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CHAPTER EIGHT

I t was the end of their first full day in the Shadowlands, and the welcome banquet for King Harold’s coronation guests was at nightfall.

“I guess when you’ve got guests traveling from all over the world, you don’t waste time.” Carys looked over Laura’s head into the mirror.

Her friend—knowing that she was attending a formal event—had packed the traditional regalia of the Yurok people, an intricately beaded tunic she donned over warm wool leggings and a long leather shirt she’d brought in anticipation of the cool Anglian weather. Her feet were encased in leather boots and laced up to her knees, and she had a braided headpiece made of willow and hazel fibers.

“It’s good.” Laura leaned forward on the dressing table, applying makeup that would mimic the traditional chin tattoos that were commonly worn in Pauwau Aki. “We dance. We eat. This Harold guy is coronated.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is coronated a word? As soon as I said it, it sounded like a medical procedure.”

“I have no idea.” Carys was dressed in one of Seren’s gowns, a draped garment in bright red with emerald-green trim that weighed nearly as much as she did. She affixed the golden dragon brooch on her shoulder and the green leather vest over her bodice. “This thing looks like dragon skin.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Laura glanced at Carys’s clothes. “Dragon skin is almost see-through. It has that iridescent, pearly quality in the light.”

“Seems like you’ve been looking at Cadell’s skin quite a bit.” Carys tucked a piece of her hair back into her braid. “Like what you see?”

“Stop.” Laura rolled her eyes. “That dragon is impossible.”

“Impossibly attracted to you.” Carys nudged her shoulder. “Just admit that you’re interested.”

“He’s like… five hundred years old or something.”

“And? His horde breeding days are over as far as I know. That means he can make any match he wants to at this point in his life.”

Laura stared into the mirror. “That sounds so sad. Like he’s an old bull put out into pasture.”

“That’s not what it’s like at all. Dragon families don’t work like human ones. He had responsibilities to his horde before, and now he’s more of a free agent.”

“Can we change the subject to your love life?” Laura finished her makeup and stood. “How was your breakfast with Lachlan? After the wolf incident, of course.”

“Kind of killed the mood if you know what I mean.” Carys grabbed a purse sitting on the table and slipped her feet into her dancing shoes. “Are you ready?”

“That was a quick change of subject,” Laura said. “Which means you need to tell me more.”

“In the coracle.” Carys nodded toward the door. “We’re gonna be late.”

They flew to Harold’s castle by dragon coracle, a round wooden carriage clutched in the claws of Dafydd’s dragon Mared as Cadell flew ahead of them over the city of London where fires lit the darkness and revels gathered the citizens of the city to squares and parks for coronation week celebrations.

Duncan was sitting to her left and Laura to her right. Dafydd, Anwyn, and Dylan had flown to the castle first, and this was Mared’s second journey.

The surly blacksmith hadn’t said a word to her since they got into the coracle. In fact, he hadn’t said a word to her all day.

Moody much?

Carys peeked through the narrow rectangular window cut into the coracle and saw dragons in the distance, far-off shadows with massive wings, soaring over the river, flying in from the east.

Cadell, who are they?

The dragon answered in Carys’s mind. They are balauri from the east, Nêrys. Emissaries from the dragon kingdom of Valachia. Harold has cultivated them as allies. Wary allies, but the Anglians are making an effort.

Are they friendly with Cymru?

No. But they’re equally unfriendly to everyone, so we don’t consider them a threat. They keep to the continent.

Carys watched the massive red beasts with skin the color of blood as they flew closer. “Laura, come look.”

Laura scooted closer and peered through the window. “Does that thing have two heads?”

“I think so.”

Mared wheeled away from the group of balauri and started to descend. Carys braced herself as the ground grew closer.

“Okay—the bottom is curved, so imagine a boat landing on the ground.” She held Laura’s hand. “We’re going to rock forward for a hard beat; then the door will pop open and that braces the thing. I’d advise just keeping your seat until we stop rocking.”

“Arms and legs inside the coracle at all times?”

Duncan snorted.

Carys lifted an eyebrow. “You look very nice tonight, Laird Duncan. Are you going to dance with me?”

He turned his brilliant green eyes on her, and Carys was not prepared for the way his intense gaze made her melt. “I’ll claim your first dance if you’ll have me, Professor Morgan.”

If you’ll have me. When his voice was low and rumbly like that, Carys wanted to crawl into his lap and sniff his neck.

Nêrys, Mared is about to land. I’ll be on the ground to escort you.

