Last Dragon Standing (12 page)

Once dressed, he set off after Her Highness and found her leaning against a tree less than a half mile away.

“Took you long enough,” she complained, then latched onto his arm and started off.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. It’s not far.” She glanced up at him. “You look so tense.

All that stress can’t be good for you.”

“I always look tense; it doesn’t mean I am.”

“But you have such a handsome face. Why waste it scowling all the time?”

Ragnar stopped, the princess stopping with him since she was holding on to him. “What are you up to?”

“I’m taking you for a walk.”

“Why?”

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“You don’t want to walk with me?”

He didn’t answer, and she said, “I’ll make it easy for you.” She slipped her small hand into his, their fingers interlacing. “Now you can’t get away,” she murmured, and he realized that she was right.

They reached the clearing Keita had caught sight of when they were flying over the area, and she grinned up at the warlord. He, however, was busy rolling his eyes and looking as if he wanted to wish himself a million miles away.

“Oh, come on. A few minutes. What could it hurt?”

“I am in no mood for a fair, princess.”

“I still hear prince-ass, but no bother.” She tugged on his arm again, not stopping until he began to walk with her.

“I adore fairs,” Keita told him as they got closer. A juggler jumped in front of them, tossing several clubs in the air. “They’re so much fun!”

“And I can tell we’re getting closer to the Southlands.”

“Don’t you have fairs in the North?”

“No.”

“You should. A fair is a wonderful thing for humans. They don’t get enough entertainment in my estimation.”

“You’re quite the human lover.”

“I wasn’t always,” she admitted. “I could sometimes be quite cruel.

Especially to the men. And I nearly destroyed an entire village once. I don’t even think I was seventy-five winters yet.”

“Why?”

“The leader of their village wanted to use me as a protector by chaining me. And not in a fun way, either, but like some guard dog. Me! A dragoness of the royal bloodline. I made my point, though, and received a spiffy new name to go along with it. I doubt that the few humans left alive—

mostly women and children—ever tried that again with some other dragon.”

“Most likely not.”

“But I realized later they were simply trying to protect their village, their people. It’s not any more or less than we do; it was just handled badly by those in charge. Over time, I began to realize it’s sometimes all about leadership and who rules. A bad ruler can put the most kind and wonderful people into a very horrible situation they don’t know how to get out of.”

“Is that why you didn’t destroy Bampour’s fortress?” She nodded. “Why make all those people suffer because of their bad ruler?” Keita winked at the juggler, and they walked around and headed to the stalls selling everything from food to clothes to weapons. “These days, 79

with most humans, I’m more like my grandfather, Ailean the Beautiful.”

“I thought his name was Ailean the Wicked.”

“To some. To me he was Ailean the Beautiful. He adored me. And like him, I love to spend my time as human, among humans. I find them so amusing and cute.”

“You mean like baby ducks?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Keita grinned. “Exactly like baby ducks!” She stopped at an iron smith and looked over his wares. “These are nice weapons.”

“If you say so.”

When she saw the smith glare, Keita quickly pulled the Northlander away. “Could you at least pretend to be pleasant? No use insulting the man’s goods while he’s standing right there.”

“Should I lie to him?”

“Aye! You should. Would it kill you to do so?”

“If I tried to pretend those weak weapons he’d created could protect me in a true fight—yes.”

Keita stopped and looked up at the warlord. “Are you always like this?’

“As a matter of fact…no.” He returned her gaze. “It seems to be
you
.” The royal dropped his arm and flounced away, only to return a few moments later. “You know, I’m
trying
to be nice.”

“I know. I just don’t know why.”

“I’m always nice. I’m known for my niceness.”

“You mean when you’re not trying to kill people.” She pointed at her chest. “
I
did not kill him.”

“But you were going to.”

She let out a breath and glanced around. No one was paying them much attention, so she stepped closer and said, “I tell you this in confidence.”

“As you like.”

“Bampour had sent an assassin to kill my brother’s children in their cribs. Because he believes they’re evil.”

“Are they?”

“Of course not!”

