Last Dragon Standing (53 page)

“It’s not bad, is it?”

“No.” Fearghus shook his head, probably more times than was actually necessary. “Not bad at all.”

“Are you all right? You look like you’re sweating.”

“Just seeing you in that dress has my blood surging.” Annwyl scowled, her gaze locking with her daughter’s. “Did she just
snort
?”

“No.” Fearghus placed his hand over his daughter’s giggling face and pushed her back to the bed next to her brother. “She probably just has a little sniffle.”

“You are such a bad liar. How did you ever convince me that you and the knight were two separate beings?”

“Probably because you never let me finish a sent—”

“It’s insane to even imagine it now—you’re
such
a bad liar.” Keita, who hadn’t quite managed to get any clothes on for this evening’s dinner, removed herself from Ragnar’s cock and clambered across the bed until she faced him.

“What did you just say?” she demanded.

Covered in sweat and, well, covered in her, Ragnar lifted his head. “I said you should accompany us all to the Northlands as a Battle Maid.”

“Is that like a tent whore?”

“
No.
” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Let it out. “It is an honored position among my people.”

“You sure this isn’t just a way for you to get me back to the Northlands and keep me busy with your cock when you’re not out fighting the Irons, so that I’ll eventually stay with you forever?” Ragnar gazed at her, blinked once. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

She pointed a finger at him. “Because I’ll give myself to no male. I don’t mind having a regular lover, but I’ll not become my mother. Chained to some male who adores me beyond all reason.”

“Because what female would want that?”

“Is that sarcasm?”

352

“What gave you that idea?” He motioned to his still hard, and deliciously thick cock. “Now would you mind getting back over here and finishing?”

“As long as we understand each other. I’ll come as your Battle Slag

—”

“Battle
Maid
.”

“—but I’ll make no commitment beyond that. And I won’t be the winning prize of any Honours, my wings will
never
be threatened, and you won’t even
think
about scarring up my perfect,
perfect
body with flames or lightning or whatever it is your kind uses to brand your victims.”

“Mates.”

“Whatever.”

“I guess that’s fair enough.”

“I will not be Claimed, warlord. By you or anyone else.”

“Fine.”

Feeling confident she’d gotten her point across, Keita crawled back across the bed and on top of Ragnar. She caught hold of his cock and positioned it underneath her, allowing her pussy to slowly slide down until she’d taken him fully inside her once more.

Keita groaned, still shocked at how much she always enjoyed the feeling of Ragnar the Cunning sliding inside her.

Ragnar caught the back of her neck, big fingers massaging the muscles there. “But remember that while you are with me, princess—”

“I still hear prince-
ass.
…”

“—you’ll have no other cock inside you. No other male’s claws or hands on you. That seems a fair trade, don’t you think?”

“Fair enough,” she gasped, already rocking her hips against him. “Fair enough.”

Dagmar headed toward the stairs. She wore another dress picked out by her sister-in-law Keita that looked as good as the first she’d given her.

Apparently the royal intended to get Dagmar “an entire new wardrobe of pretty things!” A thought that horrified Dagmar a bit, mostly because she knew Keita had no intention of actually
buying
that new wardrobe, so she feared for any caravans that might be traveling through the area in the next few days.

Halting her steps, Dagmar glanced down at Canute. She raised her brow at the dog, knowing they both had sensed it, and went back down the hallway until she stood in front of her niece’s room. Without knocking, she walked inside and caught her niece quickly hiding something behind her 353

back.

“Give it,” Dagmar ordered, her hand out.

“But—”

“Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec,
give. It.
”

“He cheers me up.”

“Don’t give me that face, Queen’s Squire.” And she saw her niece purse her lips, trying to stop the smile she got anytime someone called her that.

“Can’t I keep him until we leave?”

“Trust me, Izzy. You can’t keep him at all. Now give him over.” Sighing, she pulled the puppy from behind her back and placed him in Dagmar’s hand.

“I like dogs,” Izzy said.

“Izzy, you like everything.” Dagmar kissed her forehead and headed out of the room. “Get dressed. Dinner soon.” Dagmar took the puppy down the stairs and out the back way of the Great Hall before she tossed him to the ground. “Stop pretending you’re a puppy, Nannulf!”

