I finish off the wine in my glass and pick up a full one as I walk in the opposite direction as Westhollow. He may not feel like answering any of my questions, but that doesn’t mean others here won’t. So I smile as I’m invited into another gaming circle, a board with different colored pebbles placed in piles around it. A woman sits close to me, smile full of sharp teeth as she strokes the side of my face.

“So like Ímar,” she says.

I drink my wine and ask how the game is played. She laughs and leans against me as she explains, setting a pile of red pebbles in front of us. When she turns to me, looking at my face as she moves a pebble onto the board, her breasts push against me. She tells me how the game used to be one of Ímar’s favorites. I lean back abruptly, letting her fall across my lap as I reach to take a pipe from someone else. I turn away from her as she sits up with a laugh, and smile at the man who offers the pipe. The smoke is as green as the other, this one with a hint of sweet fruit.

The game is a good distraction, but all anyone talks about is Ímar. He loved games, loved hosting the Fair Folk for their parties. Dál Macha was full of revelry once the castle was built. I sit against a wall as I listen, asking few questions. They don’t need me to prompt them, and they fall over themselves in an attempt to entertain me with their stories. Ímar and his dragon, how flying with them was one of the most terrifying experiences one of the Fair Folk had ever had. Ímar could win any game, and a lively debate springs up about whether Ímar would cheat or not. Ímar was beautiful, battle-scarred and broad shouldered. One of the Fair Folk walks his fingers up along my chest when he describes Ímar, saying he prefers humans like me or Galan.

“Did you know Galan?” I ask.

“No, I was too busy with a war when Galan stayed with us,” he says, running his finger along my jaw.

I let him kiss me. “Did anyone here know him? Aside from Lord Westhollow.”

“Lord Westhollow knew him best.” The Fair Folk man grabs a fistful of my hair, tipping my head back so he can kiss my neck.

I stare at the ceiling and take a large swallow of wine. “Of course he did,” I murmur. I close my eyes, dropping my head farther back to allow the man more access to my skin. He delights in that, pushing his way into my lap as he kisses and nibbles at my jaw. Someone else touches me, their hand against my cheek before they kiss me. The man in my lap shoves his hands under my shirt and I startle at how cold he suddenly is.

Senach wouldn’t be so cold. No, he’d nearly be feverishly hot.

The Fair Folk laugh as the man runs his cold hands over my chest. The other one keeps kissing me. Someone new strokes my cheek, fingers warm. I look at this newcomer—another of the Fair Folk, hair dark and face in shadows. He wears peacock feather earrings, their colors matching his tunic.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello,” he replies. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be here.”

I laugh as I try to pull him closer. “I may be a disappointment to my family line, but I can handle myself.”

His lashes flutter, but he comes no closer. “You aren’t a disappointment to your family line.”

“Oh?” I push the other Fair Folk away from me and move closer to him myself. He sits back, inhaling sharply. “Did you know them, then? Ímar? Galan? Others of the Uí Ímair came to the Fair Folk. Did you know them?” He opens his mouth, then shuts it and shakes his head. I smile as I finish the wine in my glass and set it aside. I stand—or try to, and nearly tumble face first into the cushions. The peacock man grabs me before I do, helping me stay upright. I stare down at him, taking my hand from him slowly as I step away. “Even if you did, I cannot stand to hear another story about Ímar. Did you know Galan? I’ll stay if you knew Galan.”

“I didn’t know Galan,” he says.

“Pity. You’re handsome. Maybe we’ll talk again later.”

I spin away before he can reply. Westhollow sits on a miniature throne of cushions, a pretty fair-haired woman in his lap who whispers in his ear. He grins, meeting my gaze. I study him and start to step in his direction, but he shakes his head slightly. I sigh and turn away, letting someone else sweep me into another pile of cushions. More kisses, and more of the weed they pack into pipes and pass around. I’m divested of my coat. My hair is pulled up and pinned to keep it away from my neck so the Fair Folk can touch me without my hair getting caught on their horns or scales or jewelry.