Cadell’s voice in her head was enough to snap her out of her blacksmith-laced stupor. “Uh, yes. Absolutely.” She glanced at Duncan. “The first dance is yours. Also, Cadell says we’re about to land.”

“Good.” Duncan stretched his legs out, and there was a glint in his eye. “I’ll make sure to claim you after the banquet.”

“So feral,” Laura whispered. “Curious what you just committed to there.”

“I was just having the same thought,” Carys muttered as the coracle touched down with a thunk. The wooden vessel rocked once, twice, and then the door released, swinging down to the grassy meadow where Carys could already see Cadell waiting in green leather armor.

The dragon’s eyes were fixed on Laura, but he tore them away and looked at Carys. “Nêrys.” He held out his arm. “I will be your escort.”

Carys turned to Laura. “Can you walk with Duncan? Cadell and I should?—”

“Go!” Laura urged her out of the coracle. “You’ve got a role to play. I’m just here for the dancing and the food.” She looked up at Duncan. “Hey, sexy Scottish dude, you got an arm for me?”

Duncan bowed his head and held out his elbow. “My lady of the Baywood, would you allow me to escort you to the castle?”

“Oh, see…” Laura smiled. “That works for you. Like, so well. You should do that more.”

“D’ya think?” Duncan winked at her as Carys walked toward Cadell. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Carys and her dragon escort walked down a pathway lit with torches toward a garden party she could see in the distance.

The Anglian night had joined in the new king’s hospitality; the air was balmy and the breeze off the river as gentle as a mother’s kiss. The castle gardens were alive with spring flowers. Trees in full blossom, bulbs bursting from the ground, and fairy lights dancing in the shadows beyond the trees.

As soon as they approached the gardens, a liveried usher snapped to attention and took the card that Cadell handed him.

“Carys, Nêrys Ddraig and Lady of Cymru, and Lord Dragon Cadell!”

Carys appreciated that in a gathering with more than one fae guest, full names were not being thrown into the air and they were using titles instead.

“Laird Duncan of Murrayshall and Laura, Pauwau Inwe of the Yurok people of California.”

Carys and Cadell were already walking into the party, which might have been in the gardens but was no less formal than in a castle hall.

She could see the head table in the distance, surrounded by men and women dressed in uniforms similar to what Winnie the archer had been wearing earlier in the day.

Harold was easy to spot as they walked down the center aisle to be presented. He was a tall, plain-faced man whose most prominent feature seemed to be the flowing brown locks that fell to his shoulders and the gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose. His beard was thick, braided in two forks and decorated with bright gold beads. His nose was prominent, and his eyes were dark in the flickering blue-and-white fae-light.

To his right, King Dafydd sat on a slightly lower seat, wearing a simple gold circlet on his forehead. A humble king with a dragon standing at attention behind him. He was speaking to Harold in a low voice and gave Carys a nod. Anwyn, Carys’s cousin, was seated on Dafydd’s right.

Just past Anwyn, Lachlan watched Carys with a smile in his eyes. He was wearing a gold circlet similar to Dafydd’s but decorated with a single green stone. Beside him, a woman with flowing blond hair and a single gold sigil on her forehead drank from a crystal goblet. A unicorn in Anglia? Interesting.

“The Lady Carys, Nêrys Ddraig of Cymru,” another usher announced. “And Lord Dragon Cadell of the Horde of Eryri.”

“Lady Carys,” Harold said to them. “And Lord Dragon Cadell. The thrones of Briton greet you, and the royal house of Anglia welcomes you to London.”

Carys offered him a low nod as Cadell had instructed her earlier. “I am grateful, King Harold. Congratulations on your coronation, and we appreciate your hospitality.”

That was all she said and all she was expected to say. She didn’t bow because she wasn’t Harold’s subject and to do so would have been a slap at Dafydd, who was—technically speaking—her king.

The usher showed them to a table on the left side of the garden, where they were shortly joined by Laura and Duncan.

“Okay, this is so fascinating,” Laura whispered. “But who the hell is that boss queen to Harold’s left?”

Carys glanced up and looked at the left side of the table where another line of dignitaries was sitting.

“That boss queen ” —Cadell kept his voice low— “is Orla, high queen of éire. And next to her is Prince Cian, her consort and the closest thing to a fae ruler in Briton.”

“ That’s Queen Orla?” Carys didn’t know why she was expecting someone older except that she’d met Orla’s granddaughter, who’d been the same age as Carys. “Holy wow.”

Orla was the single most beautiful woman Carys had ever seen in her entire life. She wore her raven hair in intricately woven braids, and bright jewels decorated the elaborate, lacelike silver crown on her head.

