How to Drive a Dragon Crazy (Dragon Kin #6)(45)

“Uh-huh. Your type.”

Not sure what she could mean, Izzy tried to guess. “You mean . . . my coloring?” With so few people from the Desert Lands venturing into Dark Plains, Izzy and her mum were often considered “exotic” by some males, based on their skin color alone.

“No. I mean more your . . . build.”

“My build?”

“She probably means those sturdy shoulders,” Éibhear tossed in.

“Why are you speaking when I’m no longer talking to you?” Keita snapped.

“You keep saying that,” he shot back, “but then you keep talking to me.”

“I guess I’m unclear,” Izzy cut in, desperate, “what you want from me.”

“It sounds like she’s trying to whore you out.”

Keita swung on her brother, her small fist hitting him in the chest. And Izzy cringed from the sound of cracking bones and watched Keita grip her hand and stomp her feet. “Damn you, Éibhear!”

“Why are you yelling at me? I’m not the one trying to whore out our niece.”

“I am not trying to whore out anyone! You overbearing bastard!”

“Now you’re calling me names? Where did our love go, Keita?”

“Oh, shut up!”

“I think I’m going to get first meal,” Izzy said.

“You’re not going anywhere, Iseabail. Not until we’re done talking.”

Izzy looked at her aunt. “Trust me, Keita. We’re done.”

Dagmar sat at the table, going over what would be needed for security during the upcoming harvest festival. Bercelak had already promised her several troops’ worth of his Dragonwarriors and all she needed now were the numbers from the human troops. Many more royals would be coming in and she wanted to ensure their protection. It would not do to have any of them assassinated while under the queen’s protection.

“Dagmar.”

“Oh, good. Brastias. Do you have those numbers I asked for?”

Morfyd’s mate and Annwyl’s commander general walked up to her. “I do. I just got them.”

He handed over the parchment and Dagmar quickly examined the numbers of troops that could be spared, her mind immediately organizing.

“This will work well. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Brastias turned away from her but then suddenly faced her again. “And before I forget, I can assume you’re done with those barracks? I’ll need them for the commanders who will be coming in with their troops.”

Dagmar looked up at the commander general. “What barracks?”

“The one you had your nephews in.”

“I’ll need to find out from them when they’re planning to leave before I can say with any certainty—”

“But they’ve already left.”

“What? What do you mean they’ve left?”

“They left last night some time. The gate guards told me.”

Confused, Dagmar slowly got to her feet. “They left without a word? Are you sure they didn’t just go hunting?”

“The guard asked because of Annwyl’s hunting restrictions until after the feast. They said they were going back to the Northlands—and to tell you ‘bye.’”

Talaith, who’d just walked over to the table with a bowl of hot porridge, stared at the pair. “Really? But I saw Frederik earlier. He was with Éibhear. Would they have left their cousin?”

Dagmar closed her eyes, her hands curling into fists, the parchment she still held crumpled into a ball. “Those bastards! They were planning this!”

She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. That she hadn’t seen this coming. That she’d wake up one morning and her nephews would be gone—but Frederik would remain. It was a family practice that the Reinholdts had become well known for. Bringing useless male family members for a little “visit” and then leaving without them. Dagmar knew all the signs. Knew that’s what was coming. But she’d been in the Southlands for so long, dealing with much more rational beings than her own brothers, that she’d ignored all those signs. And now she was stuck with that . . . oh!

“Calm down,” Talaith soothed.

Pressing her balled fists against her eyes—and her sudden headache—Dagmar snarled, “I will not calm down! I should have known they would do this. I should have known! They left that illiterate boy here with me and what the battle-f*ck am I supposed to do with him?”

Brastias cleared his throat and Dagmar dropped her fists, not in the mood to hear any soothing words from him or Talaith. But she found grey eyes much like her own gazing at her from the Great Hall entrance. Frederik standing there with Keita, Izzy, and Éibhear, the entire room now silent, even the servants aghast.

Yet before Dagmar could say a word, Keita folded her arms over her chest, looked up at Éibhear, and smugly said, “You can’t tell me this is not worse than me whoring out Izzy.”

Talaith blinked. “Wait . . . you did what?”

Yawning, Ragnar walked out of the room he shared with Keita and headed toward the Great Hall. As he neared the stairs, he saw Rhianwen sitting at the banister, her long legs poking through the free space between the wood bars and hanging over the side. Her hands were wrapped around the bars and she peeked through to watch something in the Great Hall below.