“Celyn?” Izzy asked, gazing at Éibhear’s cousin as if the dragon had somehow magically appeared. “What are you doing here?” Celyn stopped in the middle of the courtyard, gave a “why do you think?” shrug that had Éibhear’s back teeth grinding a bit. He wasn’t still trying to seduce little Izzy, was he? He had to know that was wrong and that Briec would kill him. He couldn’t be that stupid, could he?
“I came here to check on you, didn’t I?” Yeah. That’s right. Celyn could be that stupid.
Izzy placed the puppy down on the step and stood. She kept standing, too, the human female having grown at least three or four inches since Éibhear had last seen her. That didn’t seem normal for a human female, but Izzy was far from normal. Even worse was that her height wasn’t the only thing that had continued to grow on little Izzy. She’d filled out—a fact that made Éibhear hate her just a little because no one who called herself a warrior should have those kinds of curves.
Izzy charged over to Celyn and launched herself at the idiot. Even more offensive was how her legs went around Celyn’s waist and her arms around his shoulders while Celyn used Izzy’s innocent and playful show of affection as an opportunity to put his hands all over her ass.
What in all the hells was Izzy doing anyway? Without even realizing it, she was giving Éibhear’s lecherous cousin all the wrong signals. And, as usual, Izzy was completely oblivious!
“Oh,” Celyn said to Éibhear as if he’d just spotted him. “Hello, cousin.”
“Celyn.”
Celyn’s grip must have tightened on Izzy’s ass because she squealed and slapped at his hands. “Stop that!” She jumped down and laughed, punching Celyn in the shoulder.
“Ow.”
“Did you come alone?” she asked.
“Fal came with me. He’s around somewhere.” He tapped the tip of her nose with his forefinger. “But I came looking for you. You all right?”
“Did you know? About the baby?”
“You know I would have told you if I had. I would have risked my mother’s wrath for you, my sweet Iseabail.”
Izzy rolled her eyes, not believing the lying bastard any more than Éibhear did. “Somehow I doubt that.”
“True enough, but would you have blamed me?”
“Not really. But I am glad you came.”
“Me too.”
Éibhear knew he couldn’t stand any more—not without throwing up first—so he gave a little wave. “I’m off,” he said.
“I thought we’d track down Brannie and go get something to eat together,” Izzy offered.
“Not right now. I have to be somewhere.”
“That’s too bad,” Celyn said. And, yeah, he looked completely destroyed by that.
But Éibhear wasn’t going to get into it here, now, with his cousin. He didn’t have to. He’d simply talk to Izzy tonight. She was still an innocent, that one, and she didn’t understand that she was getting in way over her head with his idiot cousin. But Éibhear would put a stop to that. Because he should. He was still her uncle, wasn’t he? Not by blood, of course, but he was her uncle. And because they weren’t raised together as uncle and niece, it would be easier for him to explain to her the way of things when it came to dragons like Celyn.
Until then, he’d get a few books, some food, and something from the local healer for this bloody headache that had tragically returned.
Ragnar had no idea where she was going, but he knew he had to follow. It was too frightening to think of the trouble she’d get into without him. And he could no longer escape the fact that he found Keita more entertaining than anyone else he’d known.
She was stalking after some human female, following from a distance.
Any time the human stopped and looked to see if she was being followed, Keita blended into the shadows of a building or into the crowd. After a while, Ragnar had to admit that she was very good at what she did, each day moving farther and farther away from the image he’d originally had of her as a dim-witted royal.
She abruptly stopped and held up her hand to halt him.
“What are we doing?” he finally had the chance to ask.
“She’s the slit that killed Bampour,” Keita replied in a whisper. “Now she’s here. It can’t be a coincidence.” She carefully looked around the corner of a building and gasped, glancing back at Ragnar.
“What?” he asked. “What is it?”
“I don’t believe him!”
“Who?”
Rather than answering as any logical dragon would do, she shot off, forcing Ragnar to follow her since he had no idea what she was up to. She slid to a stop in front of what appeared to be an old warehouse. She held the door with one hand, waited a few seconds, then snatched it open.
“Whore!” she accused, which Ragnar thought a little harsh since Keita didn’t actually know this woman. But when he stepped into the warehouse, he saw who the woman was standing with and knew that Keita was right.
Definitely a whore.
The Ruiner grabbed hold of the barmaid, dragging her in front of him to use as a shield.
“Protect me, Dana!” Gwenvael begged, and Ragnar could only hope he was joking. “Before this merchant of evil and her dim-witted henchman destroy us both!”
Ragnar went ahead and assumed that he was the dim-witted henchman.
“You whore,” Keita said again. “What about your mate? What will she say when she finds out?”
