Last Dragon Standing

“Oh. I didn’t realize I’d been doing that.”

“Liar.” She was definitely a liar.

With a quick flick, he opened up the old wound and Keita slathered on a healthy amount of the ointment, making sure much of it got inside the opening, as well as covering the entire area.

“Done.”

Ragnar nodded and with a chant, re-closed the wound, the ointment seeping into his skin.

Using a rag, Keita cleaned up the small amount of blood, her hands, and the dagger. “That should do it,” she said, sliding off his waist and placing everything back on the dresser.

“I hope so. This damn thing has driven me mad for two bloody years.”

“You poor thing you.”

“I heard absolutely no remorse in that statement.” She walked around the bed and stretched out beside him once more.

“That’s because there was no remorse in that statement.” The pair stared at each other for a long moment before Ragnar shook his head and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “I should go.”

“All right.”

Ragnar stood, using the fur to cover the front of him. Keita was just reaching over to palm the warlord’s amazing-looking ass when she heard one of the servants at the door with the hot water for her morning bath.

Instead of his ass, Keita grabbed hold of the fur Ragnar held and yanked it away at the same moment the servant walked in, took one look at the naked warlord, and quickly walked out again, closing the door.

Keita grinned at the glowering— and gods! Is he blushing?— dragon.

“And so it begins, my lord.”

Annwyl wished she could say she was up just before the two suns rose because she was simply an early riser. But anyone who knew her, knew what a lie that would be. Instead, she was up and dressed for training because she’d had that nightmare again. The nightmare she told very few about because she didn’t know if the dream was caused by a general sense of fear for her babes or because she’d suddenly started having prophecies. She hadn’t even told Fearghus. How could she, after he’d been through so much?

She still caught him looking at her in that way that told her he could still remember her on her death bed after the children were born. And that he feared he’d find her there again. No, she wouldn’t put him through any more. Not when there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. And she knew, in her heart, there was nothing he could do.

Anyway, the bottom line was she couldn’t sleep. So she’d left her warm bed—and her even warmer mate—and headed out. She carefully and quietly closed the door behind her and went to the room next door. She stepped in and smiled at the babe already awake and standing tall in her crib.

“How’s my little Rhianwen this morning?” Annwyl asked her niece.

She reached into the crib and picked the babe up. “You can’t sleep either, little one? Unlike your cousins?” Annwyl glanced over at her snoring twins.

They slept in separate beds these days out of necessity. Too many times Annwyl had walked in to full-on fist fights between the pair when they’d shared a crib. And the last time she’d tried to separate them, her son had ducked and her daughter had nailed Annwyl with a right cross that left bells ringing in her head. After that, the little nightmares were separated for good.

They’d also tried to put Rhianwen in her own room, but all three of the babes had screamed and cried until she was returned. Since then none of the adults had bothered to separate them.

A tiny hand reached up and stroked Annwyl’s cheek. “Don’t worry,” Annwyl told that concerned little face that broke her heart on the best of days. “I’ll be fine. You needn’t worry so.” But she knew Talaith and Briec’s little girl did worry. There was something about her that practically screamed, “I worry for everyone!”

“We have to teach you to smile, little one,” Annwyl said before placing her back in her crib. “Your father is getting impossible about it.” She pulled the blanket around the babe and leaned in, kissing her head. “Get some more sleep.”

Annwyl faced her own children. Her son, smirking even while he slept, and her daughter, who looked so much like Fearghus it made Annwyl’s heart ache. She knew most mothers would make sure to be there when their children woke up. They’d make sure that they fed them each and every morning and helped them learn all sorts of new things. That’s what most mothers would do.

But, instead, Annwyl kissed both their sleeping heads and, with her two swords tied to her back, stepped away from their beds. Because instead of doing all those wonderful things for her children, she’d train. She’d train until her muscles ached and her body felt drained. She’d train until she bled from accidental wounds and her head throbbed from accidental blows. She’d train until she knew that no matter what horrors came for her children, she could take them all on. That she could fight until nothing was left standing but her and her babes.

Fighting her urge to feel guilty, Annwyl faced the door but immediately stopped.

“Morfyd? What are you doing in here?”

Morfyd yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “Just watching them. It’s nothing.”

“Where’s the new nanny?”

“Annwyl—”

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Does it matter?”

“The fact that we can’t keep a bloody nanny in this place makes it matter.”