Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(109)

“That’s nice.”

“Real nice.”

Shrugging, Ragnar tried his. As it burned its way to his stomach, he thought the evil wench really had poisoned him!

Ragnar bent over and coughed, unable to hide the pain he was suffering.

“Don’t mind him,” Vigholf said, slapping Ragnar on the back.

Something that did not help his current situation. “He’s always been kind of weak with his drink.”

“I see that. Well, no worries.” Keita took the mug from Ragnar and, while he watched through the tears in his eyes, drank all that brewed acid in one hearty gulp. When she was done, she slammed the mug on the table behind them and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Ahhh. My father’s brew has only gotten better over the years.”

“Oy! Your royal majesty!” one of her brothers yelled from the floor.

“You coming out here or what?”

“My kin call,” she said with a laugh. “But I hope you three will stay and enjoy yourselves.”

She smiled again before turning on her heel and moving out into the dancing crowd.

Ragnar quickly picked up the mug she’d put down, and all three of them looked inside. “She downed every drop of this bile.” Together they all looked up and watched her dance by with her silver-haired brother, Briec. She moved as if she hadn’t had anything to drink, as steady as she ever was, making him wonder exactly how much she’d drunk that night with her cousins and aunts.

Then Meinhard said what they were all thinking….

“She’s absolutely perfect.”

Fearghus grabbed his daughter and turned away before the girl’s mother could get her hands around her throat.

“You little viper!”

“Annwyl—”

“Shut up!” She wiped the blood from her face. “Look what she did.”

“I’m sure it was an accident.” He was lying, of course. He’d seen his daughter grab hold of that eating dagger before he could and throw it with a skill he’d taken decades to master. Barely two years old and her skills rivaled his, her mother’s, even Bercelak’s. The worst part was, he knew that Talwyn threw that dagger not out of rage, but curiosity. Hitting her target was her only concern. Although her skills in doing damage were far in advance of her age, her understanding that throwing knives, swords, plates, cups, chairs had consequences was still far from being grasped by her.

“Don’t be hard on her,” he told his mate.

“We need a nanny.” Annwyl took the cloth one of the servants handed her and pressed it to her latest wound.

“We’re working on that.”

“Work faster.”

Fearghus held his daughter up to her mother. “Say you’re sorry, Talwyn.”

“What are you doing?” Annwyl asked him. “You know she can’t say it.”

“Can’t and won’t are two different things. She talks to her brother more than enough.”

“Whispering plots is not talking. It’s whispering plots.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’re too hard on— ow! You treacherous little demon child! ”

Before Ragnar could kick the beast gnawing at his foot, Annwyl swept the little demon up in her arms and held him against her chest. “Don’t you dare, you mad bastard!”

“He started it!”

“What’s wrong with you? He’s your son.”

“He’s your son, wench.” He pulled his daughter to him. “She’s mine.”

“You can have her.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“That’s enough.” Rhiannon moved in and took her grandson from Annwyl while Bercelak took Talwyn from Fearghus. “You two dance or something before the Northlanders get to see the future heir to my throne having a sword fight with his own mate.”

“When did you two get here?” Fearghus asked.

“Can’t we come and visit our kin and our beautiful grandchildren?” She smiled at the demon child, who sneered at Fearghus.

“Little bastard,” he muttered, earning a slap to the back of his head from his father. “Must you do that?”

“Don’t be an ass. Go. Dance. Fuck. Do something.” Fearghus grabbed Annwyl’s hand. She kissed her son’s head, scowled at their daughter, and smiled at his mother and then Bercelak. She started to walk to the dance floor when Fearghus yanked her back.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“What was what?”

“You. Smiling. At my father.”

“Would you have preferred I spit at him?”

“As a matter of fact…yes.”

Still holding his hand, she placed her other hand on her hip. “Fearghus the Destroyer, either dance with me or f**k me, but do something. ” Before he could answer, Gwenvael leapt to Annwyl’s side and said,

“If he’s not up for either, I’m sure I can—”

“Fuck off!” they both yelled.

Pouting, Gwenvael walked away. “You two certainly are moody these days.”

Once alone, they both looked at each other and smiled.

“Your sister scared off the last potential nanny,” Talaith complained as she dropped onto Briec’s lap uninvited.