by G. A. Aiken
Before Ragnar could kick the beast gnawing at his foot, Annwyl swept the little demon up in her arms and held him against her chest. “Don’t you dare, you mad bastard!”
“He started it!”
“What’s wrong with you? He’s your son.”
“He’s your son, wench.” He pulled his daughter to him. “She’s mine.”
“You can have her.”
“Fine!”
“Fine!”
“That’s enough.” Rhiannon moved in and took her grandson from Annwyl while Bercelak took Talwyn from Fearghus. “You two dance or something before the Northlanders get to see the future heir to my throne having a sword fight with his own mate.”
“When did you two get here?” Fearghus asked.
“Can’t we come and visit our kin and our beautiful grandchildren?” She smiled at the demon child, who sneered at Fearghus.
“Little bastard,” he muttered, earning a slap to the back of his head from his father. “Must you do that?”
“Don’t be an ass. Go. Dance. Fuck. Do something.”
Fearghus grabbed Annwyl’s hand. She kissed her son’s head, scowled at their daughter, and smiled at his mother and then Bercelak. She started to walk to the dance floor when Fearghus yanked her back.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“What was what?”
“You. Smiling. At my father.”
“Would you have preferred I spit at him?”
“As a matter of fact…yes.”
Still holding his hand, she placed her other hand on her hip. “Fearghus the Destroyer, either dance with me or fuck me, but do something.”
Before he could answer, Gwenvael leapt to Annwyl’s side and said, “If he’s not up for either, I’m sure I can—”
“Fuck off!” they both yelled.
Pouting, Gwenvael walked away. “You two certainly are moody these days.”
Once alone, they both looked at each other and smiled.
“Your sister scared off the last potential nanny,” Talaith complained as she dropped onto Briec’s lap uninvited.
“How did that happen?”
“Not sure. Brastias was a little vague, but it looks like we’re on the search again. Adding much to Annwyl’s prophecies of doom.”
“There’s no nanny? So you’ve left my perfect daughter—”
“If you call her that one more time…”
“—alone and defenseless?”
“No. Your mother and father are taking care of the children. I think they only come to these things now so that they can take care of the children. And let’s be honest, my love, our daughter and the twins are hardly defenseless. Although when I find out which one of you idiots gave Talwyn that damn training sword…”
“That idiot would be her grandfather.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Briec demanded. “All Bercelak gets is an ‘oh,’ but if it was me or Fearghus or, gods forbid, Gwenvael, you’d have torn our heads off and shit down our necks?”
“Yes. There’s truth to that.”
“How is that fair?”
“Because it’s Bercelak. Sweet, caring, wonderful Bercelak, who takes excellent care of his grandchildren and—ow!” Talaith yelped as her ass hit the floor from Briec standing up and walking away without warning.
But what exactly did she expect?
Sweet? Caring? Bercelak?
Morfyd was debating between several of the sweet desserts when her sister asked, “Sure your hips can afford that, sister? You are beginning to look like Mum from behind.”
Outraged, Morfyd spun around, a huge fireball ready to be unleashed, but Brastias stepped in front of her, his wide back blocking the sight of Keita’s perfect, unmarred face.
“Keita, your Northland guests are beginning to look panicked. You may want to check on them before they run screaming from the building.”
“Honestly,” Keita complained. “It’s only dancing.”
Keita went off to rescue the Northlanders, at least one of which she was currently—and stupidly—bedding, and Brastias slowly faced Morfyd.
“Isn’t one slap fight a day enough for even beautiful dragons?”
“She starts it!” Morfyd accused.
“And you let her. Why? When you know she does it on purpose?”
“Because she deserves a good thrashing.”
Brastias leaned in and kissed her forehead, but she got the feeling he only did it to stop from laughing at her. Not that she blamed him. She and Keita were too old for this sort of thing, but there was something about her sister that simply pissed Morfyd off.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, his kiss lingering longer than was necessary. Not that she minded. She didn’t mind. In fact, she liked it very much.
“Thank you.”
“Do we have to stay long?”
“No.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her eyes briefly closing. “It’s not a feast or anything. Simply an after-dinner get-together.”
“Then why don’t we”—he kissed her cheek—“head up to our room”—he kissed her jaw, her throat—“and retire for the evening?”
“That sounds—” Morfyd almost saw him too late. Gwenvael walking past and spying the pair, his eyes narrowing on Brastias’s back as he watched the couple cuddle. Gods, he was being such a baby about all this! Gwenvael came to an abrupt stop, and she watched her brother pull air in his lungs to unleash flame at Brastias. Tired of her brother’s ridiculous vendetta against her mate, Morfyd wrapped her arms around Brastias’s shoulders, pulled him in against her with her chin resting on his shoulder, and unleashed the fire ball she’d been planning to use on Keita.
While her brother flew back across the room, she finished her thought. “Delightful. That sounds delightful. Let’s go.”
Ragnar and Vigholf stepped aside, watching the Southlander fly past them engulfed in flames.
Once he hit the wall, they moved together again and focused on the crowd.