The peacock man finds me again, kneeling in front of me. I grin at him, grabbing his tunic and pulling him closer. He places a strawberry against my mouth when I try to kiss him. I fall back against the pillows with a laugh as I eat it. His hand falls to my leg and stays there as he stares at me, his mouth open as he tries to find words. I accept a pipe from someone, beckoning the peacock man closer as I inhale. He hesitates. I blow the smoke at my lap. He watches it, heaving out a sigh, then he moves forward and takes the pipe from me. I grin and take a glass of wine. He’s pulled back against someone else, hand leaving my leg as he’s forced to catch himself before he falls.

I look for Westhollow again. He plays a drinking game with someone now, and I scramble to my feet. The Fair Folk around me titter when I wobble, but I regain my balance before any of them can help me, grinning at the peacock man as I see him move to do so. He stops, settles back into the cushions slowly. I stroll across the room and push at the man who’s just taken the place across from Westhollow.

“Move,” I say. “My turn next.” The man glances at Westhollow, who nods. He vacates his seat and I drop into it, smiling at Westhollow. “What’s the game?”

He takes a pack of cards, shuffling them before spreading them across the table. Someone pours small cups of a honey-colored drink and sets them around the table. Westhollow flips four cards over—six of coins, three of ravens, nine of swords, and five of chalices.

“Swords for deeds,” he says, tapping the card. “Ravens for dreams. Chalices for loves, and coins for bargains. A Jester gives you a favor. A trump gives you a fortune. Ask anything you like within those bounds, but understand I can do the same. If you don’t wish to answer, drink.” He collects the cards and shuffles them again, then places them in two stacks between us. “You may select a card first.”

I take a card from the top of the stack in front of me, hoping for a chalice and getting a sword. I stare at the card, flipping it around for him to see. “What happened the last time you joined Galan on one of his adventures?”

He stares at the card.

He drinks two of the little glasses. “Ah, I forgot,” he says to my frown. “If you drink, you must drink as many glasses to match the card’s number.”

I set the card down. “Of course.”

He selects a card from the stack in front of him, smiling as he looks it. Four ravens in flight against a bright and clear sky. “What do you dream of during your loneliest nights?” he asks.

Senach.

The name nearly spills from my mouth. His hands against me and his mouth on mine. When his nails turn to talons and he runs them over my skin. How he looks at night, when we’d flee the castle and lay under the stars together. The way his scars wrap around his arms, how they cover his back. I’ve dreamt of being under him more times than I can count.

I grab one of the glasses and drink the honey-colored thing down. It’s strong enough I cough. I know regret after the second, irritation with Westhollow after the third, and misery after the fourth. Westhollow smirks as he sets his card down. I select my next card and glare at the six swords that decorate it.

I’m not sure I hope he’ll answer it. “What’s something you regret about your time as one of Galan’s companions?”

“Not saving his life,” he says.

I set the card down slowly. “You could have saved Galan’s life and you didn’t?”

He picks up a card, examining it before turning it around slowly. Two of chalices. “What would you do for the one you love?” he asks.

“Anything.”

“So you believe now,” he says, setting the card aside. “Do you wish to continue?”

I pick up a card. Death stands wearily above a battlefield, leaning against a pike. I turn it towards Westhollow. “A trump gives me a fortune.”

“Love kills love,” he says.

“Cheerful,” I reply. “And vague.”

“I never said the fortunes would be specific.”

He lifts his card, smirking as he shows me the eight of coins. “I’ll answer all of your questions for the remainder of our game, so long as you don’t ask about Galan.”

I consider the glasses around us, then nod. Drinking eight of them in a row is enough to make even me pause. My next card holds ravens and my question feels inane. Westhollow smiles and answers it anyway. He pulls the three of chalices and again his question leads me to think of Senach. I drink instead of answering, grimacing at the glasses. I pull the nine of coins then, and stare at it as I consider the bargain I want to offer.

