About a Dragon

by G. A. Aiken

  “Come here, wench.”

  “Not on your life, dragon.”

  She made it downstairs, barely dodging Fearghus’ outstretched hand. But his other arm looped around her waist, lifting her completely off the ground.

  “Let me go!”

  “I’ve got you now, my queen. The question is what will I do with you?”

  “Bastard!”

  “Sweet talk will get you everywhere.”

  The two laughed and struggled until they looked up and found both Brastias and Morfyd staring at them.

  “Must you two do that?” Morfyd demanded in a harsh whisper. “In front of everyone?”

  “Well, actually—” Annwyl began, but Fearghus feared what she’d say, so he covered her mouth with his hand.

  “Sorry, sister. We’ll stop.”

  “Good.”

  She and Brastias walked off, but as soon as Fearghus released Annwyl she yelled after them, “We’ll do our best to be good little monarchs.”

  Morfyd swung around so fast, fangs showing, that Annwyl stumbled back and then dodged behind Fearghus.

  “My, aren’t we the brave queen, my love.”

  “Shut up, mate.”

  He was one of the young soldiers in training. He’d bragged about it for the last five minutes while he continually tossed his white blond locks over his shoulder.

  Izzy didn’t like him. And she had the almost overwhelming desire to shave his blasted head and then stuff her pillow with all that blond hair.

  Music suddenly flowed through the hall and dancing started. Izzy longed to dance because she never had before.

  Turning from the boy—she’d never consider him a man—in the hopes of finding a dance partner who didn’t make her skin crawl, she froze when his hand grabbed firm hold of her arm.

  She looked down at the hand holding her and then up at the boy attached to that hand.

  “Let me go.”

  “We weren’t done talking.”

  “We are now.”

  He gave her an indulgent smile she longed to punch off his face.

  “Come. Dance with me.” Ignoring her attempt to get him to release her, he headed toward the dance floor. But three large men blocked his path.

  “Problem, Izzy?” Achaius asked calmly, but Izzy had lived with the man for nine years. She knew when he might snap and crack open a few heads in the process.

  “No. No problem.”

  The boy was a fool but nothing she couldn’t handle.

  Her Protectors, in unison, looked down at the hand holding onto her arm and back at her.

  “Doesn’t look that way to us,” Achaius observed.

  “Achaius—”

  “Perhaps you better get out of my way, old man.”

  Izzy winced and resigned herself to the boy’s fate.

  Achaius ignored the boy and focused on Izzy. “What did we teach you, Izzy, when someone placed his hands on you without your permission?”

  “But—”

  “Izzy?”

  With a sigh, Izzy moved around to face the boy, his hand still holding onto her arm. She used her free one to slam her fist into his throat.

  Startled and unable to breathe, most likely, he stumbled back.

  “Good lass.” Achaius patted her on the back. “Now off with you. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Achaius, it really wasn’t—”

  “Don’t make me get your mother over here, Iseabail.”

  “No, no. Not necessary,” she replied hastily.

  The boy may not realize it, but he’d be better off taking a beating from these three men in a dark corner than facing off against her mother. She’d seen the damage that woman could do, remembered the bodies lying on the field of battle.

  No, it was best not to get her mother involved.

  “Then go and enjoy yourself,” Achaius said as he gently pushed her toward the dance floor. “We’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  She glanced at the boy and felt a small pang of regret for him, but he really did bring this on himself.

  Talaith barely managed a yelp before a strong hand dragged her off into a deserted hallway. She went for her concealed dagger but quickly realized it was only Morfyd.

  “Grabbing trained assassins and hauling them into dark corners is always a bad idea, Morfyd.”

  Morfyd dismissed Talaith’s words with a wave of her hand. “Forget all that. I have something much more interesting.”

  The two women stopped as a young man with white blond hair dashed by them. He’d been badly beaten, his face a bit of a bloody mess.

  Talaith watched him disappear around a corner. “Should I ask—”

  “No,” Morfyd cut in. “Probably not.”