“How would you know? You haven’t been home.”

“Och!” She stormed off. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you.” He didn’t know either, but there was something about annoying the royal he did find enjoyable. He knew it wasn’t a very honorable thing to do, 80

but he simply couldn’t help himself.

Ragnar caught up with her while she stood at a dressmaker’s stall.

“What do you want?” she snapped while she examined the already-made gowns.

“I didn’t mean to anger you.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s not.”

“You are the most…frustrating male.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She pulled a dress off one of the wooden racks and placed it against her body. “What do you think?”

“We both know you look beautiful in anything. Will you force me to remind you of that fact constantly?”

“Would it kill you to simply say it?” She placed the gown back on the rack and continued to search. “Do you have a mate, warlord?”

“No.”

“Does this surprise you? Because it doesn’t surprise me.”

“You don’t have a mate either.”

“I don’t want a mate. Clinging, grasping males who feel the need to brand you in some ancient ritual that allows them to feel superior while ruining my beautiful human skin.” She held up her right arm and stroked it with her left hand. “Look at this skin. This is gorgeous. And I’ve managed to maintain it for quite a long time with very little effort. I’m not about to allow some pathetic male to ruin it so he can crow to his friends afterward.”

“Well, you’ve managed to turn eons of ancient and powerful mystical rituals to dragons everywhere into an ‘I hate males’ diatribe that somehow centers around you.”

“I don’t hate males.” She picked up another gown, scrunched her nose a bit, and quickly put it back. “On the whole, I adore them.”

“How can you say you adore them?”

“But I do. For short periods of time. Then again, I adore children for short periods of time and rainstorms for short periods of time and hot, sunny days—for short periods of time. But anything that goes on and on for ages just gets on my nerves.”

“Good to know.”

“So what do you look for in a female?” she asked, and Ragnar frowned a bit.

“Pardon?”

“What do you look for in a bed partner? Tall? Fat? Long tail? Short tail? Wide hips? Narrow hips?”

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He held his hand up. “All right…stop.” He didn’t like where this conversation was going. “I don’t look for anything in females.”

“Ohhh.” She gazed at the dress in her hands, then said, “Well, I hope you’re not interested in Ren then, because that’s not his sort of thing.” She looked off and added, “I don’t think.”

“I’m not looking for
that
either.”

“You don’t have to sound so judgmental.”

“I’m not. I just don’t know why you’re asking all these questions.”

“And I don’t know why you won’t just answer.”

“Fine. I’m looking for someone nice and sweet who I won’t have to sleep with one eye open to ensure I see the next morning.”

“Good luck finding that among She-dragons,” she murmured.

“What was that?” Ragnar asked, even though he’d heard just fine.

“Nothing.” She put another gown back and headed away from the stall. Growling, Ragnar followed.

Éibhear walked up to his small group and quickly realized that it was even smaller than when he’d left. He’d only been gone for a short time.

“Where did everyone go?”

In answer, the only two remaining, Vigholf and Meinhard, grunted in reply. It was something Éibhear had been forced to get used to during his time in the Northlands. By nature, none of the Lightnings was a very talkative lot. Unless they were drinking, but that only happened at night, and to be honest, Éibhear couldn’t drink every night as most of the Northerners could. Not if he wanted to be up for training by the next suns-rise.

Yet Éibhear had spent enough time around the Lightnings to know his first mistake. He waited until the Lightnings paused shoveling food into their mouths, and then he asked, “Where’s my sister?”

“Off with Ragnar,” Meinhard replied.

“Did Ren go with them?”

“Nah. He’s over there somewhere.”

Shit.
Working hard not to panic, he asked, “Do you know where Keita and Ragnar went?”

“Nah.”

“Do you know when they’ll be back?”

Vigholf chewed his food and studied Éibhear. “You questioning my brother’s honor when he’s with your sister?” Éibhear shook his head. “Oh, no, no. Not at all.” Éibhear scratched his head with the tip of his tail. “My sister, however, doesn’t really have any honor. So that might be a problem.”

