To be honest, Briec doesn’t
consider fights with humans as battles. I think he sees that more as
hunting. Or a snack that runs.

Lady Talaith. Is that what you’re wearing to dinner tonight?”
...
“And exactly when did I start owing you an explanation for
anything I do?”
“She’s got you there, brother.” The pair turned on him so fast,
Gwenvael stumbled back against the window, almost falling out of it.
“Don’t bother. I’ll accidentally hit myself in the head later.

And then what are your plans?”
Annwyl frowned. “My plans?”
“Yes. Your plans. You take your brother’s head, your troops are waiting. What is the next thing that you do?”
Annwyl just stared at him. He realized in that instant that the girl had no plans. None. No grand schemes of controlling the world. No plots to destroy any other empires. Not even the plan to have a celebratory dinner.
“Annwyl, you’ll be queen. You’ll have to do something.”
“But I don’t want to be queen.” Her body shook with panic, and he could hear it in her voice.
“You take his head, you’ll have little choice.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do as queen?”
“Well . .you could try ruling.”
“That sounds awfully complicated.

He sneered at his father. “He’ll live. I’m going after her.”
“What?” His sister stood up in front of her brother. “Fearghus, don’t. She’s angry. Very angry. She impaled your father . . . twice. Give her some time to calm down.

Of course you don’t trust Braith. You don’t trust anybody,” Ghleanna reminded their brother. “You don’t trust the air.”

“Because it tends to become unseasonably chilly when I’d prefer it to be warm. It’s as if it does it on purpose.

Are you in great physical pain, or is that your thinking expression?