What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(92)

“That is so sweet!” Then Bercelak was being hugged again. He glared at Dagmar over Talaith’s back, and Dagmar grinned, making sure to show him all her teeth.

“I simply don’t understand it,” Talaith said, pulling away from Bercelak. “How can you possibly be the father of Briec the Arrogant? You are so nice and he’s so not. It amazes me.”

Talaith winked. “Try to stay for dinner tonight,” she said before walking away.

Dagmar absolutely adored the silence that followed Talaith’s exit, knowing the growling, snarling dragon was feeling completely uncomfortable.

“This changes nothing,” he finally barked.

“Oh, I know. Big, scary … you.” She mockingly slashed at him with her hand and added a little roar sound.

“Now you’re just irritating me.”

“I know.” She took his arm. “So why don’t we find Annwyl? I’m positive she detests you and I’m sure nothing will change that.”

“I guess that’s something,” he grumbled.

Chapter 23

Morfyd held her hands up, her body blocking the doorway. “No one is going back to the hall until you all calm down. There will not be a family free-for-all.”

“I say free-for-all for everyone!” Gwenvael cheered.

“Would you shut up?”

Really, she didn’t understand her kin. They all knew their father could be a bit of a prat; why her brothers insisted on fighting with him, she’d never know. There was no point. Although Gwenvael was in high spirits. Not surprising since he’d apparently consummated his alliance with the sharp-witted Lady Dagmar.

It had taken mere seconds for rumors of his being in her room to make the castle rounds this morning.

“I think we should all calmly go and talk to Father and see what he wants.”

“Fine. We’ll do that. Now move.” Briec grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the door while Fearghus snatched it open and stormed out, the other two right behind him.

“Dammit!” She went after them but found them standing around the Great Hall, looking confused.

“Where did he go?” Fearghus asked. Morfyd knew how her brother hated when he was ready for a fight and there was no one there to fight him.

Gwenvael, however, appeared the most panicked. “Where’s Dagmar?”

Briec stared at his brother. “Finding out what dragon stomach acid is like?”

As Talaith had suggested, the Blood Queen was in the stables. Not the main Garbhán Isle stables where the army commanders kept their war horses. No, she was in a separate stable specifically for the queen’s war stallion, Violence. Lovely name. And what a lucky horse, too. So he wouldn’t be lonely, he had his own stable dog—a delightful 50-pound mixed breed who ran up to Dagmar and licked her boots—and a bevy of worthy mares. The one in the stall closest to him kept nuzzling his side, while Annwyl petted his muzzle.

It all appeared very serene and a bit sad, but something was off. Dagmar could feel it. She held her hand up, silently ordering Bercelak the Great to hold his position at the door. And one of the greatest warriors of the Southland dragons did as she bade.

She approached cautiously, not wanting to startle the queen, but as she neared, the feeling that something was wrong grew until it nearly strangled her.

“My queen?”

“What?”

The first sign Dagmar was right: She’d only been here for less than two days, but she’d never known the woman not to correct anyone stupid enough to title her with anything but “Annwyl.” Or, at the very least, a simple “my lady.”

Dagmar moved closer, her eyes examining everything. “I’m sorry to bother you, my lady, but you have a visitor.”

The queen wouldn’t look at her, her gaze focused on the horse she petted with one hand. The other hand was not resting on her belly as it had been since Dagmar had met her, but instead gripping the stable gate penning in her horse. Readjusting her spectacles a bit, Dagmar watched as the long, strong fingers of the queen dug into the wood until it began to splinter.

Now Dagmar understood.

“How long have you been having the contractions, Annwyl?”

She’d thought Annwyl merely had quickened breathing due to the load she currently carried; now Dagmar saw that she’d been panting. Not dramatically, but as a way to control her pain. Something a warrior learned early in training, just as Dagmar’s kinsmen had.

Annwyl swallowed but still wouldn’t look at her. “Days.”

Days? She’d been having contractions for days and she’d said nothing?

Dagmar let out a breath. Yelling at the nitwit wouldn’t help; she needed the queen calm and pliable at this moment.

“But it’s gotten worse in the last few hours?” she asked, keeping her voice even and unaffected.

Annwyl nodded. “But it’s too soon, Dagmar. They can’t come out yet.”

“I believe it’s no longer your choice, my lady.”

“Yes, but I—” The pain was so brutal and swift, the queen’s words were cut off and she had to use both hands on the gate to prevent herself from dropping to the floor.

“Annwyl—”

“It’s too soon,” she repeated, once she could speak.

“Perhaps not,” Bercelak said softly, now standing behind Dagmar.