Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(20)

So his next option wasn’t perfect but better than nothing. He’d offer to argue her case before Rhiannon and the Southland Elders. He knew a bit of Fire Breather law, and with a good friend’s help—at least he hoped they were still friends—Ragnar felt certain he could build a solid case that would protect Esyld.

Yes, it seemed the most fair and logical thing to do, and all he needed was for Esyld not to worry. Not easy, he was sure, but he would do everything he could to keep her safe. Because if Rhiannon really did want her sister dead, she would have sent her mate’s kin to retrieve Esyld rather than him.

Confident in his decision, Ragnar tromped on.

Near the clearing that led to Esyld’s house, Ragnar stopped. He had been walking for little more than ten minutes, but still…

Turning his head, Ragnar looked over his shoulder. She sat in the middle of his back on her rump, her tail and wings hanging over one side, her crossed back legs over the other. She used a metal file to sharpen her talons—and she hummed.

How long has she been back there?

Ragnar had always prided himself on the sharpness of his senses.

Hearing a rabbit’s twitching nose a mile away, spotting a hawk twenty miles above, or scenting fresh cattle a hundred miles off. But how could he not know that a spoiled royal was using him like a beast of burden? How could he not hear that gods-damn humming?

He geared up to shake her off, but she asked, “Where are we going?”

“I have some business to take care of.”

“Business? Out here? By yourself?” She lifted her claw and blew on her talons.

“I was coming right back.”

“Yes, but you might be in danger. I could help.” Right. Of course you could. “It would be better if you return to my brothers.”

She slid off his back, her tail taking an enormously long time to slide up and over him as she walked around.

“Lord Ragnar, may I ask you a question?”

“If you’d like.”

“Do you not like me?”

Unsure where this might be going, Ragnar simply stated, “I thought our relationship was decided two years ago, princess.”

“But that was such a long time ago. There’s no reason for us not to be friends now.”

“Friends? You and I?”

She stroked her claw along his shoulder, down his chest, her talons scraping against the scar her tail had left. Part of Ragnar wanted to break every talon she had out of pure spite. Yet another, weaker, part of him wanted to close his eyes and moan.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, her talons now concentrating on that scar. “That I’m too good for you. And, of course among some circles, you’d be absolutely right. But I’m a very progressive royal and I don’t let little things like unimpressive bloodlines and barbaric tendencies stop me from having the friends I want.”

“That’s very big of you.”

“I’ve always thought so.” She pressed her claw to his chest, the damn scar under it angrily throbbing to life. “I’ve always thought it’s more important to have friends you can trust,” she murmured, “than friends who are merely your equal in every other way that matters.” No. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t keep talking to this vapid, insipid female. No matter how much his body longed for her—and gods, was his c**k screaming at him right now—it was beyond his capabilities as a dragon and a Northlander to put up with this female. And not only that…what in all holy hells did she think she was doing with her tail?

Ragnar slammed his back claw down on the princess’s tail before it slid any farther where it should not be.

“Ow!” She yanked her tail back and moved away from him.

“Sorry. Was that your tail? I thought it was a snake.” He caught hold of her arm and pulled her around. “Now if you’ll go back to my brothers—”

“Get your claws off me, peasant!”

“—I promise I won’t be long and we can discuss all your progressive views on peasants and royalty to your heart’s content.” He shoved her in the direction of his kin. “Now go, princess, before I’m forced to get—” The crazed princess attached herself to his head and held on, cutting off his next words and making him sigh a little.

“What are you doing?”

“Obviously I’m beating you into submission!”

“Are you not the least bit embarrassed by this display?”

“Not as embarrassed as you’ll be when I’m done with you.” Ragnar caught hold of her wing, pulled the royal off, and tossed her away.

She rolled and squealed, but quickly scrambled to her claws. She crouched in what appeared to be a poorly planned attack.

“Princess Keita, I wouldn’t—”

She charged him and again wrapped herself around his head.

Honestly, he didn’t have time for this. And it especially didn’t help that she smelled rather nice for a female who’d been trapped in a dungeon for who knew how long with human males.

He caught hold of her again, prepared to fling her as far away as necessary, but a voice beside them said, “She’s not there.” Ragnar recognized the voice of the foreigner.

Keita’s head came up. “What do you mean she’s not there?”