Last Dragon Standing

She slid off his back, her tail taking an enormously long time to slide up and over him as she walked around.

“Lord Ragnar, may I ask you a question?”

“If you’d like.”

“Do you not like me?”

Unsure where this might be going, Ragnar simply stated, “I thought our relationship was decided two years ago, princess.”

“But that was such a long time ago. There’s no reason for us not to be friends now.”

“Friends? You and I?”

She stroked her claw along his shoulder, down his chest, her talons scraping against the scar her tail had left. Part of Ragnar wanted to break every talon she had out of pure spite. Yet another, weaker, part of him wanted to close his eyes and moan.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her talons now concentrating on that scar. “That I’m too good for you. And, of course among some circles, you’d be absolutely right. But I’m a very progressive royal and I don’t let little things like unimpressive bloodlines and barbaric tendencies stop me from having the friends I want.”

“That’s very big of you.”

“I’ve always thought so.” She pressed her claw to his chest, the damn scar under it angrily throbbing to life. “I’ve always thought it’s more important to have friends you can trust,” she murmured, “than friends who are merely your equal in every other way that matters.” No. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep talking to this vapid, insipid female. No matter how much his body longed for her—and gods, was his c**k screaming at him right now—it was beyond his capabilities as a dragon and a Northlander to put up with this female. And not only that…what in all holy hells did she think she was doing with her tail?

Ragnar slammed his back claw down on the princess’s tail before it slid any farther where it should not be.

“Ow!” She yanked her tail back and moved away from him.

“Sorry. Was that your tail? I thought it was a snake.” He caught hold of her arm and pulled her around. “Now if you’ll go back to my brothers—”

“Get your claws off me, peasant!”

“—I promise I won’t be long and we can discuss all your progressive views on peasants and royalty to your heart’s content.” He shoved her in the direction of his kin. “Now go, princess, before I’m forced to get—” The crazed princess attached herself to his head and held on, cutting off his next words and making him sigh a little.

“What are you doing?”

“Obviously I’m beating you into submission!”

“Are you not the least bit embarrassed by this display?”

“Not as embarrassed as you’ll be when I’m done with you.” Ragnar caught hold of her wing, pulled the royal off, and tossed her away.

She rolled and squealed, but quickly scrambled to her claws. She crouched in what appeared to be a poorly planned attack.

“Princess Keita, I wouldn’t—”

She charged him and again wrapped herself around his head.

Honestly, he didn’t have time for this. And it especially didn’t help that she smelled rather nice for a female who’d been trapped in a dungeon for who knew how long with human males.

He caught hold of her again, prepared to fling her as far away as necessary, but a voice beside them said, “She’s not there.” Ragnar recognized the voice of the foreigner.

Keita’s head came up. “What do you mean she’s not there?”

“She’s not there.”

While this vapid female had kept Ragnar distracted, the foreigner had gotten around them. Realizing he’d been duped, Ragnar yanked the princess off and slammed her to the ground.

“Och!” she yelped. “You rude bastard!”

Ragnar ignored her and raised his claw to the foreigner, unleashing a powerful blast of wind that would shove him back into the tree behind him and let him understand Ragnar was not to be toyed with. But other than the fur on his head getting blown back, the foreign dragon did nothing but stare at him.

Having witnessed the grass, leaves, and trees moving from the energy he’d unleashed, Ragnar glanced down at his claw and back up to the princess’s traveling companion.

“Oh,” the foreigner replied, sounding almost lazy with boredom.

“Was I supposed to fall back, arms flailing, from that? Sorry. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

The princess giggled at that until Ragnar silenced her with one glare.

It wasn’t being laughed at that bothered him; it was the power he didn’t sense coming off this dragon. A power Ragnar now knew the foreigner must have because he managed to hide it from him. Did the princess have any idea? And, for that matter, why would a mage this strong waste his time with someone so insipid? So useless? So pretty? Wait. He meant so stupid. Not pretty. Where did pretty come from?

The foreigner walked around him, helping the still-outraged princess to her claws.

“Are you all right?”

“I am not all right,” she complained. “That barbarian assaulted me, and in the process, I scraped my ass on some rocks.” She tried to see the damage but only managed to turn herself in a circle.

“Your aunt’s gone, Keita. Has been for some time, I’d wager.”

“That’s impossible.” She stopped trying to see her ass and opted for rubbing it instead. “Esyld never leaves her house except to go into town.”