“What the hell am I supposed to do as queen?”
“Well…you could try ruling.”
“That sounds awfully complicated.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You command the largest rebellion known to this land. From what I understand, your troops are blindingly loyal to you. And other kingdoms send you reinforcements and gold.”
“Your point?”
“You’re already queen, Annwyl. You just need to take the crown.”
She shook her head. “My father didn’t believe in crowns. There’s a throne, though.”
“Then take your throne. Take it and become queen.”
“I will. If you fight with me, dragon.”
“Will I get any peace if I don’t?”
“Sometimes queens have to do things they’re not always proud of,” she teased. “Including the torturing of handsome dragons, such as yourself. I could have people traipsing in and out of here all the time. Talkative people.” She smiled as she spoke—and called him “handsome”—but he wouldn’t put anything past her.
“Then you don’t give me much choice, do you?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Then I will fight with you, Annwyl.”
She grinned, and he felt pride for causing it.
Chapter 4
As the days passed and Annwyl became stronger, she began to venture out into the glen surrounding the dragon’s lair. She’d never felt safer than she did at this very moment. In the middle of a dragon’s territory with only a sword to protect her. And she could never be safer. He allowed her to do what she wished. Go where she wished. Which she did. Although she actively avoided the section where the smell of burned men still lingered.
Annwyl moved slowly among the trees and flowers. All so beautiful and hers to enjoy in solitude. Like everyone else in the surrounding kingdoms, she had learned to fear Dark Glen. And from the outside, it stood dark and imposing. But once inside, the dense forest created a place of tranquility and quiet. If she’d known as a child that she had nothing to fear, she would have escaped to it long ago.
She rubbed her side. Her wound still a bit tender, but nearly healed. The dragon and witch had done a brilliant job of keeping her alive.
Yet she agonized over the agreement she’d made with the dragon. Was she that desperate to defeat her brother? That desperate to see her brother’s blood on her sword that she’d risk the life of the dragon who saved her? Clearly the answer was yes.
But she must be mad. She should flee. Back to her men. Back to the safety of her troops and away from the dragon. She should. But she most likely would not. The question she kept asking herself, though, was why. Why wouldn’t she leave this place? Why wouldn’t she leave him?
And why did he himself seem to resist the idea any time she mentioned leaving?
Annwyl smiled as she thought about how her little space within his lair kept becoming more and more furnished. First only a bed to sleep in and table for her to eat at. After that, several stuffed chairs appeared. Then a rug. Then a tapestry. Some beautiful silver candlesticks with sweet-smelling candles.
He wanted to make her feel comfortable. At home. Surprisingly, the beast’s lair felt more like a home than any place she’d lived in since she was a child and sent to live with her father.
No. She could never repay the dragon for his kindness. As it was, what life she possessed already belonged to him. And yet she felt no fear. She should. He could ask her for anything in order to pay her blood debt to him. No, she felt something altogether different from fear. Anticipation.
Annwyl stopped, her silent revelry broken. She’d sensed the battle before she heard the clash of swords and the cries of dying men. She knew she didn’t have all her strength back yet, but she had to see. Had to know if her brother’s men had infiltrated the dragon’s glen. And if they had, she’d kill them all. She wouldn’t put the dragon at anymore risk.
She ran quickly and silently, reassured by the weight of the blade strapped to her back and the dagger sheathed at her hip. She slipped behind a boulder and watched the brutal conflict. Her brother’s men. About eight of them. All fighting one man.
The man from her dreams.
Annwyl’s chest constricted as gooseflesh broke out over her skin. She watched him with wide eyes. His face was the face she saw in her dreams almost every night while she recovered her strength. That black hair the same hair she always made sure to dig her hands into. Who the hell was this? Other than remembering him from her dreams, she still didn’t recognize him. A stranger. A large, gorgeous stranger who wore the crest of an army not seen for many years on the bright red surcoat worn over his chainmail.
Annwyl shook her head. She refused to believe that her dream had come to life and now brutally fought her brother’s men.
And fight he did. He moved fast. Faster than she’d ever seen a man move before. His skills with a blade unparalleled. He dispatched two of the men within seconds and moved onto the remaining six.
But the blade in her back distracted her from the knight. There hadn’t been eight men in the dragon’s glen…there had been nine.
“Lady Annwyl. When I had the men scout this area, I had no idea we would actually find you.”
Annwyl gritted her teeth. She recognized that voice. Desmond L’Udair. One of her brother’s many lieutenants and the man who once grabbed her breast during dinner. Of course, only the remaining four fingers on his right hand currently held the blade now digging into her spine.
“Lord L’Udair. I’d really hoped you died.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “So, how’s the hand?”
Some thought L’Udair handsome. But she only saw the ugly side of him. Like now, when his lips twisted into an angry snarl. He seized her by the hair and snatched her to him so her back and sword slammed against his chest.
“The question, as always, my sweet, is whether I return you to your brother with or without your head?” He held the blade of his weapon against her neck. “Or perhaps we should spend a little time together before I return you at all. I still owe you for the loss of my finger.”
“Lay with me, L’Udair, and you risk the rest of your…parts.” She smiled at him and saw his leer fade.
“What amazes me,” said a low voice in front of her, “is that you haven’t killed him yet.”
Annwyl focused on the mysterious man who had, while L’Udair made his threats, eliminated the rest of the small scouting party.
“Do you really have time for this?” he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re right, of course.”
