Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(40)
Author: G.A. Aiken

“Oh, no, dear,” Keita counseled. “Don’t do that. Just aim to your left.” Now the Ruiner threw up his hands, as he was sitting to Dagmar’s left. “Was that reall y necessary, Viper?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Morfyd packed up her equipment, put out the pit fire, and headed back to the castle. She’d spent longer than she’d originally planned casting protective spells around Garbhán Isle and her nieces and nephews, but to be honest, she hadn’t been ready to go back. Not yet. Especially when she’d gotten word that Brastias would be late this eve. But she’d run out of things to do and knew she couldn’t stay out by this small stream much longer.

She trudged back to the castle and, after taking a deep, fortifying breath, headed up the stairs. The dinner was already winding down, which she was quite grateful to see. Walking into the Great Hall, Morfyd smiled, nodding at her kin and their guest. She wasn’t surprised to see that only one of the Northlanders had made it to dinner. The one with the broken leg— uh, Meinhard…I think—would need the night for her Magick and his natural power as a dragon to heal that damage. And she knew the other one— Vig-something or other—was still morbidly embarrassed about his hair. Not that she could blame him. Although she hoped the Northlanders would be far from here when Annwyl received her new helm. She’d already handed the braid of hair over to her blacksmith and told him to add it.

Morfyd rested her hands on the back of Gwenvael’s chair and smiled.

“How was everyone’s meal?”

“Did you eat yet?” Talaith asked after everyone agreed the food was delicious. Her ability to mother seemed innate some days, as she always checked up on all of them to ensure they’d eaten, slept enough, and spent enough time with the children. “There’s more than enough—unless your brother plans to unhinge his jaw again and inhale what’s left.”

“I was starving,” Briec returned, “after a whole day of putting up with you.”

“Putting up with me?” Talaith demanded. “Putting up with me? ”

“All right,” Morfyd cut in, her hands raised. “Perhaps we can table this next Talaith–Briec argument to a time when we don’t have guests.”

“But we were so looking forward to another one of their arguments,” Gwenvael muttered.

“Quiet, snake,” Talaith shot back. She pushed her chair out and stood.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” she said to Morfyd.

“Oh, don’t bother.” Morfyd waved her off. “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure? It will only take me a moment.”

Actually Morfyd was starving, but she had other plans for this evening with her mate in their room, and sitting with her family, eating cold food wasn’t one of them. But she wasn’t about to go into any detail on that in front of her brothers and, more importantly, Chief Dragonlord of the Lightning dragons, Lord Ragnar.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

And that’s when Morfyd heard it. A sigh. A soft, annoyed sigh. Her gaze moved to where her sister sat between Lord Ragnar and Éibhear. And, as timing would have it, caught her sister at the midway point of an eye roll.

“Something wrong, sister?” Morfyd asked sweetly, already tired of Keita’s presence in her home.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? It seemed there might be some issue? Something you’d like to discuss?”

“Sisters,” Fearghus said low, the warning in his voice clear.

“It’s all right, Fearghus. I’m just trying to find out if there’s something I can do to make my precious baby sister’s stay here at Garbhán Isle all the better. I do hate to see her unhappy.”

“Unhappy? Me? Oh, no, sister! I’m deliriously happy.” Keita ran her hands through her dark red locks before adding, “Although you might want to get off that sacrificial pyre…we need the wood.”

“What does that mean?”

“‘Oh, no, Talaith!’” Keita mocked her in an annoyingly high pitch that sounded nothing like Morfyd’s voice. “‘I don’t want to eat. Just let me starve in my virginal white robes. You all go on without me. Honestly, I’ll be fine—if I don’t die first.’”

“That is not what I said, nor what I meant.”

“Oh, really? Because that’s what it sounded like to me, my Good Lady Dragoness of Suffering.”

“Come now, sister,” Morfyd lashed back. “Don’t be so jealous.”

“Jealous? Of you?”

“Of the fact that there are others who care about me, who like to take care of me. But I don’t want you to worry. I know for a fact there are many who care about you. Even now I’m sure there’s a bed set up in the middle of the barracks with a line of soldiers wrapped twice around the building, waiting just for you.”

Keita stood up fast, her chair slamming hard to the floor, while Éibhear caught hold of their no-longer-sleeping nephew before he could tumble to the ground.

“Keita!” Fearghus snapped.

“What is it, sister, that really bothers you?” Keita asked, ignoring Fearghus. “The fact that I could pleasure every one of those soldiers in a way you couldn’t even dream…or that your precious Brastias might be at the head of that line?”

To be honest, Morfyd didn’t remember much after she let loose that roar.

