She started it,” Briec stated before holding his “perfect” daughter out to Talaith and announcing, “She looks to need nourishment. Unleash your breasts for her.
Annwyl?” Ragnar repeated, suddenly remembering that Keita had said the same name before they’d burst out of the woods. “This is Annwyl?” Ragnar looked the woman over, from her absurdly large feet to the top of her unkempt head. “This?” This human who had more muscles than seemed necessary for any royal and watched him and his kin with what he could only term as the mad eyes of a diseased animal.
A spy novel?” Dagmar asked. “You two are talking about a spy novel?”
Annwyl threw her hands up in the air. “Not just a spy novel!”
“It’s much more than that,” Ragnar argued, and when Dagmar gawked at him in disgust, he added, “I can’t read deep, meaningful, thought-provoking philosophy all the time.”
“Exactly. Sometimes you have to read about a completely amoral hero whoring and killing his way across an unnamed land in the name of the queen that he’ll always love—”
“—but never have.” Then both Ragnar and Annwyl sighed a little.
I don’t know about you,” Keita said when Briec had to rush over to help Izzy separate her mum and the human queen of all the Southlands from a rousing yelling match and slap fight, “but I’m having a most entertaining night.
Ragnar stared at his kin, his mouth slightly open. “What’s that look for?” Vigholf asked. “You said to do it.” “Even gave a suggestion,” Meinhard tossed in. “I thought you two were joking. Have you both lost your bloody minds?” “We were trying to be nice,” his brother argued. “And when that crazed human monarch cuts off the rest of your hair, I don’t want to hear any more—” “Who did it?” Annwyl demanded from behind him. Ragnar faced her, “My lady—” “Who? I want to know whose idea this was”—she held up the training mace, battle ax, warhammer, and shield, perfectly sized for a two-year-old girl with both human and dragon blood—“and I want to know now!” Vigholf and Meinhard raised their hands, and the queen’s eyes filled with tears. “This is so sweet! Thank you. Thank you both!” She hugged them, arms going wide to reach around their chests. That’s when Ragnar let Annwyl know, “It was I who suggested the shield.
With her hand on another She-dragon’s shoulder, Keita said, “Lord Vigholf, this is my cousin Aedammair.” “My lady.” “It’s ‘captain,’” the brown dragoness gruffly corrected. “You wanna dance then?” “Well, actually—” “Good.” The dragoness grabbed Vigholf’s surcoat and yanked the poor bastard out onto the dance floor. Keita leaned her backside against the table, her palms pressed against the wood. “And what exactly was that about?” Ragnar asked. “He looked depressed. Aedammair will help him with that.” “Tell me, princess, do you whore out all your relations to appease outsiders?” “Only the cousins who tell me, ‘I’ll fuck that purple stallion over there. What’s his name?
And you enjoy what you do?” “Quite a lot.” “So then…you’re happy?” She pursed her lips, hands wrapped around her cup of tea, her gaze on the ceiling. Finally, Ragnar added, “Happy for a Northlander.” “Oh! Oh, then yes. Quite happy.
Ren asked, “Is it my imagination, little one, or is your family very ‘kill everything first, ask questions later and if we’re in the mood’ types?” “Some might suggest that…you know, if their victims could speak with their heads lopped off and all.
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.