The wolf-god landed on his giant paws and grinned at Dagmar, his tongue hanging out. If he had a human form, she had no doubt he’d be laughing at her. “And leave my niece alone,” she warned him. He opened his mouth, and she quickly added, “And no barking!” The fortress walls couldn’t stand the damage that would cause.

Nannulf pouted, tail hanging low, until Dagmar petted his head. Then he slathered her face with his tongue; spun around, hitting Dagmar with his tail and almost knocking her on her ass; and took off running.

“Who are you talking to, Dagmar?” Morfyd asked as the Dragonwitch came up behind her.

“A god,” Dagmar said simply.

Turning right around, Morfyd marched back inside, muttering,

“Show-off,” as she did.

Éibhear walked up to his sister and tugged on the sleeve of her gown.

She faced him, one brow raised, her lips pursed in disapproval, before he’d managed to say a word.

“Don’t still be mad at me, Keita,” he said. “I can’t stand when you’re mad at me.”

“Did you apologize to Izzy?”

“No.” He folded his arms over his chest, knowing he was pouting but not caring. “And I’m not going to. She’s crazed! Won’t listen to reason.” 354

“
She
won’t listen to reason?”

“You know, you were
my
sister before you were
her
aunt. Does that mean nothing in this family?”

“Of course it doesn’t.” Keita walked away from him, and Éibhear stared down at the floor. This was intolerable. He had his brothers constantly telling him, “You should have killed Celyn when you had the chance, you idiot,” and Morfyd petting him and telling him, “It’ll be all right, luv. Don’t you worry now.” All expected reactions, but he didn’t realize until this moment how much he needed the full balance of his kin’s reactions, including Keita’s direct but fair advice. So having her simply angry at him without talking to him or telling him how she thought he should handle things was too much. Especially since Keita was the only one of his siblings who didn’t treat him like he was stupid or made of spun glass.

Éibhear heard something scrape the floor, and he lifted his head, watching Keita drag a big chair over to him.

“Isn’t that Annwyl’s throne?” he asked, looking around for someone to be concerned.

“I’m just borrowing it.” Keita placed the throne in front of Éibhear and stepped onto the padded seat. Now that they were at eye level, she placed her hands on his shoulders. “You do know I love you, don’t you, little brother?”

“I guess. But it would be nice to hear it.”

Keita smiled, and Éibhear felt relief at the sight of it. “It may take some time—you are ridiculously stubborn like the rest of this family—but I know you’ll make this right one day. Until then”—she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight—“remember that my love and loyalty always belong to you.”

“Aw. Thanks, Keita.”

She pulled back and pointed a finger at him. “But when you are rude, little brother, I will not hesitate calling you a prat!” That part Éibhear already knew.

“Oy, you dizzy cow!” Annwyl yelled from across the hall. “What the battle-fuck are you doing with my throne?”

Ragnar stared at his kin, his mouth slightly open.

“What’s that look for?” Vigholf asked. “You said to do it.”

“Even gave a suggestion,” Meinhard tossed in.

“I thought you two were joking. Have you both lost your bloody minds?”

“We were trying to be nice,” his brother argued.

355

“And when that crazed human monarch cuts off the rest of your hair, I don’t want to hear any more—”

“Who did it?” Annwyl demanded from behind him.

Ragnar faced her, “My lady—”

“Who? I want to know whose idea this was”—she held up the training mace, battle ax, warhammer, and shield, perfectly sized for a two-year-old girl with both human and dragon blood—“and I want to know now!” Vigholf and Meinhard raised their hands, and the queen’s eyes filled with tears. “This is so sweet! Thank you. Thank you both!” She hugged them, arms going wide to reach around their chests.

That’s when Ragnar let Annwyl know, “It was I who suggested the shield.”

Keita slid in next to her sister and the duke of something or other and his boring human mate, the duchess of something else or other, and announced, “I’m going to the north to be a Battle Whore!”

“Maid!” Morfyd yelped. “She’s going to be a Battle
Maid
.” Morfyd forced a smile. “Will you excuse us?”

Morfyd grabbed Keita’s arm and dragged her across the Great Hall.