“You can’t tell her!” Gwenvael wailed. “She’ll kill us all! ”
“How can I not tell her the truth?” Keita argued. “How can I betray womankind everywhere?”
The woman pointed at Keita. “She’s the one who threw me out the window.”
Gwenvael stared down at his sister, his wailing and crying stopping instantly. Both brother and sister were performers, but Keita was much better at it. “You threw her out a window?” Gwenvael asked.
“I was saving the ungrateful goat’s life. Remind me next time not to bother. Honestly, if I’d known she was just one of your whores…” She certainly did toss that word around.
The woman stepped closer to Keita. “I am no whore, slag. And I knew I should have killed you when I had the chance.”
“Perhaps, but you were too busy wiping that old man’s come off the inside of your thighs to have the time.”
Gwenvael snorted, and both he and his sister burst out laughing.
“Ignore us, Dana.” Gwenvael, wiping tears from his eyes with one hand, gave the confused human a coin pouch with the other. “As promised.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Eyeing Keita coldly, clearly seeing her as the bigger danger, the woman backed away until she got to a side door and slipped outside.
“I’m doubting she’ll be back,” Ragnar said.
“She works for me, and I pay her well,” another voice said from the shadows. “She’ll be back.”
Dagmar Reinholdt’s dog, Canute, stepped into the light, and Keita backed into Ragnar. “Good gods! The dog speaks.” Ragnar only had a moment to cross his eyes before Dagmar stepped in behind her dog. Keita let out a breath. “Thank the gods that was you, sister. What a relief. Can you think of anything stranger than a dog being able to speak?” Dagmar’s eyes studied the three dragons in human form standing before her and, eventually, shook her head. “No, Princess Keita. I can’t think of anything remotely stranger than that.” Keita grinned. “There’s that sarcasm again.”
“Me? Sarcastic? Never.” And the words couldn’t have been spoken with a flatter inflection if the woman had been dead. With her pale hands clasped together and resting against the skirt of her gown, the warlord’s daughter appeared almost…virginal. A young spinster who’d joined one of those nunneries. But for her eyes. For Keita, those cold, missed-nothing eyes were the giveaway.
Which added up to one thing for Keita the Viper—she was truly beginning to enjoy her brother’s choice of mate! Dagmar Reinholdt was so blatantly ruthless and mean, so direct with it that once Keita bothered to look past all that grey…Honestly, how could she not adore the human female?
“Why are you here, princess?” Dagmar asked.
“I live here,” Keita explained. “These are the lands of my people.”
“Is that the game we’re going to play?”
“I do love games.”
“Keita,” her brother chastised.
“Oh, fine. I recognized the girl and wanted to see who she was working for. Imagine my surprise to find out it was you two….” She let her grin grow wider, her gaze bouncing back and forth between the warlord’s daughter and Gwenvael. “I had no idea you two enjoyed those kinds of games. Very nice choice, brother.”
“Isn’t Dagmar wild? You should see her when she’s training her dogs!”
“Stop it. Both of you.”
Keita placed her hand on Dagmar’s arm. “There’s no shame in hiring a whore to satisfy your needs, Lady Dagmar. I’d do the same if I couldn’t decide which I preferred more, a c*ck or a puss—”
“You and I both know Dana is no whore.”
“Perhaps murderess is more apt a title?”
“What does that make you then?” Ragnar asked Keita.
“Loyal to my people. Now shut up.”
“Was it your loyalty that led you to Lord Bampour’s room that morning?” Dagmar asked.
“I was merely concerned for poor Lord Bampour’s health. He wasn’t well at all at our dinner.”
Dagmar’s lips twitched into what could almost be called a smile.
“She’s a much better liar than you, Defiler.” Gasping in practiced horror, Keita pressed her hands against her chest.
“Are you suggesting I’m lying, Lady Dagmar?”
“I’m suggesting you wouldn’t bother using truth if it promised to erect a temple in your honor.”
Keita held up one finger, waved it. “I beg to differ on that.” She shrugged at Ragnar. “I’ve always wanted a temple.”
“Where males from all across the land could come and worship you!” Gwenvael cheered.
“Yes! And they’d have to bring me gifts because I would be a god.” She sighed. “I love gifts.”
Dagmar gazed over Keita’s shoulder at Ragnar. “Have you been putting up with this for the last few days?”
“Yes.” He frowned. “I’ve been enjoying it, too…. That’s not a good thing, is it?”
“Don’t worry,” Dagmar told him. “It only hurts a little in the beginning.”
Ren of the Chosen Dynasty stepped into the Dragon Queen’s chamber. She smiled at him, showing many rows of fangs, and gestured him over with a wave of her claw.
“Hello, my friend.”
He rose up on his hind legs, then dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “My queen.”