Ragnar was so busy wondering if there was, in fact, a line of soldiers waiting for Keita that it never occurred to him to grab her. Besides, why would he have to? She was a royal, after all. Trained in the fine art of etiquette, proper poise, and all that.

Unless, that is, your sister just called you a whore in front of your entire family, which meant you had to return the favor by suggesting you’re whore enough to f**k your sister’s mate. Apparently the Southland dragon etiquette rules varied little from the Northland Dragon Code when it came to sibling fights.

Still, Ragnar knew he’d never have been prepared for any Northland female of his acquaintance to suddenly jump up on the table and charge across it as Keita was doing, only to meet her roaring sister in the middle, the two of them colliding. Their bodies spun as they hit, both of them grabbing on to the other’s hair and pulling, screaming obscenities at each other like drunken Northland sailors on leave. No. Ragnar would never have been prepared for that—and he wasn’t prepared for it now.

And what were their kin doing? Nothing. They mostly looked bored while the Blue just kept saying, “We have to do something!” But he wasn’t actually doing “something.” Even the human queen had gone back to her book. Only Dagmar seemed shocked, her hand over her open mouth, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.

Realizing none of Keita’s kin were going to do anything to stop this, Ragnar stood and climbed up onto the table.

“You don’t want to get into the middle of this,” Fearghus, the queen’s eldest and seemingly most useless offspring, warned. He’d quickly retrieved his wandering children and was holding them securely on his lap, but that was all he seemed in the mood to do.

Yet Ragnar didn’t want to get in the middle of this, but the Fire Breathers had left him little choice.

He had just gotten his arms around Keita’s waist when a human male rushed in from another exit. “Damn,” he muttered before he dropped his shield and ax and joined Ragnar on the table. He took firm hold of Princess Morfyd, and, together, they pulled the two royals apart. Too bad the females still had each other by the hair.

“Let her go, Keita.”

Keita’s response was to scream. She didn’t scream words, just screamed. It was a little disconcerting.

“Morfyd! Please!” the human practically begged. But she wasn’t much better than her sister.

Desperate, Ragnar pulled one arm away from Keita’s waist and touched her hand. He unleashed the lightest of lightning bolts, but it was enough. The bolt shot through her fingers and into her sister’s hair, directly into her scalp. They both screeched and released the other, allowing the two males to pull them apart.

“Whore!” Princess Morfyd screamed.

“Frigid cow!” Keita screeched. Then one slapped the other, and the other slapped the first and Ragnar had had enough! He stepped down from the table and carried Keita from the Great Hall and out into the cool night.

Brastias took Morfyd into their room and closed the door. He placed her on the bed, returned to the door, and locked it, then went back to their bed and sat down beside her. She had her elbows resting on her knees and her face buried in her hands.

“The door’s locked,” he said.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Then Morfyd burst into tears, and Brastias pulled her into his arms, letting her cry herself out.

Ragnar placed Keita down, and she immediately began to head back toward the castle. “Ungrateful, spiteful—”

He caught her arm and pulled her back. “Let it go.”

“Let it go? I’ll let nothing go including my righteous disdain!” And Ragnar honestly couldn’t help it when he started to laugh.

“I’m sorry!” he lied, grabbing firm hold of the stalking-away royal. “I am so sorry.”

“You are not sorry! You agree with her, I’m sure. Let’s take the whore down a peg.”

“Don’t tie me into this fight with your sister. This is between the two of you. I’m merely an innocent bystander.” Ragnar sat down on a bench and pulled Keita until she flopped down beside him.

“Miserable old cow,” she muttered.

“Now, now. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Her small fist jammed into his arm.

“She always does this, you know,” Keita said. “She starts a fight with me.”

“She started the fight?”

Keita glared at him. “Are you saying that I started the fight?”

“I’m saying that to my eyes both of you are equally guilty.”

“I should have known you’d side with her.”

“I side with no one.”

“Liar!” She stood and began to untie the bodice of her dress.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting away from all of you. I knew I should never have returned.”

“Keita, don’t go.” If nothing else, don’t leave him here alone.

“I’ll not stay where I’m not wanted.”

“And who said that? Your brothers and their mates seemed quite happy you’ve come back.”

“Too bad!” She practically tore the dress off her body before flinging it at Ragnar. He had yet to understand exactly what he’d done to earn her rage as well.

“Where are you going?”

She stormed nak*d to the middle of the courtyard and shifted to her natural form. “Away.”

“But what about—” She flew off, and Ragnar sighed out, “The plan?” He gazed down at the dress in his hand. It had been quite pretty on her.