“Answer one question about Galan and I’ll ask no more tonight,” I say, showing him the card.

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He considers, then picks up one of the glasses. I frown. He slowly sets the glass in front of me. “I will answer one question about Galan,” he agrees, “but that won’t be what you do for the bargain.”

“And what will I be doing?” I ask. I almost smile, but then he lines eight more glasses up next to the first. I stare at the glasses for a moment before looking up at him. He smiles. “You must be joking.”

“If you want me to answer a question about Galan, you will drink nine of these.”

“Let it go, Bridei.” I look over to see the peacock man standing next to our table. He kneels next to me, shaking his head. “Let it go,” he says again. “And let us leave.”

“Why should I leave with you?” I ask, taking one of the glasses and tossing it back.

Westhollow answers instead of him, sitting back to watch us. “You’d be safer with him than the rest of us.”

I pause before the second glass, looking at the peacock man. I lean towards him, touching his stubble-covered cheek gently. “Is that so?” I ask. “Am I safer with you than with Westhollow?”

The peacock man frowns at Westhollow. “You are always safe with me,” he says to me slowly.

I pat the space next to me. “Then sit and join me.” I reach for the second glass again, but the peacock man covers my hand.

His voice is soft. “We should leave.”

“I don’t even know your name,” I tell him.

“Has that ever stopped you before?”

“No, but I’d like to know yours.”

He frowns again, glances at Westhollow again. The Fair Folk Lord scoffs, dropping his head back. He considers the ceiling, then nods as he looks to me again. “You can have his name or my answer,” he says. “No need to drink.”

“Another time,” I whisper to the peacock man before staring at Westhollow. “Why won’t you answer any questions about Galan?”

“Because you aren’t likely to remember anything I’ve said tonight,” he answers. I frown. He smiles as he stands, snatching up one of the glasses and drinking it.

I watch him walk away, then shake my head when someone else sits to play the drinking game. The peacock man stands first, offering me his hands. I stare at him a moment before accepting his help, stumbling into his chest when I stand. He steadies me, hands on my arms. I laugh, resting my head against his shoulder as I let my head stop spinning. The pain is starting to return, so I march over to an open window to collapse into the cushions beneath it. The peacock man sits next to me as I drop my head back against the wall, the cool breeze coming in feeling good against my face.

“My knight wears feathers, too,” I say softly. “From his dragon, though. Not a peacock. And he shares them with me.”

“Does he?”

“He’ll tell you I steal them, but I don’t.”

He smiles. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” I sit up, then heave myself into the window. The peacock man is on his feet immediately, grabbing my arm. I straddle the windowsill, looking out at the gardens pointedly before looking at his hand. A tumble from the window will dirty me, but that’s all. We’re not so high that I’ll damage myself. The peacock man lets go slowly, chuckling quietly. Almost nervously. “Why are you so determined to get me to leave with you?” I ask him.

“I want you to be safe,” he answers, sitting in the windowsill across from me.

“What happens when the Fair Folk use death curses?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I believe Taran and Onóra will have more answers for you about that than I do.”

“Are you just a handsome face to distract me, then?” I ask, leaning forward.

“They just need to pass you a pipe and a glass of wine to distract you,” he says dryly. “Handsome faces aren’t necessary.”

“Oh, but they make everything more enjoyable.” I scoot close to him, throwing my legs over his to keep him in the windowsill with me. He stares at our legs and I pluck at his tunic. “But maybe you are a distraction, one sent from Westhollow so I stop asking him about Galan.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he wants me to distract you from that,” he says. “But he hasn’t given me a job of distracting you.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

I kiss him before he can reply, grabbing the front of his tunic and pulling him to me. He comes easily, bracing himself against the windowsill. I close my eyes, his feather earrings soft against my jaw. Then he stiffens, pushing me away. I shake my head, trying to bring him back, but then he’s so gentle when he holds my face in his hands. I jerk back, eyes opening wide in surprise. I know that touch. The glamour falls away as we stare at each other. Peacock feathers turn to dragon feathers, dark hair shining with the moonlight as evergreen scales do. His summer sky eyes are apologetic.