  The dragonwitch most likely spoke true. It was much better Talaith not know what was going on.

  “So, what’s so interesting?”

  “The captain of the guards finds you quite attractive.”

  Talaith stared at the dragoness currently in human form—and she kept staring.

  “Well?” Morfyd pushed, her excitement evident as she bounced on the tips of her toes.

  “Well what?”

  “Go dance with him.”

  By the gods, she’s matchmaking.

  “Absolutely not.” Talaith turned and headed back to the party when Morfyd’s words stopped her in her tracks.

  “I thought you were over him.”

  Talaith swung around to face her new friend and current royal pain. “We are never to discuss him. Ever.”

  “Why, if you no longer care for him?”

  Talaith shoved the female farther into the dark alcove. “Would you keep your voice down. Honestly, I don’t know why you keep on about it.”

  “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy. With my daughter.”

  “And that’s all you want?”

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. So leave it be, Morfyd.”

  Talaith walked off and kept walking even when Morfyd whispered much too loudly, “What about the Duke of Winsley? He’s quite cute and has loads of riches.”

  Annwyl thought about setting herself on fire. Anything had to be better than listening to this man go on and on. Who was he again? Lord Winsley? Duke Winsley? Whatever. He was boring and his nose was excessively long. She desired to break it. Would he cry like a babe? Or take it like a man? She’d wager on the crying. He looked weak. She hated weak men. She hated weak women. She hated weak in general.

  Besides, he kept referring to her as queen. True, Morfyd said no head taking during the feast. But what about an arm? Or a leg? Of course, the screaming would start, but she’d prefer the man screaming rather than boring her to death.

  Annwyl looked over the man’s head—she would tower over him even in her bare feet—and saw Fearghus standing by the entrance to an alcove. When he realized he had her attention, he smiled and motioned to the alcove with his head. Then he disappeared inside.

  Knowing what awaited her, she glanced down at the duke or earl or whatever he was and said, “That’s fascinating, but I have to go.”

  Without waiting for him to say another painfully boring word, she slipped through the crowd and went into the dark alcove. As soon as she walked in, Fearghus’ hands slipped around her waist and dragged her deeper inside. He pushed her up against the wall, his lips against her throat and his hands pulling up her dress.

  She dug her fingers into his hair and bit her lip to keep from crying out. Didn’t help, though. Not with Morfyd’s personal “battle dog” stalking her every move.

  “My liege?”

  Fearghus’ hands stopped moving and Annwyl felt her rage slowly simmer to the surface.

  Through gritted teeth, she snarled, “What, Brastias?”

  “Your humble servants await, m’lady.”

  “And they can keep waiting,” she growled back.

  “No, my queen, I don’t think they can.”

  “Brastias—”

  “Don’t make me get Morfyd
, my ladyship.”

  Damn him. He called her those names to irritate her. And irritate it did.

  “Fine!”

  Annwyl pulled away from Fearghus, ignoring her mate’s growl of warning, and stalked out of the alcove.

  “Happy now?”

  “Aye. I truly am, my—”

  “If you give me one more title, I promise I’ll cut your throat.”

  Brastias grinned. The bastard. “As you wish, Annwyl.”

  “Not really. Otherwise I’d be back in there.”

  Brastias laughed and glanced into the dark alcove. “And you, my lord Fearghus? Will you be joining us as well?”

  A deep sigh came from the darkness and then Fearghus’ tense voice replied, “Not at the moment, no.”

  Annwyl winced. She may be a little slippery between her legs, but her long dress hid it well. But she knew poor Fearghus’ chainmail leggings could never hide the erection she’d felt pushing against her stomach only moments before.

  “You know, you really don’t look that old.”

  Talaith slapped her hand over her daughter’s mouth. Forcing a smile at the duke her kin had just insulted, she dragged the girl away.

  “All right, little miss, I need you to get control of that tongue.”

