What a Dragon Should Know

True, she could have revealed Kikka’s whoring ages ago, but why waste the power? More importantly, Kikka kept her brother happy with more brats while Sigmar worried less about the state of his sons’ marriages and more about important things like Jökull.

And, she could admit to herself, while she sat up here on the barrack roof, that Kikka did provide a form of entertainment Dagmar could not indulge in otherwise.

She enjoyed watching. It was a flaw, but she only used it against those who would try to take what she’d fought so hard for all these years. As long as Kikka remained ineffectual, her secrets were safe with Dagmar.

Kikka slipped into the stablemaster’s room. Horses were so important in the Northlands, so revered by the warriors that the position of stablemaster paid incredibly well and often included a house on the grounds.

Thankfully this stablemaster’s small house included lovely windows that he never closed the small wooden doors on. When he moved toward Kikka, his intentions clear, Dagmar reached into her satchel and pulled out the specially made spectacles Brother Ragnar had given her several years ago. Unlike the ones she wore on her face, these were much larger, needing both her hands to hold them. Nor did she wear them per se, but simply held them up to her eyes, the leather they were encased in allowing her a wonderful grip. While her regular spectacles were merely to see what she should normally see in front of her, these were so she could see much farther away … and in fascinating detail.

She grinned when she saw the stablemaster tear off Kikka’s gown. How would the girl explain the state of her dress when she returned to the fortress? And she had to know by now that Eymund would realize another gown had been “accidentally” damaged. Her brother was stingy with his coin and Kikka’s allure had worn off long ago. Much to Kikka’s growing dismay, if Dagmar was guessing right. The servants told Dagmar of nasty arguments and her brother spending more and more time in the local pubs with his comrades and kinsmen—and bar wenches.

With Kikka’s dress and shift torn open, the stablemaster, Valtemar, bent her over his arm and feasted on her absurdly large br**sts. As Dagmar watched, enjoying herself thoroughly, she still grimaced a little at his performance.

“He is lacking technique, isn’t he?”

Mortified and shocked all at the same time, Dagmar lowered the big spectacles to her lap and turned her head to the left. She blinked, looked behind her, then to her right.

“He has eagerness, but he also has a bit of … well … slobber.”

Again, she looked to her left. But all she could see were the tops of other buildings close by, the tops of trees off in the distance. But even though she couldn’t see anything beside her, she still felt …

Stretching out her hand, she hit something hard and smooth. Her hand slid down the surface, trying to understand what she was touching.

“That feels wonderful.”

Dagmar snatched her hand back. “Show yourself, dragon.”

The darkness shimmered and what was not there was now there. Gold scales, large wings tight against his body, talons, fangs. He was facing her, his back to the world behind him, his long tail with the clean blunt end swung lazily back and forth over the edge of the roof.

“Lady Dagmar. It is a beautiful night.”

She didn’t reply; she was too annoyed he’d found her. Too annoyed he’d seen her.

Fire surrounded the dragon, and Dagmar quickly turned her head, the heat of it feeling much too close for her comfort. Then, moments later, he sat down beside her. As human.

And naked.

Like he had in his bedroom, he placed his arms behind him to prop up his upper body, his palms flat against the roof slats. His long legs were bent at the knees, his ridiculously large feet planted firmly in front of him. But it was his sizable cock, lying lazily against his thigh that had the saliva in her mouth drying up immediately. Mighty reason, if that’s him flaccid …

Forcing herself to look away, she asked, “Are you not chilly?”

“No.”

She handed him one of her fur blankets. “Put this on anyway.”

He chuckled, spreading the fur out over his lap. “Did you even peek?”

“I don’t need to. I see naked men everyday.”

“But none as superb as I.” That was truth, but she’d not admit it out loud.

“Why are you here?”

“Came to see the sights. Just as you have.” Dagmar didn’t reply to his glib remark; instead she analyzed how bad this could get for her.

He could try to use this against her, but only if she allowed him to. Her father would not be pleased, but no matter which way she examined it, it all seemed to be worse for Kikka, which could easily distract attention from Dagmar. It was Kikka who was betraying Eymund. It was Kikka who was—

“You can stop.”

Dagmar glanced at him. “I can stop what?”

“Trying to figure out how I’ll use this against you.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Because I won’t be.”

Dagmar closed her mouth, stared straight ahead. “You won’t?”

“No. Is that wine?” He leaned across her and grabbed the bottle.

“Why?”

“Why what?” He unhooked the top, took a long gulp—and choked. “Gods in the underworld! What is this?”

“My father’s wine. It’s not as smooth as the wines from the south.”

“It’s not as smooth as jagged glass.” But he took another gulp anyway before handing it back to her. She started to reach for her chalice, but it seemed to be the kind of night where one drinks right from the bottle. So she did, taking several mouthfuls before she locked the top back into place.