Last Dragon Standing
Page 61

Before he could announce himself, the female who sat at the desk with her back to the door said without turning around or pausing in her writing said, “You, dragon, promised me four solid hours of work time this afternoon. So you can take that randy c**k of yours and sheathe it until I’m done.”
Shocked more than he could possibly admit, Ragnar finally managed,
“It’s actually quite sheathed, my good lady.” Entire body tense, she slowly looked over her shoulder in Ragnar’s direction. Then, after a moment, she squinted in an attempt to see him better.
“Your spectacles,” he reminded her.
Her cheeks turning a charming crimson, she reached desperately for the spectacles resting on the desk beside her arm. She put them on and again looked at him over her shoulder. Her sight now clear, they stared at each across the small room.
“Uh…Lord Ragnar?”
“Lady Dagmar.”
“Uh…”
“Hhhm…”
“You—”
He pointed at the door. “I should have—”
“No. No. Not necessary. I just…didn’t…uh…”
“This is our first time, eh?” he finally said and, when her eyes grew wide behind her round spectacles, Ragnar quickly added, “Awkward moment. This is our first time having an awkward moment. I think we’re both well known for causing others to have awkward moments, but for us to avoid them quite nicely.”
“Oh. Right. Yes. Right.”
They were silent for several long moments, and then Dagmar Reinholdt admitted, “Do you know that even when Gwenvael the Ruiner is not here, he still manages to embarrass me beyond all reason. It’s a gift he has. Or an illness.”
“Like the plague?”
A rough snort passed Dagmar’s nose, and their first awkward moment ended as quickly as it had begun.
After passing through another set of gates, Keita and Ren entered the courtyard of the queen’s castle. As they neared the stairs that led to the Great Hall, it was Gwenvael who charged out to greet them. A bright, welcoming smile on his handsome face, he ran down the stairs and straight to them.
Keita opened her arms for a big hug from her brother. “Gwenvael!” she cried.
And Gwenvael replied, “My old friend!” while shoving Keita aside so he could hug Ren instead. “It’s so good to see you!”
“And you, Gwenvael.”
Barely stopping herself from hitting the ground, Keita dropped her arms to her sides and spun on her heel to face them. “What about me?” she demanded, not used to being ignored by anyone but especially not by her own kin!
Placing one arm around Ren’s shoulders, Gwenvael turned and peered down at her. “Do I know you?”
“Oh, come on now!”
“I remember someone who looked like you. A sister, I believe. But it’s been so bloody long since I’ve seen or heard from her—not even a letter,” he said to Ren. “That I wouldn’t know what she looked like these days.”
So he was going to play that little game, was he? Well, he could play it alone! “If you’re going to be that way about it, I’m leaving!” Keita turned, ready for her grand exit, which would involve a great deal of flouncing off before shifting and majestically flying away into the two suns, but the black eyes she now faced scowled down at her so hard, she immediately stopped in her storming-off tracks. “Oh…Fearghus.”
Arms folded over his chest, legs braced apart, her eldest brother said nothing.
“You look well,” she tried again.
And, though she hadn’t thought it possible, his scowl increased tenfold.
Deciding not to push her luck, Keita used what would not work on Gwenvael or Morfyd. She let the first tears fall. “Are you angry at me too?” she whispered, and, instantly, Fearghus pulled her into his arms.
“Come now. Don’t cry.”
Keita turned her head slightly and gave Gwenvael a good sneer.
Gwenvael rolled his eyes and demanded, “How come my tears don’t work with you lot?”
“Because,” Fearghus shot back, “your lying tears always involve mucus. So I’m too disgusted to care.”
Another voice said from behind Fearghus, “Forgiven her already?”
“She started crying. What was I to do?”
Keita took a step back from one brother and looked up at another. The silver-haired Briec. He’d be harder than Fearghus.
“Two years,” Briec accused. “Two years and no bloody word.”
“I sent gifts,” she offered. “And my love.”
When this one’s scowl got worse, she pressed herself closer to Fearghus.
Ragnar sipped his hot tea and watched Dagmar search the cabinets of her tiny kitchen for more cookies than the few that were currently on the plate.
“I can’t believe he ate all the other cookies,” she complained while searching. “I can’t believe how selfish he is! Who eats like that?” Eating the last cookie on the plate, Ragnar replied, “Dragons.”
“Reason preserve me.” She slammed another cabinet door and walked over to the large and sturdy bed. She knelt beside it and pulled a small trunk from underneath. After using a key that hung from a set attached to her girdle, she opened the trunk and pulled out a tin. Locking and returning the trunk to its place under the bed, Dagmar walked back to the table and opened the tin, offering him more cookies.