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The two males looked up at him, staring. Appearing faintly disgusted.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Éibhear tried to explain. “My sister is a lovely dragoness. Truly, she is. But, I fear, she may try to…well…”

“Try to what, lad? Spit it out.”

“She may try to use him”—he whispered the next word—“sexually.” The Lightnings looked at each other, and then Meinhard said to Éibhear, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you, lad.”

“You don’t understand.” Éibhear stepped closer. “My sister has a way about her…. Males become attached. Maniacally attached. After just one night with her. Sometimes just one hour. And that could be…bad. If my father has to get involved.”

“But I think they just went for a walk,” Vigholf said, looking torn between laughter and confusion.

“Right. Just walking. Maybe we could go look for them.”

“Look, lad,” Meinhard said, sounding tired, “I don’t see the problem here. They’re both adult dragons who went for a walk. And what happens on that walk is their business.”

“Right. I’m just a little concerned about inter-territorial relations.”

“You’re concerned about what?” Vigholf asked.

“Our alliance.”

“You think that’s at risk?”

“I know how this works. Something happens between them; Lord Ragnar becomes attached. Keita, however, does not. He pushes the issue.

Keita gets our father, brothers, and cousins to push back, and before anyone knows it…war.”

“From a walk?”

Meinhard waved Éibhear’s concerns away. “You’re assuming your sister wants Ragnar.”

“Well, now that a wager’s involved…” The words had slipped out before Éibhear could stop them, and he knew immediately he’d said too much. With a nod, “I’ll go look for Ren.”

He started to walk off, but both Lightnings were on either side of him, big arms looping around his neck, holding him in place.

“Now be a good lad,” Meinhard said, grinning. “And tell us all about this wager.”

Keita happily headed to one of the jewelry stalls. Gods, she loved jewelry!

“So why did you feel the need to handle the Bampour thing yourself?” Ragnar asked her.

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“I was in town.” When he frowned at her reply, she held up a necklace. “What do you think?”

“I think it looks expensive.”

“A cheap one, I see.” She sighed, putting the necklace back.

“We call it thrifty in the Northlands.”

Disgusted by that word—no dragon should be cheap or “thrifty”—

Keita asked, “So when you’re ready to mate, will you kidnap a female?”

“We don’t do that anymore.”

“Your father did it to me.”

“And he’s dead now. Times have changed.”

“Good.” She moved to another stall, this one filled with crystal jewelry. “Many of my female cousins will be in attendance at the feast, I’m sure, and I don’t need you and your kin trying to take off with them.” When the Northlander snorted, she stopped and faced him. “What’s so funny?”

“That you’d think we’d take off with a Cadwaladr female.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” When he raised a brow, she admitted, “All right, a few of them might be a wee bit…burly. But they have good hearts and are loyal to a fault.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Look, not everyone can be as beautiful as me—and I refuse to be attached, so you best go for what you can get.”

“How is it possible for you to be this arrogant?” Keita laughed. “And I thought you’d met my family.” While she devoured a turkey leg he’d been forced to buy for her—

she’d already been eating it when she pointed out that she had no coin on her

—they made their way back to the rest of their travel party.

She continued to talk while they walked along, and Ragnar couldn’t help but watch her human body move. Her dress was loose around her—and new. He had no idea where she’d gotten it from, considering the last gown he’d seen her in had been the dirty one she was wearing when he’d rescued her. He decided not to ask, since he didn’t want to know, and instead focused on the fact that although she made sure to get a new dress, she was still barefoot. He simply didn’t know why. Nor did he know why he was so fascinated by her feet…and those legs…and whatever else she had under that dress.

Yet before Ragnar could really bring himself to worry about his obsession with the royal’s lack of footwear, he stopped and replayed in his head what she’d just told him moments before until he was forced to ask for 84

clarification. “You tore out your cousin’s eye?”

“I didn’t
tear
it out.” She licked the juice from her turkey leg off the fingers of her free hand. “I yanked it out with the tip of my tail.” When his mouth dropped open, she quickly explained, “It was self-defense.”