  Izzy frowned at her mother and nodded. She pulled the hand off her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult him. It was only, I couldn’t believe how old he was.”

  “And how did you find out his age?”

  “I asked him.”

  Talaith sighed. “You can’t do that, Izzy.”

  “Why?”

  Clearly her daughter’s dragon protector hadn’t taught her much in the way of manners. But now that Talaith thought about it, dragons and manners were not synonymous. Brutal honesty and directness—that was where their strengths lay.

  “Because it’s considered rude.”

  “I’m sorry.” She appeared horrified she may have insulted the man. “I’ll go apologize.”

  “No.” Talaith grabbed her daughter’s arm before she could move away—the girl moved like lightning. “I’m sure he won’t give it another thought. But point it out to him…”

  Izzy closed her eyes. “I’m not good at this, am I?”

  “Izzy, you’ve been living with three hard soldiers for the past nine years. You’re doing fine.” It was merely her eagerness that continually got away from her. “Just watch your tongue and remember to think before you speak.”

  Izzy nodded. Suddenly, she leaned over and embraced Talaith, pulling away only after she’d kissed her cheek.

  Mother and daughter smiled at each other before Izzy bounced off in search of more people to accidentally insult.

  Brastias watched the partygoers carefully. True, he was supposed to be a party guest as much as any of the others, but the two assassins sent to kill his queen had made him excessively wary.

  It surprised him Talaith, one of those assassins according to Morfyd who’d asked for his silence, not only lived but seemed to have become the best friend of the queen and her Battle Mage. He had no idea why. Both Annwyl and Morfyd insisted she’d been the victim of circumstance. Perhaps. Brastias didn’t rightly know. But, he grudgingly admitted, he’d grown fond of Talaith, too. He’d especially grown fond of her loud, chatty daughter.

  Still, no one had told Fearghus about how Talaith came to join their little party, and so happy to have Annwyl back, he didn’t question it.

  It won’t be fun when he finds out.

  He would find out, too. He always did.

  “You want to take a bit of a break, General?”

  Brastias looked at Danelin. “What do you mean?”

  “If you studied the guests any more, sir, you’d be forcing them to strip and bend over.”

  Brastias chuckled. “That obvious, am I?”

  “Aye, sir. Besides,” he motioned across the room, “there is someone I’m sure wouldn’t mind if you asked her for a dance.”

  Following his second-in-command’s line of sight, his eyes settled on Morfyd. Tonight she didn’t wear her usual witch’s robes. Instead, she wore a sparkling white gown, cut low in the front, and her white hair curled and hanging loose around her shoulders and down her back, with white and silver flowers threaded throughout.

  Definitely the most beautiful thing he’d seen in his entire existence.

  “Go on, sir.” Danelin pushed Brastias with his shoulder and Brastias almost struck him down with his sword.

  Instead, he gritted his teeth. “I’m going. I’m going. Don’t push.”

  Taking a deep breath, Brastias moved across the floor toward Morfyd. Tonight he would ask her to dance. The worst she could say was “no”. But he would think positively for the moment. She’d say “yes” because he wanted her to say “yes”.

  He stepped in front of her. “Lady Morfyd.”

  She grinned. “Lady Morfyd? Isn’t that a bit formal between old friends?”

  Friends? He didn’t want to be friends. In fact, he was tired of being friends.

  “Well, that’s the thing—” But before he could finish a large hand slapped him on the back, almost sending him flying into Morfyd.

  “Brastias, old friend.”

  Scowling, Brastias turned and faced Gwenvael. Bundled up in a cape and furs, his face nearly hidden by the hood, he’d clearly only arrived. “I had no idea there was a party this eve. Good thing we washed before changing and coming here.”

  Gwenvael, typically unaware of what he’d interrupted, pushed Brastias out of the way so he could kiss his sister on the cheek.

  “You look lovely this evening, sister.”

