Last Dragon Standing

“Anything. Any rumors about enemies, wars. I don’t care.” His brother had a way with locals and servants that allowed him to find out all sorts of things. And Ragnar needed a sense of things among the Southland humans. As much as dragons often tried to pretend humans were no more than an additional food source, Ragnar knew that what happened in their world often directly affected what happened among the dragons. “Fill me in later.”

With that taken care of, Ragnar headed out of his room, down the two flights of stairs, and through the Great Hall. There were lakes and streams all over this territory, and he’d find a nice, calm one that would help him think and figure out what he should do next.

But before he could even get down the steps, something tumbled past him. Whatever it was landed hard in the middle of the stairs, and Ragnar stepped in closer to get a good look.

“Keita!” He crouched beside her. She was still human and only wore a blanket. She could easily have been killed, coming from that height.

Carefully Ragnar turned her over. Her nose was bleeding, and she wore what appeared to be a homemade eye patch. Two, actually. One over each eye. But she was breathing, her heart still beating.

“Keita? Can you hear me?”

Ragnar pulled the blanket off, fighting desperately to ignore the beauty of the human body beneath, instead focusing on any damage she might have. He ran his hands over her ribs to her hips. He didn’t find anything broken, but she did have a nasty bump on her forehead, and again…the eye patches.

He was reaching for them, about to remove them, when Keita coughed. Ragnar pulled back. “Gods of thunder, how much have you been drinking?”

Keita held up four fingers and slurred, “Two ales.”

“You all right, cousin?” a dragoness yelled-slurred from above.

Keita’s four fingers turned into a thumbs-up aimed at the sky.

“Good. And tonight at dinner you should introduce us to your handsome friend.”

“Get your own Lightning!” Keita yelled back. “There are two more, and they’re not half bad.”

“Selfish cow!”

“Callous vipers!”

The laughter faded with the She-dragons heading off, and Ragnar was left with a drunk, naked royal.

Ragnar leaned over her. “Keita—”

His next words were cut off when Keita’s hands slammed into his face. “I’m blind!” she cried, her hands grasping. “I cannot see! Why have the gods cursed me so?”

“Quiet! You’ll wake everyone.” He pushed her arms down and yanked the eye patches off.

“Oh.” Blinking several times, she finally focused on Ragnar. “Hello, Éibhear.”

Now he was insulted. “I’m Ragnar, you twit.”

“What are you doing with my sister?” the blue royal asked from behind him.

Knowing how this must look, but not really caring, “I was about to see how much I could get for her on the slave barges. She’s pretty enough, I guess.”

“You guess? ” Keita demanded. “And you,” she said to her brother,

“where the hells have you been anyway?”

The Blue pointed off to town. “At the pub.”

“Well, while you were getting your sword polished by some bar sluts, brother, our cousins were forcing me to drink endlessly. For hours.”

“Forcing you, Keita? Really?”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” He reached for his sister. “I’ll take her back to her room.”

“No, you will not.” Keita pointed at Ragnar. “He will.”

“Must I?”

“Yes, barbarian, you must.” She held her arms out. “Carry me.”

“Can’t I just drag you by your leg?”

“When I vomit up whatever’s in my stomach, I will aim it right at your face.”

“How enticing.” Ragnar picked Keita up in his arms. “I’ve got her.” Ragnar started to walk off, away from the castle. But after a few feet, he stopped and without even looking at the young dragon warned, “And don’t glare at me, boy.”

“Yeah!” Keita yelled to no one in particular before she passed out completely.

Keita woke up with the night sky above her and the sound of running water right by her.

It was a lovely view, but she couldn’t enjoy it. Instead she flipped over and quickly crawled to the nearest bush so she could vomit up what was left of all that damn wine!

It wasn’t until the fourth or fifth heave, her arms braced, her palms flat on the ground, that she felt a hand against her back, pressing through the shirt someone had put on her while another hand held her hair back.

“Feel better?” a low voice asked.

She tensed, forcing herself to recall the last few hours. She didn’t think she’d done anything that would require her to soothe some male’s damaged ego. Perhaps because she’d thankfully left drunken trysts behind a century and a half ago. She always hated waking up to soft smiles, flowers, and first meal in bed with a male whose name she couldn’t even remember.

Needy bastards.

“My nose…”

“Broken.”

She grasped the hand held out for her and let Ragnar help her up.

Slowly, they walked to the stream. Keita kneeled down and took a few moments to rinse out her mouth. After that, she girded her loins as any good royal knows how to do, then stuck her entire head into the freezing cold water.