Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(108)

“Are they having an execution?” Vigholf asked, watching as the Southlanders began to move tables out of the way to open up the floor.

“They don’t do that sort of thing during dinner,” Meinhard stated, then added, “The humans don’t, anyway.”

“But we’ve already finished eating.” Vigholf kept his hand on his sword. “Maybe we should leave?”

Ragnar had kept it from them as long as he could, but now he had no choice but to speak the truth. “We can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re invited. It would look poorly if we leave.”

“Invited? For what?”

Ragnar took a breath to explain it all to his kin, but the musicians began to play and the Ruiner slid to a stop on his knees, facing the front of the hall. He was such an odd dragon. “Sister!” he called out.

“Brother!” Keita, looking dazzling in a light blue gown, her dark red hair threaded with light blue flowers, ran barefoot up to her brother.

“Dance with me,” he ordered. “My mate refuses.” Keita gasped. “Is she mad? Does she know who she turns down?” She placed her hand into her brother’s. “When will she ever get a chance to dance with someone as beautiful and amazing as you?”

“That’s what I keep telling her!” Gwenvael got to his feet and spun his sister out into the middle of the floor. “But she never listens.”

“You bastard!” Vigholf growled at Ragnar through clenched teeth.

“I’m leaving,” Meinhard said.

“Neither of you are going anywhere.” To be honest, he didn’t want to be left alone. “If I’m sticking it out, you are as well.”

“We don’t have to.” Vigholf glared at him. “We’re not the ones f**king a royal.”

His brother and cousin had heard the rumors started by Keita. If they’d brought it up to him earlier in the day, he would have told them honestly—knowing they could be trusted—that it was all a lie. He couldn’t really say that now, though, could he?

“You still follow my command, brother. And you will stay or I’ll—” The argument ended abruptly as the three males were approached by two females. Two young females. A little too young for them, in fact.

“Lady Iseabail,” Ragnar said.

She smiled. “Just call me Izzy.”

“And I’m just Branwen.”

“Can we help you with something?”

“My cousin and I were wondering if you’d like to dance with—”

“No,” all three Lightnings answered in unison.

“Well, you don’t all have to bark at me.” The Blue walked up to them, scowling down at Izzy. She didn’t even look at him. It seemed Izzy was the only female in Dark Plains who didn’t feel the need to throw herself into the arms of the big bastard.

“We need to talk,” the Blue said.

“Again? Haven’t I been tortured enough this evening?”

“You took what I said wrong, and throwing food at my head during dinner just shows you haven’t matured much at all.”

“Oh, piss off!”

Vigholf choked back a laugh, and Meinhard took a drink of his ale.

“No, I will not piss off. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” she asked before walking off, the Blue following right behind her.

Branwen stood there a moment longer before she shrugged and said,

“I have nothing to say to any of you.” Then she disappeared into the growing crowd on the dance floor.

Vigholf nodded. “I like her honesty.”

Meinhard slammed down his mug. “Their ale tastes like piss.”

“More like watered-down piss.”

“If all you two are going to do is complain—” Ragnar began, but again he was cut off. This time by Keita.

As soon as his brother and cousin saw her, they both stood straighter and smiled at her. “Lady Keita,” they both said. They might not be pissed at Ragnar for having swooped up Keita, but since he hadn’t Claimed her, she was still considered fair game by Northland standards. The cold-hearted bastards.

“My lords. I see that you’re not a fan of the ale.”

“Oh, no, no. It’s fine.” Meinhard picked his mug up again and forced himself to take another sip. “It’s…smooth.”

Keita laughed, bright white teeth flashing, smooth human throat stretching as her head tipped back. Gods, he wanted her so badly, he could barely breathe.

“I do appreciate you forcing that down, Meinhard,” she said. “But don’t worry. I have something that should help.” She raised her arm and snapped her fingers. A servant carrying a tray rushed to her side. “My father’s brew,” she said, handing each of them a mug. “He’s around here somewhere with my mother. Avoid him if you can. This ale is quite popular with his Clan and Dagmar, although my brothers wouldn’t touch it if you held a knife to their throats.”

Ragnar stared into his mug. “Sure it’s not poisoned?” he couldn’t help but tease.

“Only yours,” she whispered back. “Now that I’m nearly done with you.”

While he debated whether she was serious or not, his brother and cousin tried the ale. After a deep sip, they both nodded in approval.