Regan’s mother. Carys could see echoes of the sorceress in the queen’s face, and just for a moment, Orla turned brilliant blue eyes toward Carys, as if she could hear her thoughts.

Their eyes met for only a second before Orla’s shuttered and looked away.

Perhaps she was seeing Seren’s face. The face of the woman her daughter and granddaughter had killed.

Did she feel guilt for stealing Dafydd’s child?

Did she feel anything at all?

A second later, the queen’s eyes moved back to the head table, and she inclined her head toward King Harold as he spoke to her.

She was the picture of grace and royalty. Her gown looked like it was woven from moonlight and silk, and while her hair showed silver threads at the temples, her skin was unlined and glowed like a pearl.

“She’s human?” Laura asked. “Entirely human? I’d assumed she was fae.”

“She’s not mundane,” Cadell said. “She’s a trained magic user, but she is human.”

“Then I need her skin routine,” Laura muttered.

“Her beauty regimen would be being wedded to a fae prince.” Duncan nodded toward the regal, golden-haired fae man at Orla’s side. “Magical unions have been known to keep humans young for a long time.”

Prince Cian was tall, broad-shouldered, and as stunning as Orla in an overtly masculine way. His jaw was shaved smooth, and his golden hair fell like a waterfall over his shoulders. His crown was wrought of finely woven gold, and though he didn’t bear the title of king, his demeanor was as royal as any figure at the head table.

His eyes surveyed the welcome banquet, and he looked down his nose at the gathered company, clearly a bit bored by the ceremony.

Laura looked at Cadell. “So does any magical union keep a human young?”

“Yes,” the dragon said quickly. “At least, that is what I have heard.”

Duncan shot Carys a look, and Carys couldn’t stop her smile.

Transparent. Cadell was so transparent.

“So that’s Orla.” Carys examined the fae prince beside the éiren queen. “And Cian is a light fae?”

“Yes,” Cadell said. “But trust me, the lightness in him only extends to his hair and his eyes.”

Cian was Orla’s equal in beauty and grace. The two regents seemed to move as one, dark and light, human and magic. They were mirrors of each other, their expressions dual masks of benevolent power as they surveyed the banquet.

In the royal garden, fae, humans, and magical creatures of all kinds mingled and sprites danced overhead, their high, bright voices creating a background of joyful music to accompany the feast.

Soon after Carys and her friends were seated, human servers in bright red uniforms spread through the garden, serving roasted game, root vegetables, and fresh fruit in massive platters that filled the center of each table.

Dafydd rose to his feet and lifted a goblet filled with red wine. “To our host,” he shouted. “To King Harold and his house.”

“Hear, hear!” Lachlan called. He spoke to the crowd, but his eyes landed on Carys.

“Eat.” Duncan placed what appeared to be an entire goose leg on the plate in front of her. “You’ll need your energy for dancing.”

The orchestra cued up, and a pair of pipers stood at the entrance of the garden as the tables were moved back to the edges of the lawn. Quick-moving servants had already laid out a wooden dance floor as the musicians assembled just before the king’s table.

In the bustle of the party, Carys watched as the king’s careful orchestration of seating broke down into magical and nonmagical creatures.

The willowy fae guests gathered together on the far side of the room, whispering and watching the humans, who continued to drink and raise their voices ever higher.

“It’s easy to spot the wolves now,” Carys told Cadell. “There are so many of them.”

“They serve the Anglian throne, and their clans are rewarded with the best hunting grounds across the country.” Cadell spoke softly. “It allows Harold to control a large territory, but make no mistake, many common people resent it.”

“If they’re as territorial as they were this morning in the park, I can see why.” Carys spotted the massive wolf lord called Godrik at the back of the room. “No love lost between dragons and wolves, it looks like.”

“North Wolves are touchy. They aren’t native to Briton.”

“Neither are unicorns.” Carys saw a group of the peace-loving creatures mingling with the fae and some of the human guests.

“Unicorns are beloved wherever they go,” Cadell said. “How could they not be?”

Only about half of the unicorn guests were still in human form while the rest had already transformed into ethereally beautiful horses with twisting horns. They wandered along the edges of the garden and through the trees while the sprites that lit up the garden followed them with joyful abandon.

Cadell kept his voice low. “Did Lachlan claim your first dance?”

“No.”

“No?” The dragon’s voice went up. “Surprising.”

“Duncan claimed it.” Carys frowned. “Does it matter?”

“It’s not a commitment.” Cadell cleared his throat. “But… it is a precedent.”

