Last Dragon Standing
Page 52
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Keita’s anger, as always, quickly forgotten. It was a gift none of Rhiannon’s other offspring possessed.
As they moved around the suddenly tense Dragonlord, the pair grinned at each other as if they shared a delicious secret. Her daughter truly liked this one; Rhiannon could tell. “When he gets really frustrated,” Keita explained, “he says horrible things. But he apologizes and takes a punch to the face from a protective brother like a true dragon should.”
“That’s very nice to hear. Nothing is worse than those who will not apologize. Of course, I never apologize, but I don’t have to. I’m the queen!” Ragnar was dragon enough to admit he was unnerved by the two She-dragons circling him like a wounded bear.
“What else have you noticed about him?” the queen asked her daughter.
“He broods sometimes. But not enough to make him painfully boring.
He’s very loyal to his brother and cousin. And he’s more powerful than he’s willing to admit.”
“So he’s not a show-off then?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
“Or like his father?”
“Ewww. Gods, no.”
“More like your mother then?” the queen asked him, her spike-tipped tail brushing his shoulder. “She raised you better perhaps. I knew she would.”
Ragnar studied the queen. “You knew my mother?”
“I knew her quite well. Her disappearance from her kin’s cave was what began the war between our people during my mother’s reign.”
“I’d heard that.”
“So you’re a Southlander as much as a Northlander.” Ragnar couldn’t help but smirk. “We’re not raised that way. No matter where your mother may come from, you are your father’s child—a Northlander.”
“With all those codes and rules and dying with honor?”
“And purple scales and lightning. It’s all part of the package.” Rhiannon smiled at him. She was large for a dragoness. Nearly his height and width. Her daughter, much smaller, stood by her mother’s side now, appearing tiny in comparison, her dark-red scales bright beside her mother’s white ones.
“Tell me, Keita…can this Northlander be trusted?” To Ragnar’s surprise, Keita answered without hesitation, “Aye. He can.”
Unable not to ask the question, he put in, “How can you say that about me?”
“Because I know, and be grateful I do, warlord. It’s the only reason you’re still alive.” Keita abruptly turned to her mother. “How long have you known?”
The queen placed a talon to her lips to silence her daughter and said softly to Ragnar, “Seal the room.”
Ragnar had no idea what was going on between the royals, but he did as the queen bade. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Gods, child. The Dragonlord is powerful.”
“Told you.”
“Aye, daughter, but I thought you were talking about these mighty shoulders of his.” Rhiannon returned to her throne. “How much time, my dark cloud?”
“Ten minutes. But less if you insist on using all those nicknames.”
“I love your nicknames, my swirling tornado.” She sat down on her throne, gazed at her daughter. “What was your question again?”
“How long have you known?” Keita repeated.
“About you?” The queen let out a little laugh. “That’s simple, child—I’ve known since you killed my brother.”
The thought of running crossed Keita’s mind, but she’d never give her mother the satisfaction.
“Which brother?”
“Let’s not play games, child. At least two of them!” Rhiannon’s laugh rang out, and she clapped her front claws together. “Don’t let her beauty and seemingly intense lack of brains confuse you, Lord Ragnar. My second-born daughter is nothing like what she seems.”
“What I did, Mumsy”—and she loved how her mother’s eye twitched when she called her that—“I did to—”
“Yes. I know. You did it to protect the throne. And what I’m about to ask you to do is so that you may continue protecting the throne.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“Someone will approach you, daughter, with an offer. You are to accept it.”
“What kind of offer?”
Rhiannon grinned. “To be the next Dragon Queen.”
“Oh.” Keita glanced at Ragnar, her brown eyes crossing. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Oh, no, no. There are lots who want to see me as queen. I hear it all the time. Of course, that’s usually from drunk males trying to look up my tail.”
“Keita, you’ve managed to hide the truth about yourself very well.
Most of the human nobles don’t know you’re a dragon or of your connections to Annwyl. And the dragons think you’d love to see me dead.”
“Well—” Keita began, but Ragnar’s tail slammed into her ass, cutting her off. “What I mean is,” she quickly corrected while glaring at him, “the dragons think I’m vapid and stupid and vain. So who in their right mind would think to make me queen?”
