“If you say so.”
“I do. Now can we go?”
The warlord got to his feet, moving with an ease belied by his size. To be honest, she always expected him to lumber a bit more.
“Now remember,” she told him, smoothing down her dress, her hair,
“just let me take the lead on this and all will be well. We can decide later if we want to take that kiss further.”
Ragnar’s arm wrapped around her waist as he walked by, pulling her into his chest. “You’re trying to drive me insane—I won’t let you.”
“I am not—”
“And we will damn well take that kiss further.”
“Oh, you think so, do—”
He kissed her again, stunning her with the power of it. But as quickly as he started, he ended it, releasing her with a hard swat to her ass.
“Let’s go, princess. You have to get dressed for dinner and get me that damn antidote.”
“I’ll have to have it made, so you’ll get it after dinner or tomorrow.
And I’m still hearing prince- ass!” she shouted.
Amhar the Blood Drinker watched his niece follow after that Lightning. He’d been so focused on the carcass at his feet that he’d thought she’d gone inside long ago. But when he lifted his head, she was just standing up in the tall grass and the Lightning was right behind her.
Amhar didn’t like the looks of all that. Especially that swat to the ass.
The kiss meant nothing to him; it was the ass swat that he saw as a stronger message of intent.
Although his niece might be freer than most with males—she took after a lot of his sisters on that score—no respectable female in their family would ever lower herself to bed down with some barbarian snake with wings. And as one of the royals, Keita had to know better than that.
Then again, the only thing Keita the Viper knew better was how to get herself into trouble.
Worried, but not one to deal with a female issue himself, Amhar decided to discuss it with one of his sisters first. He definitely wouldn’t be the one to bring it to Bercelak’s attention. One of his nephews had lost the fangs on the left side of his head because he’d suggested that Keita should be locked away in a nunnery so she wouldn’t bring shame on her kin. Not that Amhar could blame his brother. Bercelak protected his daughters like Amhar did, as their father had taught them to. Some of his nephews either needed to learn to keep their mouths closed or put up a better fight.
Deciding what his next course of action would be, Amhar went back to his nearly devoured carcass and thought no more about it for the moment.
Chapter Twenty
Dagmar smoothed her grey gown into place and glanced at herself in the extremely tall standing mirror. Good enough, she reasoned and stepped away, only to be pulled back by her mate.
As he liked to do, he tugged the front of her gown down to reveal more cl**vage.
“Is this necessary?”
“I’m already beautiful—you want to at least keep up.” He turned her around and lifted the back of her dress until it rested over her rear.
“What are you doing?”
“I think you should wear your gown like this to show my mark.”
“And why, by all reason, would I do that?”
“So your Lord Ragnar knows who you belong to.”
“He’s not my…” Dagmar stopped, gazed at the floor. After a moment, she lifted her head and asked, “Are you jealous?”
“I prefer the term proprietary.”
“You’re jealous…over me?”
“You are mine. I thought I made this clear long before I marked your ass. Perhaps I need to mark it again to—”
Dagmar raised her hand, silencing her mate. “Please. Allow me a moment to enjoy this.”
It wasn’t merely that the most arrogant and vain male she’d ever known was jealous, it was that any male was jealous over her. She’d long ago accepted the fact that beauty was not something she could count on to get her through life.
Still, moments like these did manage to surprise and delight her when they happened—and they happened more than she’d thought possible with her impossible dragon.
“I do not trust that smile of yours.” His arm slipped around her waist.
“Back to bed. I sense I need to exert my dominance yet again.” She attempted—rather weakly, she’d admit—to pry his arm from around her waist. “I will not leave my Northland comrades alone with your brothers at dinner tonight.”
“When did they become comrades?” Gwenvael tossed her onto their bed. “Spread your legs, woman. Prepare yourself.”
Dagmar began to laugh.
“You’re not helping your case.” He crawled onto the bed, raising himself over her. “But you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” He reached for her, snarling when a knock came at the door.
“Go away. We’re f**king.”
Dagmar, wondering how she’d learned to tolerate any of these dragons, countered, “Come in, and we’re doing nothing of the sort!”
“Yet.”
The door opened a bit, and Gwenvael’s youngest sister peeked around it. “Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt my brother doing something wonderfully vile.”
“Not when she can listen at the door.”
“I didn’t listen!” Keita smiled, looking more like Gwenvael than anyone should. “I merely sold tickets. Made a fortune that night.” Gwenvael relaxed on his side. “Did you come here to bow before the mistress of my heart, who you cruelly believed to be a mere servant, and beg her forgiveness?”
“No.” Keita stepped fully into the room. “I did, however, bring her a dress.”