“What else have you heard?”
“Lots of talk about attacks on small villages and towns in or near the Western Mountains. They try to make it look like the barbarian tribes, but the troops are finding evidence it’s the Sovereigns.”
Ragnar blew out a breath and nodded. “All right. Good work.”
“You sure you’re not just reading too much into those missives?”
“Perhaps, but I’d rather be sure, wouldn’t you?”
“You sure this has nothing to do with your princess? A reason to keep her around maybe?”
“It has almost everything to do with her. But that doesn’t change the fact that if the Irons come, they’ll be coming down through the Northlands.”
“You really think Styrbjörn would be that stupid?”
“Yes. I do.”
“Then I’ll see if I can find out any more.”
“Good. Thank you, brother.”
Vigholf nodded. “There’s one other thing. It may be nothing, but…”
If it was nothing, Vigholf wouldn’t bother to bring it up. “But what?”
He leaned in closer, dropped his voice even lower. “They say the human queen has been having dreams. About something riding down mountains of ice on horses with eyes of fire, giant dogs with horns running at their side.”
Ragnar stared at the floor, his heart skipping several beats. “Are you sure?”
“It’s what I heard, but the rumor is only now starting to spread.” He shrugged. “They all think she’s mad anyway, so few take these dreams seriously.”
Because they didn’t know.
“If it’s them she dreams of, brother—” Vigholf began.
“Don’t panic.” Ragnar lifted his head, glanced around. “Let me see what I can find out. We’ll talk more later.”
“All right.”
Ragnar motioned across the room to Meinhard, who’d found himself several females to talk to. “He seems to be doing all right for himself.”
; “He has all his hair,” Vigholf muttered, making Ragnar want to punch his brother in the head.
“Perhaps you’d like hair like these royals. Past your ass, so you can look particularly enticing to other males.”
“I didn’t say I wanted that. I just don’t want this.”
“Be grateful you still have your head.”
“Lord Vigholf!” Keita called out, stepping away from the dancing crowd. “There you are.”
Considering he and his brother had not moved, Ragnar wasn’t sure how hard it could be for Keita to find Vigholf.
With her hand on another She-dragon’s shoulder, Keita said, “Lord Vigholf, this is my cousin Aedammair.”
“My lady.”
“It’s ‘captain,’” the brown dragoness gruffly corrected. “You wanna dance then?”
“Well, actually—”
“Good.” The dragoness grabbed Vigholf’s surcoat and yanked the poor bastard out onto the dance floor.
Keita leaned her backside against the table, her palms pressed against the wood.
“And what exactly was that about?” Ragnar asked.
“He looked depressed. Aedammair will help him with that.”
“Tell me, princess, do you whore out all your relations to appease outsiders?”
“Only the cousins who tell me, ‘I’ll fuck that purple stallion over there. What’s his name?’”
“Why does she get to bed a purple stallion without question, but you can’t?”
“Aedammair is a low-born. I, however, am of royal blood. I can’t be running around, bedding just anyone.” She pursed her lips before admitting, “I do, but I’m not really supposed to.”
Ragnar laughed, gazing down at her. “You look amazing tonight.”
Her smile was bright. “I know. I put in all this effort for you, I’ll have you know. It best pay off.”
“I think I can arrange that.”
Gwenvael had finally managed to get to his feet, stumbling up to the table while brushing dirt and flame residue off his still-intact clothes, proving whoever had set him aflame hadn’t been trying to hurt him as much as make him go away.
“You’re unreasonable!” the Gold yelled at someone across the hall.
“Do you think whoever he’s yelling at was being unreasonable?”
“No, not at all.” Keita spread her arms out a bit farther, and her fingers brushed against his.
Ragnar watched his brother cut through the crowd on the dance floor, trying to make it to an exit, the brown dragoness hot on his heels. “When can we get out of here?” Ragnar asked, keeping his voice low. “I have a great need to be back inside you.”
“We could brazenly walk out with me over your shoulder like one of my cousins did with his mate. Although I’m fairly certain that may lead to your imminent death from my brothers before we make it out to the courtyard.”
“I’d like to avoid that.”
“So would I. Can’t have my way with you if you’re dead.”
“That’s an excellent point.”
Vigholf charged back the other way, pushing Fire Breathers aside as he tried to make his escape.
“We could sneak out like my baby brother did a few minutes ago with one of the human nobles’ daughters.”
“If you witnessed him sneaking out, he wasn’t sneaking out well.”
Keita snorted. “That little bastard wanted to be seen. He’s being so obvious about this whole thing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s nothing. My brother’s still young. He’ll learn about females soon enough.”
“I’m thinking your brother will be a thousand years old and still know nothing about females.”
Vigholf suddenly appeared before them and whispered, “Help. Me.”
“Where’ dya go?” the dragoness captain asked, getting a good hold on Vigholf and dragging him back to the dance floor.
“When I was your brother’s age,” Ragnar continued, “I’d already been in battle against one of my own uncles’ Hordes, traveled into the Ice Lands to train for ten years with a small group of mages that believed they were neither good nor evil, and destroyed an entire monastery of monks.”
