Last Dragon Standing
Page 143
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“Help me destroy those who would betray me and my kin?” Keita stepped away from him. “You’d willingly put me into danger?
Willingly risk my life to further your own gains?” He shrugged, unable to lie to her. “If it got me what I wanted.”
“Gods,” Keita said on a shaky breath, moving back into his arms and hugging him tight. “It’s like you want me to f**k you right here.” Ragnar held her close. “Well, if you really want your brothers to beat me within an inch of my life… that would be the way.”
Epilogue
It seemed that all of Dark Plains was silent this early morning, the suns barely awake themselves as the Blood Queen came out on the steps, dressed in full battle gear. Her mate, already shifted to dragon and in his battle armor, waited for her with his kin. Their last night together had been far too short, but, by the gods, it had been memorable. And would hopefully help them both get through the time they’d be separated from one another.
She stopped and looked back at her offspring. She crouched down and held her arms open. Her children tore away from their nanny and charged over to their mother, wrapping their arms around her, hugging her tight. She kissed them both and picked them up, handing them back to their keeper.
She leaned in and whispered, “Even a hint of trouble, Ebba—”
“And I’ll take all the children and be gone, my Queen. Have no worries.”
The Blood Queen stepped back and looked at those she called her sisters. The assassin witch, the scheming warlord. They’d all had their sobbing good-byes nearly an hour ago, in private. They’d have no more here for an audience.
The queen winked at her toddler niece, the little girl waving good-bye to her.
Turning, she went down the steps and met her mate. The Dragon Prince of Dark Plains pressed his head carefully against her, the pair long ago beyond words. She kissed his snout, and walked away from him to her waiting horse. Her eldest niece, now her squire, held out her helm. The queen put it on, tossing off her shoulder the long mane of purple hair that came from the crown of her helm, winking at the Northlander all that hair had once belonged to. He smiled in return and briefly bowed his head in respect. She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted her horse.
Once settled, she took one last glance around. General Brastias would ride to her left, his second in command, Danelin, to her right. Dragon Princess Morfyd had again taken up her role as Battle Mage to Queen Annwyl and waited patiently to leave with the human troops. Her brothers, along with their youngest sister and the three Horde dragons who’d accompanied Princess Keita’s return into the Southlands, would be traveling into the north to face their enemies near the Ice Land borders.
Manning the inside and outside of the Garbhán Isle gates and the sides of the Great Hall steps were the Kyvich warrior witches. Their leader bowed her head to the queen, the black tribal tattoos on her face unable to make her look as frighteningly fierce as that one female truly was.
The Blood Queen felt confident that she could do no more to ensure her children’s safety while she was gone—except win this war. Losing had never been an option for her during any battle, but there was even more truth to that now. She’d feel no regret, no guilt, no sorrow for what she’d have to do to win.
And Annwyl the Bloody, Queen of Dark Plains, knew that when this was all over, when the last shield had been cleaved, the last commander eviscerated, the last body burned, either her head would be on a spike in the ruling Quintilian Provinces—or the Blood Queen would have truly earned her name and her reputation.
Willingly risk my life to further your own gains?” He shrugged, unable to lie to her. “If it got me what I wanted.”
“Gods,” Keita said on a shaky breath, moving back into his arms and hugging him tight. “It’s like you want me to f**k you right here.” Ragnar held her close. “Well, if you really want your brothers to beat me within an inch of my life… that would be the way.”
Epilogue
It seemed that all of Dark Plains was silent this early morning, the suns barely awake themselves as the Blood Queen came out on the steps, dressed in full battle gear. Her mate, already shifted to dragon and in his battle armor, waited for her with his kin. Their last night together had been far too short, but, by the gods, it had been memorable. And would hopefully help them both get through the time they’d be separated from one another.
She stopped and looked back at her offspring. She crouched down and held her arms open. Her children tore away from their nanny and charged over to their mother, wrapping their arms around her, hugging her tight. She kissed them both and picked them up, handing them back to their keeper.
She leaned in and whispered, “Even a hint of trouble, Ebba—”
“And I’ll take all the children and be gone, my Queen. Have no worries.”
The Blood Queen stepped back and looked at those she called her sisters. The assassin witch, the scheming warlord. They’d all had their sobbing good-byes nearly an hour ago, in private. They’d have no more here for an audience.
The queen winked at her toddler niece, the little girl waving good-bye to her.
Turning, she went down the steps and met her mate. The Dragon Prince of Dark Plains pressed his head carefully against her, the pair long ago beyond words. She kissed his snout, and walked away from him to her waiting horse. Her eldest niece, now her squire, held out her helm. The queen put it on, tossing off her shoulder the long mane of purple hair that came from the crown of her helm, winking at the Northlander all that hair had once belonged to. He smiled in return and briefly bowed his head in respect. She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted her horse.
Once settled, she took one last glance around. General Brastias would ride to her left, his second in command, Danelin, to her right. Dragon Princess Morfyd had again taken up her role as Battle Mage to Queen Annwyl and waited patiently to leave with the human troops. Her brothers, along with their youngest sister and the three Horde dragons who’d accompanied Princess Keita’s return into the Southlands, would be traveling into the north to face their enemies near the Ice Land borders.
Manning the inside and outside of the Garbhán Isle gates and the sides of the Great Hall steps were the Kyvich warrior witches. Their leader bowed her head to the queen, the black tribal tattoos on her face unable to make her look as frighteningly fierce as that one female truly was.
The Blood Queen felt confident that she could do no more to ensure her children’s safety while she was gone—except win this war. Losing had never been an option for her during any battle, but there was even more truth to that now. She’d feel no regret, no guilt, no sorrow for what she’d have to do to win.
And Annwyl the Bloody, Queen of Dark Plains, knew that when this was all over, when the last shield had been cleaved, the last commander eviscerated, the last body burned, either her head would be on a spike in the ruling Quintilian Provinces—or the Blood Queen would have truly earned her name and her reputation.
