“Yes, I know,” Brannie replied. “But I didn’t need your help.”

“Everyone needs a little help now and again.”

“Not me.”

Yanking her weapon from the priest’s head, Brannie secretly enjoyed the way blood splattered across that pretty face and right into those bright gold eyes.

Aidan said nothing as he attempted to wipe the blood away, but then he gave her that wide smile again, showing Brannie those annoying dimples. Or, as her uncle Addolgar called them, “Pits in the face.”

Turning away, she took a step, but then heard, “Aren’t you going to thank me?”

“No.”

“Not even a thank-you kiss?”

She faced the gold dragon. Like her, he was in his human form, shoulder-length gold hair perpetually falling in front of his gold eyes and nearly blocking the sight of those sharp cheekbones. Brannie stepped close to him and put her fist under his nose. She didn’t hit him, just held her chain mail–covered fist there and asked, “What about a thank-you punch to the face?”

“Is that my only option?”

She chuckled, even though she didn’t want to. Bastard.

Branwen didn’t know when it had happened or why, but somehow she’d become friends with Aidan the Divine. An actual royal from the House of Foulkes de chuid Fennah. A far cry from Brannie’s low-born Cadwaladr Clan roots.

But for these past long years as they’d been fighting against the Zealots, they’d become close despite his royal hatching and her lack of one.

It amazed her even more that she liked him despite his affiliation with the Mì-runach. Dragons loyal only to the queen, the Mì-runach were nothing more than a hit squad who killed on command.

Brannie didn’t have the luxury of running around, killing randomly, and only listening to the queen. As an officer and a dragoness, she had to think about all sorts of things before and after her troops got neck-deep in battle.

She didn’t respect the Mì-runach, but she had come to—grudgingly—respect Aidan the Divine. And, over the years and in their own way, they’d become somewhat close.

Which was why she knew something was really wrong by the sudden look on Aidan’s face, his eyes widening in panic. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something. And all of that meant only one thing—Aidan’s idiot brethren were up to something again. Something that would only make her angry. Before Brannie could figure out what, though, she heard a distinctive noise. A noise she had better not be hearing.

Mouth open, Brannie spun around and glared up at the dragon oaf eating her horse!

Human body shaking, teeth gritting, Brannie felt her rarely unleashed rage explode.

“What have you done?” she bellowed.

Caswyn the Butcher, in his enormous dragon form, gazed down at her as he kept chewing. The front half of her beautiful, loyal horse hanging from his snout.

“Wha?” he mumbled around his meal.

Her human hands tightened on the staff of her weapon and she raised it. She slammed the end of the weapon against the ground and it grew to its full height for use when she was in her dragon form. She was so angry right now, her human form wasn’t even overwhelmed by the now-enormous weapon. She simply pressed the tip of her halberd against a main artery in the dragon’s neck.