“Gods,” Keita said on a shaky breath. “It’s like you want me to fuck you right here.”
Briec walked up to them, his eyes locked on the dance floor.
“What’s going on out there?” he asked, motioning to Vigholf, who was trying desperately to keep the brown She-dragon from getting as close as she’d like.
“Aedammair is helping poor Vigholf forget his tragic hair loss.”
Briec shook his head at Keita, smiling. “You really are a heartless cow.”
Instead of being insulted, Keita laughed and replied, “I know!”
“By the way,” her brother said, and Ragnar wondered how one dragon could possibly sound so bored all the time. “Ren wanted me to tell you he’ll be back soon.”
“Wait. What?” Keita stood straight. “Ren left? When?”
“Sometime this afternoon.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you not think to ask?”
“Do you actually think I care?” Briec asked, before walking off.
“Well, you don’t have to be rude!” Keita began to play with the gold bracelet she had on her wrist.
“You’re worried.”
“It’s not like Ren to leave like that. He always tells me when he’s going off.”
“Maybe he wasn’t planning to be gone for long.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’re obsessing.”
“I don’t obsess.”
“You’re obsessing right now.”
“I am not.” She quickly stepped to the side as Vigholf slammed into the table.
“By the sweet shit of gods, help me!”
The captain walked up to them. “What’s wrong with him anyway?”
“He’s shy.” Keita leaned in and whispered, “And I think he’s a little sweeter on Gwenvael than you.”
“Oh. Like that, is it?”
“I’m afraid so.” Keita pointed across the room. “But there’s his cousin. Meinhard.”
“Meinhard. I like that name.” And off the Brown went.
“You are cruel, Princess Keita,” Ragnar chastised.
“And here I was trying to be helpful.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Éibhear let the duke’s daughter lead him through the forest to a “deserted little spot” she knew. She was pretty enough, but, more importantly, she was nice! If he wanted to be talked down to and have food thrown at his head, simply because he was trying to be helpful, he could have stayed in the north.
But he wouldn’t let thoughts of Iseabail the Bitchy ruin what he was sure would be an entertaining finish to a magnificently shitty night.
“Have you been here before, my lord?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t.” He was lying, of course. There were few places this close to his brother’s cave and Annwyl’s castle that he’d not explored. But the duke’s daughter wanted to believe that she was showing him something new, and why should Éibhear disabuse her of that? Especially when she was pretty and eager. He liked eager.
She led him up a ridge that looked out over one of the many lakes in this territory. It was a quiet place, and he thought she’d chosen well until she stopped, tilting her head, and put her finger to her lips. “I think I hear someone,” she whispered.
Together they continued up the ridge, but kept quiet. Éibhear had the distinct feeling the duke’s daughter was a bit of a snoop. He’d have to tell Dagmar. She might prove useful to his brother’s mate. Dagmar did like snoops.
As they neared the top, they dropped to the ground and crawled the rest of the way, both laughing a little as they did.
But Éibhear’s laughter died in his throat when he saw it was Izzy by the lake—and she was alone with Celyn. Even Branwen was nowhere to be seen.
Only that damn puppy he’d already told her twice to return to Dagmar.
Did she not hear a word he’d said? Did she not understand anything? And was she stupidly doing this just to get under his scales?
With the dress Keita had finally found her pulled up to her knees, Izzy had her feet dangling in the water, and Celyn swam from one end of the small lake to the other. When he reached her, he stopped.
“Are you going to be like this all night?” Celyn demanded.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know why you let him get to you this way.”
“I don’t know why you keep bringing him up.”
“Because you’re sitting here pouting about it.”
“True, but I was pouting alone.”
“You weren’t alone.”
“The puppy hardly counts, Celyn.”
Celyn swam in a little closer. “You didn’t tell him about us, did you?”
Izzy planted her palms flat on the ground behind her, the puppy lying against her hand. “About us?”
“About our relationship.”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
“What would you call it then?”
“Not a relationship.”
“Why? Because of him?”
“No. Because of me. I have no plans to get attached to anyone in the immediate future.”
“Why was that again? Oh, right. You’re going to be general one day, and you can’t let me get in the way of that.”
“I am going to be general.” And she said it with such certainty that Éibhear believed her. He was glad she was being smart and not letting Celyn dissuade her from going after what she wanted. Although Celyn was being a little pushier than Éibhear would expect. And what relationship?
“One day,” she went on, “I’ll be leading Annwyl’s armies into battle. But thank you so very much for your faith in me.” She stood and tried to stomp off, but Celyn placed one hand on the lakeside dirt and reached up with the other, catching her arm and holding her there.
Éibhear’s hands turned into fists when he thought his cousin might just be going over the edge from being pushy to downright forceful. He wouldn’t let him force Izzy into anything.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Izzy. I didn’t mean to.”
Izzy took in several deep breaths before she crouched down next to the lake. “I never lied to you, Celyn,” she said. “I never promised you something I couldn’t give.”