“See, why don’t you tell me these things?” The back of her hand hit his armored stomach. “I need to know stuff like this, Cadell.”

“I assumed you knew.” He shrugged. “I suppose I should not have.”

“Who claimed Laura’s first dance?”

“Me.” The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I confirmed my place yesterday evening.”

Of course he did. “Okay, well, it’s not a marriage proposal or anything.”

“No.” Cadell turned his face to the pipers, who were starting to play. “But it is a precedent.”

“Again, I don’t know what that means.” She clamped her mouth shut as the dancing started.

“These are the stag dancers,” Cadell said. “They start any formal Anglian dance.”

It was ceremonial dancing, and nothing like what Carys had experienced in Scotland. A company of brightly clad men in red-and-blue outfits walked into the garden, carrying massive racks of deer antlers over their shoulders. As the pipes sounded and drums beat, they wove together like a braid, singing a deep chorus in a language Carys immediately knew.

“Old English,” she whispered. “I recognize it.”

“How?” Cadell curled his lip. “It’s from the continent.”

“From the continent like… a thousand years ago.”

He lifted his chin. “Still, it’s not nearly as beautiful as Cymric.”

“And you’re not biased at all, of course.” Carys smiled. “Trust me, if you’d been forced to read Beowulf as many times as I have, you’d recognize it too.”

The stag dancers finished their chorus and dance, were greeted with applause, and then the violins in the orchestra immediately broke into a bright dancing song that had couples lining up in a more familiar set.

“Okay, I can follow along with this one,” Carys said. “This is kind of like the dancing in Alba.”

“Good, because Duncan is heading toward you.” Cadell raised his eyebrows. “As is Lachlan.”

Indeed, the two brothers were walking straight toward her with Duncan having a slight head start because of his position on the ground instead of the head table.

“Carys.” He hadn’t exactly run, but the laird hadn’t strolled either. “If you’d join me?” He held out his hand, and Carys took it just as Lachlan arrived.

“Don’t give me that look.” She glanced over her shoulder as Duncan pulled her away. “He asked; you didn’t.”

Lachlan’s mouth was a thin line. “I assumed?—”

“Well, you shouldn’t have,” Duncan snapped. “You should never assume anything, especially not with Carys.” He put his warm hand over the fingers that rested in the crook of his elbow. “Lady Carys?”

“I’ll dance with you later,” she said to Lachlan before Duncan led her away.

Once they reached the dance floor, she turned to Duncan, facing him and bowing before she took his hand again to let him lead her through the dance. “Was that really necessary?”

“Absolutely yes.” His lifted his chin, and though his hair was shorn close to his head, he was just as regal as Lachlan in that moment. “I take nothing for granted with you, Carys. And I want no confusion.” He pulled her close, and she could feel the heat pouring off his chest. “I aim to win your heart. In my opinion, our destinies are tied together and always have been.”

Duncan angled her to the side, and they walked through the column of dancers together, the music making her feet move almost as if by magic.

Carys’s heart was beating fast, and it wasn’t only from the dancing.

Duncan guided her across the dance floor in circles, weaving in and out of the other dancers, spinning her under the light of the pixies whirling overhead.

Duncan twirled her around, then pulled her close. “I’ll be your man if you’ll have me, Carys Morgan. I’ll live where you live. Follow whatever path you want to take. The shadows. The light.” His arm was firm around her waist, and her breasts were pressed to his chest as he tilted her chin up so she was looking into his eyes.

Her breath caught at the warm emotion in his eyes. Gone was the churlish blacksmith. Banished was the antagonist Scot who couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

“Duncan.” She whispered his name.

“I love to hear my name on your lips.” They were still in the middle of the dance floor. “I don’t think I liked my name before I heard you say it. It was a curse to me. The legacy of a hard man who loved nothing but himself.”

Carys felt tears gather in her eyes. “You never talk about your family.”

“Ask me anything and I’ll tell you.” The music changed, and couples shuffled around the dance floor. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Carys felt weightless in his arms. She wanted to feel his lips on hers. She wanted to fold herself into his arms and sleep against his chest.

“If you trusted me to hold you while you slept, it would be the greatest honor of my life,” Duncan whispered.

Carys blinked. “Oh my God, did I say that out loud?”

His eyes crinkled with laughter. “Aye, ye did.”

Her face was on fire. “Okay, the song ended. We better move.”

Duncan took her hand, weaving their fingers together. “I know you’re going to dance with Lachlan.” He bent and whispered in her ear. “But you’re going to think of me when you’re in his arms.”