Dagmar winced. Considering the bright and sparkle-infused light blue gown the princess currently wore, Dagmar had no desire to see what kind of dress the royal had brought for her. “That’s very kind of you, princess—”
“Keita, sister. Call me Keita. We are family now, are we not?” Dagmar studied the royal closely. She trusted few beings in this world, and although Gwenvael and his brothers thought highly of Keita, Dagmar had yet to see any evidence that she was anything but a spoiled royal with expensive taste in clothes. Are those real diamonds she has sewn on to her dress?
“Of course we are,” Dagmar said, not believing a word either of them spoke.
The princess giggled. “Such a little liar, Dagmar Reinholdt. But I’ll overlook it because you make my brother happy. Now, tell me what you think.”
She pulled out the dress she had hidden behind her and held it up for Dagmar’s inspection. Although ready to hate it on principle alone, Dagmar knew she couldn’t.
Sliding off the bed, she walked up to Keita, her hand reaching out and carefully touching the gown.
“It’s…beautiful.”
“I know you prefer grey,” Keita said, pulling Dagmar over to the mirror. “But silver and steel work just as well. This color is called ‘sword steel’ among the shop owners”—she stood behind Dagmar and held the gown up in front of her—“and perfectly brings out your eyes, which are quite striking, I might add. I bet my brother adores your eyes.”
“And you’d be right,” Gwenvael said from the bed.
“See? I know my brothers quite well. Now, go. Try it on.”
“Yes!” Gwenvael cheered from the bed. “Strip nak*d for me and my sister.”
Keita sniffed. “You don’t think I planned for that, my disgusting brother? Knowing how you turn everything into something inappropriate?” She walked to the door and opened it. “Bring it in.” One of the servants brought in a tall screen and unfolded it. Once the servant was gone, Keita pulled Dagmar behind it. “Try it on.” Without questioning, something Dagmar did about nearly everything in her life, she did as the royal ordered.
Keita sat on the bed next to her brother while his little human put on the dress she’d chosen for her. “Remember me now?” Keita demanded, making sure to flare her eyes in a terrifying manner.
Gwenvael laughed. “I don’t know how I managed to forget you.”
“Nor do I. I am, in a word, unforgettable.”
Putting his arm around her shoulders, Gwenvael kissed her forehead.
“Everything all right, little sister?”
“We need to talk,” she murmured softly.
“About Esyld?”
Keita blinked, looked up at her brother. “How did you know?”
“That Lightning told us earlier. Why would Mother send him to fetch her anyway?”
“Long story. And, of course, there’s much more to it.”
“Of course. But tell me, are that Lightning and his barbarian entourage going back soon…as in tonight?”
“No. Because Esyld is only part of it.”
“What’s the other part of the problem?”
Keita scratched her cheek. “Irons. Possibly.”
“Iron what?”
“Iron dragons, you idiot.”
Gwenvael’s arm fell away, and he gawked at his sister. “What about them?”
“Our mother seems to fear they may be planning war.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. At the very least Mother is.”
“Mother hates them. Would love a chance to kill them all.”
“Exactly. She wants war, but I’m hoping I can prevent that.”
“Do you really think it’s wise to get between Mother and her love of carnage?”
“This has to stop. First she used the Northlanders to get her war, now she’s aiming at the Irons.”
“Or she’s right and they’re aiming at us.”
Keita shrugged. “I guess anything is possible.” She frowned at the screen. “What are you doing back there, luv?”
“It’s very bright. I feel like I can be seen for miles.” Keita raised her hands to the ceiling. “Why? Why do you all question me?”
A long sigh came from the other side. “If I didn’t know you were his sister before…”
“Come! Let us see!”
After several moments, the warlord’s daughter stepped out from behind the screen, and Keita clapped her hands together. She did have an eye, didn’t she?
And when she heard her brother’s sharp intake of breath, she knew she wasn’t the only one who thought so.
True, it didn’t make Dagmar Reinholdt any less plain of face, but it brought out her eyes and her eyes were stunning.
Keita moved closer to Dagmar, pulling the skirt of the gown out for the full effect. “You look almost perfect,” Keita told her.
“Almost?” Gwenvael repeated in disbelief.
Keita stood behind Dagmar again and removed her head scarf. She grabbed a brush from the dressing table and swiped it through the Northlander’s hair until it fairly glowed, the locks reaching to her small waist. “Now she looks perfect.”
Keita pushed her in front of the mirror again. “I know the bodice is a bit low cut,” she said, quickly placing small flowers she’d brought with her into Dagmar’s hair before the Northlander could tell her to stop, “but I know my brother’s taste. Figured I’d throw the lusty bastard a bone.”