raised his eyes to the sky—and cringed. “Iseabail! What in all the hells are you doing?”

She grinned. “Flying!”

Yes. She was. And her mother would have a fit. Izzy wasn’t even on the back of one of the older dragons but had found her way to the youngsters … and Celyn, son of Gwenvael’s battle-honored Aunt Ghleanna. He would be a fine and well-known warrior one day when he came into his own. Until then he was like every other male of the Cadwaladr Clan at that age: lusty.

“Get down from there!”

“What? Can’t hear you!”

He rolled his eyes as Celyn winked and did an impressive dip that had Izzy squealing and laughing.

“Stop worrying, nephew. We won’t let anything happen to Briec’s girl.”

He looked at his aunt Ghleanna. Her black hair with the silver streaks of age was cut short, ready for battle as always, battle scars littering the face and torso of her dragonform.

“Her mother doesn’t want her flying. And I don’t want her flying with Celyn.”

“Celyn knows she’s family. And she and Branwen have become fast friends. Besides, we’ll watch out for her.” She motioned him away with her front claws. “Go. Take your lady to the castle and see your sister. I know she’s been worried for you.”

He smiled and leaned in, kissing her cheek. Before pulling back, he whispered, “She’s young, Ghleanna. Too young for Celyn.”

“She’s not as young as you’d like to believe,” she whispered back. “But I think we both know her heart belongs to another.”

Startled, Gwenvael leaned back and asked, “It does?”

She laughed and shoved his shoulder, nearly sending him flying. “Go on with ya, boy.”

Gwenvael took one last look at his niece, wincing when she raised her arms in the air and cheered when she should be holding on to Celyn with both hands.

No. Best not to think about it. But he would need to let Briec know to keep an eye out. Izzy listened to him above all others.

“All right, Beast, let’s go.” He motioned Dagmar forward with his claw. “Time for you to meet the queen.”

They had an array of human clothes lined up right outside the gates of Garbhán Isle, and yet none of the peasants or entering travelers went near them. They all seemed to know they were clothes for the dragons.

It must have been odd, Dagmar realized, for the Southland humans to suddenly realize they had dragons living among them so casually. As it was, Dagmar was still getting used to it. Believing a being existed was quite different from finding out you’d been tutored by at least one for the last twenty years.

Gwenvael changed into his human clothes, and they entered Garbhán Isle through the massive iron gates. It was then that Dagmar decided she might have actually chosen well with this ally. She didn’t know firsthand what Garbhán Isle was like under the former warlord’s rule, but now it was a thriving city, pulsating with power—and soldiers. Merchants sold everything from fruits, vegetables, and meats, to furs, and jewels, to more weapons than she could ever imagine. Weapons not only for humans but for dragons as well. In fact, there seemed to be just as many items for dragons as humans, ranging from whole skinned cows and deer for dinner to enormous lances made from the finest steel for battle.

“It’s all amazing, isn’t it?” Gwenvael asked her, his hand against her back as he led her through the large crowds of soldiers, travelers, merchants, and peasants.