  Morfyd, always so self-contained and in complete control, practically fell over herself as she grabbed her brother’s arm. “Are you alone?” she demanded frantically.

  Frowning, he said, “No. I’ve got Briec and Éibhear with me. Why?”

  She bounced on her toes. “Where? Where are they?”

  He pointed to a spot across the floor. Éibhear, happy and good natured as always. And Briec, looking as if he wished he were anywhere but here—as always. They both had the hoods of their capes up over their heads, nearly obscuring their faces. But Brastias knew them well enough to see who was who. And, based on past experience, Brastias knew as soon as Briec spoke to Fearghus, he’d leave. Now that he thought about it, Briec had only been there one time before. When he and his kin came to convince Annwyl to return to her mate after their year-long separation. Any other time the brothers met, it was at Dark Plains. Strange having him here now. The information they possessed must be extremely important for him to make the trip.

  The music changed tempo to a fast jig and one of Iseabail’s Protectors lifted her up and swung her around the floor. She squealed excitedly as he passed her off to one of her other Protectors who passed her off to the next.

  He admired those men. They’d taken good care of that girl for nine years. While they may go hungry, they made sure she ate. While their clothes and armor may need repair, her clothes were always clean and cared for. And from what he heard, woe to the man who came near her, much less hurt her. No, the lass couldn’t have been in better hands until she could return to her mother.

  One of the Protectors reached into the crowd and dragged a shy and extremely embarrassed Talaith out to join the dance. At that moment, he heard Gwenvael gasp in surprise.

  “But, wait…that’s…”

  His sister gripped his arm tighter, causing him to wince in pain. “I know. I know!” The toe bouncing became decidedly worse. Morfyd’s one weakness—gossip.

  Brastias turned back to watch Talaith. Although they didn’t lift her up like her daughter, the Protectors swung her once and passed her among each of them. She laughed even as her face turned dark red in embarrassment, knowing everyone watched her. Although some decidedly with more intensity than others.

  Especially Briec. He stepped forward out of the crowd, staring so intently at her Brastias found himself holding his breath, wa
iting for Talaith to notice him.

  She did…at the moment she slipped and slammed face first into his chest. Laughing, she gripped his arms and pushed herself away. Most likely with an apology on her lips as was her way. But when she looked into the face of the man—or, in this case, dragon—who held her, she froze.

  Staring at each other, the pair stayed stuck to that particular spot. Until, finally, Briec spoke.

  “You left me!”

  No angry bark that. Nor a yell. Or even a shout. It was a roar. So much so, it shook the very foundation of the castle. The music stopped. The dancing stopped. Even Fearghus stood in surprise, dropping Annwyl on her ass since she’d been happily sitting in his lap at the time.

  “Well?” Again that roar.

  Recovering quickly and clearly livid, Talaith snatched her arms away from Briec’s grasp. “Don’t you dare yell at me!

  “No word from you. You just left!”

  “I had a previous engagement that didn’t involve you!”

  She turned away, but Briec took firm hold of her arm. “So you say nothing? You simply sneak out?”

  “Why don’t you just say what you mean? It isn’t that I left that bothers you. It’s that I left you. The wondrous Briec the Arrogant. Left by some peasant no less.” She snatched her arm back. “How humiliating for you,” she sneered with enough venom to wipe out a small town.

  “You seem to forget, m’lady…you belong to me.”

  Fairly growling, “I belong to no one. Especially you.”

  Pitch black smoke snaked from Briec’s nostrils and then his brothers were there. Fearghus took firm hold of the back of his neck. “Let’s go somewhere and talk, brother.”

  “We’re not done,” he snarled, his eyes never leaving Talaith’s face.

  “Oh, we are,” Fearghus insisted, pushing Briec toward the great doors; Gwenvael and Éibhear following their kin out.

  Annwyl motioned to the musicians to begin playing. Then she crooked her finger at Talaith and Morfyd.

  Watching Morfyd and Talaith disappear with Annwyl, Brastias sighed heavily.