“Is there something wrong with you?” she said, pushing her away once they arrived on the other side of the room. “Something that’s contagious?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“Battle Whore?”

“Whore. Maid. What’s the difference?”

“You purposely embarrass me!”

“It is a skill, but you make it so easy.”

Lips tight, Morfyd shoved Keita, and Keita shoved her back. There was a pause and then they both threw their drinks down and lunged for the other, but Dagmar stepped between them, her yummy-looking dog right by her side.

“I will
not
have this again.”

“She started it!” they both accused.

“I don’t want to hear it. This feast is to celebrate the birth and lives of your niece and nephew, and the least you two can do is have a little respect for their mother, who’s had to make the hardest decision any female can make. How hard do you think this night is for her? And you two fighting like cats?”

Realizing the tiny barbarian was right, Keita looked at her sister and said, “Sorry.”

“Aye,” Morfyd replied. “Me too.”

356

“Thank you.” Dagmar began to walk away but was blocked by the human queen and her new squire’s seething mother.

“Are you
trying
to get my daughter killed?”

“Yes!” Annwyl said, spinning around to face Talaith. “That’s what I want. To get my niece killed. That’s my whole fucking goal!”

“Mum!” Izzy charged up, her giggling baby sister in her arms, her well-armed twin cousins hanging from around her neck. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this!”

“Stay out of this, Izzy. I’m talking to your betraying
whore of an
aunt
!”

Dagmar glanced back at Keita and Morfyd. “I won’t discuss it,” she said simply. “I just won’t.”

She walked off and a few seconds later, snapped, “Canute!” The dog pressing into Keita’s leg looked up at her with big brown eyes.

“You’d better go,” Keita whispered.

And, sighing, he walked off after his mistress. The arguing sisters-in-law and Izzy had also moved to another spot so they could give
all
the guests in the Great Hall a clear view of their hysterical yelling.

“I don’t know about you,” Keita said when Briec had to rush over to help Izzy separate her mum and the human queen of all the Southlands from a rousing yelling match and slap fight, “but I’m having a most entertaining night.”

Morfyd signaled to one of the servants for more wine. “Surprisingly, sister, and perhaps for the first time in the history of all dragons—I must agree with you.”

“She’s mine, you know.”

Ragnar let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure The Beast would use that particular term, but all right.”

“I’m just making it clear where we all stand, Liar Monk,” Gwenvael explained. “So you’ll understand why I’ll have to kill you if you try anything.”

“You still haven’t figured out I love your sister?”

“This isn’t about Keita. This is about me.”

“I thought it was about Dagmar.”

“In relation to
me
.”

Unable to stand any more of this, Ragnar leaned in and whispered into the Ruiner’s ear, “I’ve heard you’re getting your hair cut. All those long, golden tresses falling helplessly to the floor…” 357

Gwenvael lunged away from him. “
Bastard!
” Keita quickly stepped aside—the two mugs of ale she’d been carrying over nearly tragic victims to a Gold’s idiocy—and let her brother pass.

“What was that about?” she asked, handing him one of the mugs.

Ragnar stared into it. “Is this your father’s brew?”

“Don’t be weak, warlord. Swill it!”

“Perhaps later.” He placed the mug on the table behind him.

“Well?” she asked, grinning.

“Well what?”

“Did my brothers come over here and threaten you yet? Tell you if you try to take their adorable baby sister as your own, they would beat you within an inch of your life?”

“Uh…no.”

Her brows lowered. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean no. They haven’t said a word. Wait. That’s not right.” Her face lit up. “The two eldest said, ‘Move!’ and I said, ‘Piss off!’ That was about it.”

She stamped her bare foot, and he knew at some point he’d have to find out why she refused to wear shoes. “Does this family not love me at all?

Do I mean nothing to anyone?”

“I—”

“Don’t say it!”

Ragnar laughed, pulling Keita into his arms.

“They threaten Brastias all the time,” she whined. “Why not you?”

“Because they know you don’t need their protection. You take care of yourself just fine.”

She sniffed. “That was actually very good.”

“I thought so.”

Smiling, Keita placed her ale on the table and put her arms around Ragnar’s neck. “Tell me, warlord, this Battle Slag—”