Ragnar answered instead of Rhiannon. “Someone who wants complete control of the throne and the Southland dragons.” Rhiannon raised a claw to him. “See how smart he is? Smart and handsome and—”
As they moved around the suddenly tense Dragonlord, the pair grinned at each other as if they shared a delicious secret. Her daughter truly liked this one; Rhiannon could tell. “When he gets really frustrated,” Keita explained, “he says horrible things. But he apologizes and takes a punch to the face from a protective brother like a true dragon should.”
“That’s very nice to hear. Nothing is worse than those who will not apologize. Of course, I never apologize, but I don’t have to. I’m the queen!” Ragnar was dragon enough to admit he was unnerved by the two She-dragons circling him like a wounded bear.
“What else have you noticed about him?” the queen asked her daughter.
“He broods sometimes. But not enough to make him painfully boring.
He’s very loyal to his brother and cousin. And he’s more powerful than he’s willing to admit.”
“So he’s not a show-off then?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
“Or like his father?”
“Ewww. Gods, no.”
“More like your mother then?” the queen asked him, her spike-tipped tail brushing his shoulder. “She raised you better perhaps. I knew she would.”
Ragnar studied the queen. “You knew my mother?”
“I knew her quite well. Her disappearance from her kin’s cave was what began the war between our people during my mother’s reign.”
“I’d heard that.”
“So you’re a Southlander as much as a Northlander.” Ragnar couldn’t help but smirk. “We’re not raised that way. No matter where your mother may come from, you are your father’s child—a Northlander.”
“With all those codes and rules and dying with honor?”
“And purple scales and lightning. It’s all part of the package.” Rhiannon smiled at him. She was large for a dragoness. Nearly his height and width. Her daughter, much smaller, stood by her mother’s side now, appearing tiny in comparison, her dark-red scales bright beside her mother’s white ones.
“Tell me, Keita…can this Northlander be trusted?” To Ragnar’s surprise, Keita answered without hesitation, “Aye. He can.”
Unable not to ask the question, he put in, “How can you say that about me?”
“Because I know, and be grateful I do, warlord. It’s the only reason you’re still alive.” Keita abruptly turned to her mother. “How long have you known?”
The queen placed a talon to her lips to silence her daughter and said softly to Ragnar, “Seal the room.”
Ragnar had no idea what was going on between the royals, but he did as the queen bade. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Gods, child. The Dragonlord is powerful.”
“Told you.”
“Aye, daughter, but I thought you were talking about these mighty shoulders of his.” Rhiannon returned to her throne. “How much time, my dark cloud?”
“Ten minutes. But less if you insist on using all those nicknames.”
“I love your nicknames, my swirling tornado.” She sat down on her throne, gazed at her daughter. “What was your question again?”
“How long have you known?” Keita repeated.
“About you?” The queen let out a little laugh. “That’s simple, child—I’ve known since you killed my brother.”
The thought of running crossed Keita’s mind, but she’d never give her mother the satisfaction.
“Which brother?”
“Let’s not play games, child. At least two of them!” Rhiannon’s laugh rang out, and she clapped her front claws together. “Don’t let her beauty and seemingly intense lack of brains confuse you, Lord Ragnar. My second-born daughter is nothing like what she seems.”
“What I did, Mumsy”—and she loved how her mother’s eye twitched when she called her that—“I did to—”
“Yes. I know. You did it to protect the throne. And what I’m about to ask you to do is so that you may continue protecting the throne.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“Someone will approach you, daughter, with an offer. You are to accept it.”
“What kind of offer?”
Rhiannon grinned. “To be the next Dragon Queen.”
“Oh.” Keita glanced at Ragnar, her brown eyes crossing. “Right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Oh, no, no. There are lots who want to see me as queen. I hear it all the time. Of course, that’s usually from drunk males trying to look up my tail.”
“Keita, you’ve managed to hide the truth about yourself very well.
Most of the human nobles don’t know you’re a dragon or of your connections to Annwyl. And the dragons think you’d love to see me dead.”
“Well—” Keita began, but Ragnar’s tail slammed into her ass, cutting her off. “What I mean is,” she quickly corrected while glaring at him, “the dragons think I’m vapid and stupid and vain. So who in their right mind would think to make me queen?”
Ragnar answered instead of Rhiannon. “Someone who wants complete control of the throne and the Southland dragons.” Rhiannon raised a claw to him. “See how smart he is? Smart and handsome and—”
