Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(145)

“What’s that look for?” Vigholf asked. “You said to do it.”

“Even gave a suggestion,” Meinhard tossed in.

“I thought you two were joking. Have you both lost your bloody minds?”

“We were trying to be nice,” his brother argued.

“And when that crazed human monarch cuts off the rest of your hair, I don’t want to hear any more—”

“Who did it?” Annwyl demanded from behind him.

Ragnar faced her, “My lady—”

“Who? I want to know whose idea this was”—she held up the training mace, battle ax, warhammer, and shield, perfectly sized for a two-year-old girl with both human and dragon blood—“and I want to know now!” Vigholf and Meinhard raised their hands, and the queen’s eyes filled with tears. “This is so sweet! Thank you. Thank you both!” She hugged them, arms going wide to reach around their chests.

That’s when Ragnar let Annwyl know, “It was I who suggested the shield.”

Keita slid in next to her sister and the duke of something or other and his boring human mate, the duchess of something else or other, and announced, “I’m going to the north to be a Battle Whore!”

“Maid!” Morfyd yelped. “She’s going to be a Battle Maid.” Morfyd forced a smile. “Will you excuse us?”

Morfyd grabbed Keita’s arm and dragged her across the Great Hall.

“Is there something wrong with you?” she said, pushing her away once they arrived on the other side of the room. “Something that’s contagious?”

“Why are you yelling?”

“Battle Whore?”

“Whore. Maid. What’s the difference?”

“You purposely embarrass me!”

“It is a skill, but you make it so easy.”

Lips tight, Morfyd shoved Keita, and Keita shoved her back. There was a pause and then they both threw their drinks down and lunged for the other, but Dagmar stepped between them, her yummy-looking dog right by her side.

“I will not have this again.”

“She started it!” they both accused.

“I don’t want to hear it. This feast is to celebrate the birth and lives of your niece and nephew, and the least you two can do is have a little respect for their mother, who’s had to make the hardest decision any female can make. How hard do you think this night is for her? And you two fighting like cats?”

Realizing the tiny barbarian was right, Keita looked at her sister and said, “Sorry.”

“Aye,” Morfyd replied. “Me too.”

“Thank you.” Dagmar began to walk away but was blocked by the human queen and her new squire’s seething mother.

“Are you trying to get my daughter killed?”

“Yes!” Annwyl said, spinning around to face Talaith. “That’s what I want. To get my niece killed. That’s my whole f**king goal!”

“Mum!” Izzy charged up, her giggling baby sister in her arms, her well-armed twin cousins hanging from around her neck. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this!”

“Stay out of this, Izzy. I’m talking to your betraying whore of an aunt!”

Dagmar glanced back at Keita and Morfyd. “I won’t discuss it,” she said simply. “I just won’t.”

She walked off and a few seconds later, snapped, “Canute!” The dog pressing into Keita’s leg looked up at her with big brown eyes.

“You’d better go,” Keita whispered.

And, sighing, he walked off after his mistress. The arguing sisters-in-law and Izzy had also moved to another spot so they could give all the guests in the Great Hall a clear view of their hysterical yelling.

“I don’t know about you,” Keita said when Briec had to rush over to help Izzy separate her mum and the human queen of all the Southlands from a rousing yelling match and slap fight, “but I’m having a most entertaining night.”

Morfyd signaled to one of the servants for more wine. “Surprisingly, sister, and perhaps for the first time in the history of all dragons—I must agree with you.”

“She’s mine, you know.”

Ragnar let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure The Beast would use that particular term, but all right.”

“I’m just making it clear where we all stand, Liar Monk,” Gwenvael explained. “So you’ll understand why I’ll have to kill you if you try anything.”

“You still haven’t figured out I love your sister?”

“This isn’t about Keita. This is about me.”

“I thought it was about Dagmar.”

“In relation to me.”

Unable to stand any more of this, Ragnar leaned in and whispered into the Ruiner’s ear, “I’ve heard you’re getting your hair cut. All those long, golden tresses falling helplessly to the floor…”

Gwenvael lunged away from him. “Bastard! ” Keita quickly stepped aside—the two mugs of ale she’d been carrying over nearly tragic victims to a Gold’s idiocy—and let her brother pass.

“What was that about?” she asked, handing him one of the mugs.

Ragnar stared into it. “Is this your father’s brew?”