“Oh,” I say softly.

Oh.

I consider my choices, then drop into the garden. Senach sighs and follows after me as I march through the flowers. “Bridei,” he calls out.

“I’m sorry!” I call back, but I don’t stop. He runs up to my side, grabbing my arm and forcing me to turn around and look at him. He grabs my face when I refuse to look at him, holding me still. “Sorry,” I say again, softly this time. “I didn’t know—”

“Fair Folk entertainment,” he interrupts. “Westhollow said I’d only be allowed in with a glamour.”

I snort. “Of course.” He nods, stepping close and brushing my hair from my face. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. When I open my mouth, he puts a finger over my lips. I sigh.

My eyes fly open when he presses his lips to mine.

I groan and grab at him wildly, desperate to have him against me. He laughs as he kisses me, backing me up against a low wall. “Let me take you home,” he says softly.

I nod. He steps back and offers me his arm. I take it, gleefully throwing myself against his side. He laughs and keeps me upright as we walk through the garden, and we take a meandering path to the stables. A stablehand jumps to ready a carriage for us, and I watch Senach as we lean against a wall and wait. He stands with his head dropped back and eyes closed, arms crossed. His earrings still shine with the moonlight. I bat at one gently, watching the way the feathers move against his neck, then step forward, resting my hand against his shoulder as I lean in and kiss his neck. I kiss his jaw next, then his cheek. I hesitate before his mouth, long enough that he turns his head and closes the distance himself.

The stablehand startles us—me—when he returns. I jump back from Senach, staring at him as he thanks the stablehand and pulls me to the carriage. I sit across from him in it, staring out the window rather than at him, but it’s impossible not to notice him. He sprawls, watching me. His leg bumps against mine with ruts in the road. But he doesn’t say anything, letting the silence fill the carriage and the space between us. The silence continues in Taran’s manor, but there I lean against Senach’s side again.

He leads me to my room as he’s done time and time again, though before he would lead me through the winding maze of Dál Macha’s castle to get me to bed. It was horrible when we were both drunk, the two of us stumbling together as we got lost. Taran’s manor is infinitely easier to navigate, and I doubt Senach drank as much as I did. What he did imbibe still gives him a winding walk, though, and I’m not alone in the struggle to remember which room is mine and which is his. We struggle for so long that Estrid emerges from her room, disentangling us from each other before she steers me to my room and Senach to his. She rolls her eyes at us as she leaves us at our doors.

Senach watches her go, waiting until her door is shut again to look at me.

I flee into my room.

Then I lean against the door and wonder what it is I’m doing. I’ve dreamt about kissing Senach for years. I stare at my room, cold and dark and—and lonely. I yank open my door and stare at the hallway, but it seems to take ages for me to actually step into it. Senach’s door is shut against the world. I walk over slowly, resting my hand against it before knocking. He calls for me to enter, feeding logs into the hearth from where he sits on the hearthstones.

“You have to have dragon’s blood to still be standing after all that fey wine,” he says. “And whatever they were smoking.”

I smile as I shut the door. “Maybe their wine is weaker than they say it is.”

He snorts as I proceed to stumble over to him. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, grabbing me before I can tumble to the floor.

I grin as he helps me to sit next to him. “No, but I like telling myself that.” I rest my head against his shoulder, sighing happily. “So, we’ve survived in Cernna. What shall we do next?”

“The Fair Folk won’t allow you to leave,” he says. “We’re stuck here. We have to continue surviving in Cernna.” He pauses, then, “Well, you attempted to steal a gryphon and failed, then challenged a member of the Fair Folk and beat him in a duel. Does that count for braver than you’ve been?”

“No,” I answer immediately.

