Last Dragon Standing
“Dammit! Why do you all attack my tail?”
“Because it’s the most dangerous part of you. And I can’t believe you and Ren are wagering on who you can get into bed. Aren’t you too old for that?”
“Not when it involves a throne!”
Snarling, her brother said, “Now listen to me. When the feast ends, I want to go back with Lord Ragnar and the others. Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Go back? To the Northlands? Whatever for?”
“I’m learning a lot. I’ll never be as good as Briec or Fearghus if I stay here.”
“I notice you left Gwenvael off that list.”
“I guess he has his moments. When he’s not whining.” Keita leaned in and whispered, “You’re not becoming like the Northlanders, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want to find a mate and lop her wings off or anything, do you?”
“They don’t do that anymore.” Keita smirked, and her brother said adamantly, “They don’t!”
“As long as you’re not getting any strange ideas. Or, you know, trying to avoid anyone in particular by returning to the Northlands.”
“I’m not avoiding anyone.”
“Uh-huh. Not even cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations?”
“We’re not having this conversation—again.”
“Cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations, but have the most adorable smile known to man or the gods?”
“Can we just go? ” he bellowed, storming past her.
“No, no, brother. I guess I was wrong. You’re clearly not avoiding anyone.”
Ragnar was waiting to leave, the two suns rising higher as it grew later. He had a talon tapping when the siblings returned. The big blue royal stomping along like a cranky child and his sister running up behind him, yelling, “Just admit it! Just admit how you feel!” The Blue picked up his travel bag. “Let it go, Keita.”
“Just admit it! You’ll feel better.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Make me.” She went up on her back legs and brought her front claws up, curling them into fists. “Let’s go. Right here. Right now. You’re not so big and tough that I can’t still take you.”
Vigholf leaned in and whispered to Ragnar. “She has no idea the truth of that.”
Meinhard slammed his back claw into Vigholf.
“Ow!”
With the elegance of a wounded animal, the princess danced around her brother. “Come on. Take your best shot, little brother.”
“I’m not hitting you.”
She ducked; she weaved. And all of it quite badly.
Vigholf sighed. “This is what happens when you let females think they can fight like the males.”
“I hear their human queen is good,” Meinhard remarked.
“She’s not half bad,” the Eastland dragon stated. “Although I have heard she is no friend of the Minotaur.”
Vigholf snorted. “Our Aunt Freida, with her one arm and missing foot, would be good too, with five thousand legions at her back.”
“No, Keita!” the Blue yelped. “Not the tickling! Stop it!”
“Think we should rescue the royal from his sister?” Meinhard asked Ragnar.
“If we hope to leave before the end of time…” Briec the Mighty, second oldest in the House of Gwalchmai fab Gwyar, fourth in line to the throne of the White Dragon Queen now that his eldest brother had bred his demon spawn twins, Shield Hero of the Dragon Wars, Former Lord Defender of the Dragon Queen’s Throne, Benevolent Ruler of the fair Talaith’s heart, and proud father of two amazing daughters who were perfect merely because they were his daughters, located his eldest brother in the war room.
Fearghus stood behind the large table, an extensive map open in front of him. Brastias, General of Queen Annwyl’s armies, to his left, and Dagmar Reinholdt, the only female capable of tolerating his younger brother, Gwenvael, on his right. A small group of Annwyl’s elite guard stood around the table.
Fearghus looked up from the map. “What is it, Briec?”
“I just heard from Éibhear. He’s heading home.”
“Good.” Fearghus returned his focus to the map.
“And Keita’s with him.”
“Yes!”
Fearghus’s head came up again, and both he and Briec looked over at several of the soldiers who were grinning and slapping each other on the back. When Briec made black smoke come out of his nostrils, they looked away and stopped smiling.
Briec stepped farther into the room. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the map.
“Dagmar heard from Ghleanna—” Fearghus began.
“Izzy?” Briec immediately asked.
“She’s fine, brother. Ease yourself.”
Briec’s eldest, Iseabail, a soldier with Annwyl’s army, had been out with his Aunt Ghleanna’s troops for nearly two years now. And although he was not Izzy’s father by blood, he worried for her every day. Blood or not, Izzy was his daughter. She would always be his daughter.
“Then what is it?” Briec asked.
“More problems in the west. Entire towns destroyed near the Aricia Mountains.”
“I thought the army had a handle on the barbarians in the west.”
“The ones near the Western Mountains, yes, but we haven’t even moved past them yet.”