Last Dragon Standing (Dragon Kin #4)(79)

A long sigh came from the other side. “If I didn’t know you were his sister before…”

“Come! Let us see!”

After several moments, the warlord’s daughter stepped out from behind the screen, and Keita clapped her hands together. She did have an eye, didn’t she?

And when she heard her brother’s sharp intake of breath, she knew she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

True, it didn’t make Dagmar Reinholdt any less plain of face, but it brought out her eyes and her eyes were stunning.

Keita moved closer to Dagmar, pulling the skirt of the gown out for the full effect. “You look almost perfect,” Keita told her.

“Almost?” Gwenvael repeated in disbelief.

Keita stood behind Dagmar again and removed her head scarf. She grabbed a brush from the dressing table and swiped it through the Northlander’s hair until it fairly glowed, the locks reaching to her small waist. “Now she looks perfect.”

Keita pushed her in front of the mirror again. “I know the bodice is a bit low cut,” she said, quickly placing small flowers she’d brought with her into Dagmar’s hair before the Northlander could tell her to stop, “but I know my brother’s taste. Figured I’d throw the lusty bastard a bone.”

“It is a lovely gown, Keita,” Dagmar said. “Thank you.”

“Of course. An average grey gown for the day-to-day is absolutely fine, sister, but you don’t want anyone at important royal dinners thinking you’re a servant as well.” She winked at Dagmar in the mirror and received what suspiciously appeared to be a smile in return.

Keita turned Dagmar to face her again and removed the spectacles from her face. “Can you see without these? ” Keita yelled.

“No,” the warlord’s daughter snapped, her smile vanishing as she snatched the spectacles back and put them on again. “Nor am I deaf! Is there something wrong with your family I’ve not been alerted to?” she asked.

And Keita replied with pure honesty, “You’ll have to be much more specific than that, I’m afraid, Lady Dagmar.” Ragnar glared at his brother and cousin. “You’re going to make me go down there alone?”

Meinhard pointed at his leg. “Still healing.”

“Shut up.” Ragnar looked at Vigholf. “And you, brother? What’s your excuse?”

“I’ve been disfigured!” he yelled, pointing at his hair. “What more do you need?”

“For you to stop being such a girl,” Ragnar muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Resigned to sitting through an entire meal with self-important Fire Breathers, Ragnar walked out of the room—making sure to slam the door behind him—and headed down the stairs.

They’d placed him and his kin on the third floor, far away from the family rooms, which was fine with him. He made it to the second floor and walked down the hallway to reach the next set of stairs. A door opened, and Ragnar stopped, allowing the occupants to go by him.

Gwenvael walked out, the smile on his face fading when he saw Ragnar. “Oh. You’re attending dinner?”

“I thought about allowing myself to starve to death,” Ragnar replied,

“but decided against it.”

“Lord Ragnar.” Keita slipped past her brother and latched on to Ragnar’s arm. “As always you have perfect timing. Show him,” she said.

But when there was no reply, she released Ragnar and stalked back around her brother, and into the room. Two seconds later a flustered and embarrassed Dagmar Reinholdt stumbled into the hallway. Ragnar could only assume she’d been pushed.

“Does she not look lovely?” Keita prompted after taking his arm again.

Surprised at The Beast’s new look—and knowing exactly how uncomfortable she was with it from her expression—Ragnar replied,

“Lovely.” He took Dagmar’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Very lovely.” Dagmar gave a small laugh. “Why, thank you, my lord.” Gwenvael yanked his mate’s arm back. “I swear by all the gods, I’m going to tear that Lightning’s arm off and beat him to death with it.”

“Don’t be surly, Gwenvael,” Keita chided her brother, and they began to head toward the stairs. “You don’t look very handsome surly.”

“I always look handsome,” her brother argued.

“Isn’t my brother adorable?” Keita asked Ragnar.

“No. Not even a little.” Ragnar glanced down at where Keita’s hands clutched his upper arm. “So has the game begun?” he murmured, so only she could hear.

“And I thought you knew, my lord.” She smiled. “The game is always being played.”

It was a quiet dinner tonight. The Cadwaladr Clan had remained at the lake since the rest of the kin were beginning to show up. Keita didn’t mind.

It was easier to get caught up with her brothers without the distractions of her aunts, uncles, and cousins. She even had the chance to spend time with Fearghus’s twins. Talwyn was proving herself to be her mother’s child by challenging anyone and everyone with her training sword— who gave her that bloody thing anyway? —and Talan crawled into Keita’s lap after he finished eating, buried his face against her bodice-covered br**sts, and dropped right off to sleep.