“Oh? What will count for that?” I sit up and face him. He smiles as he looks at me, but his smile fades slowly when all I do is stare. “Bridei,” he says softly.

I shake my head, pulling him to me to kiss him again. The fire is warm, but Senach is warmer as he leans over me. I feel hot as he places his hands on either side of me, hungry as he kisses me. It’s better than anything I’ve ever dreamt—my darling knight who kisses me and seems as disinclined to stop as I do.

When he does break away and stand, I can only stare up at him with my mouth open. I thought him beautiful underneath the blood that had covered him when we first met, while the spirits only know what he thought of me, and I think him beautiful still, illuminated by the fire now. There’s a fire in his eyes and a wildness to his grin. It’s a look I’ve seen on many a dragon knight full of desire, a ferocity born from their bond to ancient predators. It makes me grin as he hauls me to my feet. He kisses me again and backs me towards the bed. I fall onto it gladly, pulling him down with me. His leg slides between mine. His teeth are sharp against my neck, nails turning to talons as he pulls on my shirt. I’m forced to let go of him as I’m divested of my shirt, but when I try to pull my hands free of it, he surges up to tie my shirt in a knot around my wrists. I gape up at him as he grins and settles to straddle my waist.

“Do you think I’m going to let you speed this along?” he asks, taking my face in his hands.

His kisses are agonizingly slow. Of all the things I’ve dreamt and wondered about him, I never expected him to tease so much. His fingers tangle in my hair as I throw my hands over his head and try to pull him closer. He laughs quietly, nips at my lip and places my hands above my head again. I drop them immediately, digging my nails into his back as I squirm under him. It’s pointless to try untying the knot—he used to practice the knots the older dragon knights taught him on me, and he only ever considered an attempt a success if I could not get free after half an hour.

He was aggravatingly successful.

His short hair slides through my fingers too easily as his mouth moves to my chest. He braces himself against the bed as he continues teasing me, mouth moving down along my chest slowly. I gasp and arch up when he bites. I want to kiss him again. I tug on his tunic, but he shoves my hands away and continues to tease my body. In an attempt to keep him from moving, I wrap my legs around his waist—but he smirks and kisses my jaw, then grabs my leg and holds it in place as he grinds his hips down.

“Needy,” he says when I moan.

“Yes, and I need you to undress,” I reply, tugging on his tunic.

He snorts, placing my hands above my head again. I keep them there this time as he sits up, watching the reveal as he removes his tunic. He has no grace about it, no desire to tease now, simply tugging it over his head and throwing it aside, but when he starts to lean over me again, I place my hands against his chest to stop him. He goes still as I trace the map of his scars. They’re old ragged things, his body torn apart by a frenzied dragon, and his breath catches when I kiss them. He guides me away from his scars slowly, running his thumb along my lips. I bite his thumb, releasing it when he ducks down to kiss me.

“Untie me,” I order.

He does.

I shove at his leggings immediately, and he sighs when he has to move to the edge of the bed to remove his boots. I sit behind him, tracing the scars along his back. He grabs my legs, wrapping them around his waist against to remove my boots for me. I grin, resting my head against his shoulder as I move my hands along his chest, and he makes a half-hearted attempt to swat my hands away. His leggings come off next, then he pins me down against the bed to remove my trousers. He stretches out along me after, his touch featherlight. His touch mirrors the way his feather earrings dance across my skin as his mouth moves along my body again. Little kisses dropped as he gets a vial of oil, as his hand moves between my legs. I get embarrassed when he rests his head against my hip and watches me, then roll us over to be on top of him. He tangles his hands in my hair again as we kiss and move together.

Fucking a dragon knight makes it so easy to forget everything else. They’re fierce lovers, often singleminded in their drive to please both themselves and whoever their partner is. Senach is the same, and yet different. He has so much care for me, gentle in every way he touches me, gaze moving over me slowly in that way he has of making sure I’m all right. That care he has makes me tremble as much as his touch does.

And it sends a sudden fear through me.