“I’m over that.”
Éibhear released her. “What do you mean you’re over that? How can you be over that?”
“Because I am. Unlike the rest of my kin, I don’t hold grudges. I never have. They’re boring. You know how—”
“Yes!” he cut in. “I know how you hate being bored.”
“Then you don’t have to worry I’m out for vengeance. He never physically harmed me. His brother and cousin were very kind given the situation. So…I’m over it, and want nothing but the best for all involved.”
“Aw, Keita.” Éibhear buried his face into his claws. “You’re trying to bed him, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
His head snapped up, silver eyes glaring. “Keita.”
“It’s for a throne! And what do you care who or what Ren and I wager on?”
“Because I remember well how ugly things can get when you two start this. And I want you both to stop it right now.”
“I take orders from no one, brother, but especially not you. Besides. I really want that throne.” She turned to walk away, but Éibhear placed his back claw on her tail.
“Dammit! Why do you all attack my tail?”
“Because it’s the most dangerous part of you. And I can’t believe you and Ren are wagering on who you can get into bed. Aren’t you too old for 72
that?”
“Not when it involves a throne!”
Snarling, her brother said, “Now listen to me. When the feast ends, I want to go back with Lord Ragnar and the others. Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Go back? To the Northlands? Whatever for?”
“I’m learning a lot. I’ll never be as good as Briec or Fearghus if I stay here.”
“I notice you left Gwenvael off that list.”
“I guess he has his moments. When he’s not whining.” Keita leaned in and whispered, “You’re not becoming like the Northlanders, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want to find a mate and lop her wings off or anything, do you?”
“They don’t do that anymore.” Keita smirked, and her brother said adamantly, “They don’t!”
“As long as you’re not getting any strange ideas. Or, you know, trying to avoid anyone in particular by returning to the Northlands.”
“I’m not avoiding anyone.”
“Uh-huh. Not even cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations?”
“We’re not having this conversation—again.”
“Cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations, but have the most adorable smile known to man or the gods?”
“ Can we just go? ” he bellowed, storming past her.
“No, no, brother. I guess I was wrong. You’re clearly not avoiding anyone.”
Ragnar was waiting to leave, the two suns rising higher as it grew later. He had a talon tapping when the siblings returned. The big blue royal stomping along like a cranky child and his sister running up behind him, yelling, “Just admit it! Just admit how you feel!” The Blue picked up his travel bag. “Let it go, Keita.”
“Just admit it! You’ll feel better.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Make me.” She went up on her back legs and brought her front claws up, curling them into fists. “Let’s go. Right here. Right now. You’re not so big and tough that I can’t still take you.”
Vigholf leaned in and whispered to Ragnar. “She has no idea the truth of that.”
73
Meinhard slammed his back claw into Vigholf.
“Ow!”
With the elegance of a wounded animal, the princess danced around her brother. “Come on. Take your best shot, little brother.”
“I’m not hitting you.”
She ducked; she weaved. And all of it quite badly.
Vigholf sighed. “This is what happens when you let females think they can fight like the males.”
“I hear their human queen is good,” Meinhard remarked.
“She’s not half bad,” the Eastland dragon stated. “Although I have heard she is no friend of the Minotaur.”
Vigholf snorted. “Our Aunt Freida, with her one arm and missing foot, would be good too, with five thousand legions at her
Éibhear released her. “What do you mean you’re over that? How can you be over that?”
“Because I am. Unlike the rest of my kin, I don’t hold grudges. I never have. They’re boring. You know how—”
“Yes!” he cut in. “I know how you hate being bored.”
“Then you don’t have to worry I’m out for vengeance. He never physically harmed me. His brother and cousin were very kind given the situation. So…I’m over it, and want nothing but the best for all involved.”
“Aw, Keita.” Éibhear buried his face into his claws. “You’re trying to bed him, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—”
His head snapped up, silver eyes glaring. “Keita.”
“It’s for a throne! And what do you care who or what Ren and I wager on?”
“Because I remember well how ugly things can get when you two start this. And I want you both to stop it right now.”
“I take orders from no one, brother, but especially not you. Besides. I really want that throne.” She turned to walk away, but Éibhear placed his back claw on her tail.
“Dammit! Why do you all attack my tail?”
“Because it’s the most dangerous part of you. And I can’t believe you and Ren are wagering on who you can get into bed. Aren’t you too old for 72
that?”
“Not when it involves a throne!”
Snarling, her brother said, “Now listen to me. When the feast ends, I want to go back with Lord Ragnar and the others. Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Go back? To the Northlands? Whatever for?”
“I’m learning a lot. I’ll never be as good as Briec or Fearghus if I stay here.”
“I notice you left Gwenvael off that list.”
“I guess he has his moments. When he’s not whining.” Keita leaned in and whispered, “You’re not becoming like the Northlanders, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want to find a mate and lop her wings off or anything, do you?”
“They don’t do that anymore.” Keita smirked, and her brother said adamantly, “They don’t!”
“As long as you’re not getting any strange ideas. Or, you know, trying to avoid anyone in particular by returning to the Northlands.”
“I’m not avoiding anyone.”
“Uh-huh. Not even cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations?”
“We’re not having this conversation—again.”
“Cute, tall nieces who aren’t actually blood relations, but have the most adorable smile known to man or the gods?”
“ Can we just go? ” he bellowed, storming past her.
“No, no, brother. I guess I was wrong. You’re clearly not avoiding anyone.”
Ragnar was waiting to leave, the two suns rising higher as it grew later. He had a talon tapping when the siblings returned. The big blue royal stomping along like a cranky child and his sister running up behind him, yelling, “Just admit it! Just admit how you feel!” The Blue picked up his travel bag. “Let it go, Keita.”
“Just admit it! You’ll feel better.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Make me.” She went up on her back legs and brought her front claws up, curling them into fists. “Let’s go. Right here. Right now. You’re not so big and tough that I can’t still take you.”
Vigholf leaned in and whispered to Ragnar. “She has no idea the truth of that.”
73
Meinhard slammed his back claw into Vigholf.
“Ow!”
With the elegance of a wounded animal, the princess danced around her brother. “Come on. Take your best shot, little brother.”
“I’m not hitting you.”
She ducked; she weaved. And all of it quite badly.
Vigholf sighed. “This is what happens when you let females think they can fight like the males.”
“I hear their human queen is good,” Meinhard remarked.
“She’s not half bad,” the Eastland dragon stated. “Although I have heard she is no friend of the Minotaur.”
Vigholf snorted. “Our Aunt Freida, with her one arm and missing foot, would be good too, with five thousand legions at her
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