Last Dragon Standing
Page 80
“I was starving,” Briec returned, “after a whole day of putting up with you.”
“Putting up with me?” Talaith demanded. “Putting up with me? ”
“All right,” Morfyd cut in, her hands raised. “Perhaps we can table this next Talaith–Briec argument to a time when we don’t have guests.”
“But we were so looking forward to another one of their arguments,” Gwenvael muttered.
“Quiet, snake,” Talaith shot back. She pushed her chair out and stood.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” she said to Morfyd.
“Oh, don’t bother.” Morfyd waved her off. “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure? It will only take me a moment.”
Actually Morfyd was starving, but she had other plans for this evening with her mate in their room, and sitting with her family, eating cold food wasn’t one of them. But she wasn’t about to go into any detail on that in front of her brothers and, more importantly, Chief Dragonlord of the Lightning dragons, Lord Ragnar.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
And that’s when Morfyd heard it. A sigh. A soft, annoyed sigh. Her gaze moved to where her sister sat between Lord Ragnar and Éibhear. And, as timing would have it, caught her sister at the midway point of an eye roll.
“Something wrong, sister?” Morfyd asked sweetly, already tired of Keita’s presence in her home.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? It seemed there might be some issue? Something you’d like to discuss?”
“Sisters,” Fearghus said low, the warning in his voice clear.
“It’s all right, Fearghus. I’m just trying to find out if there’s something I can do to make my precious baby sister’s stay here at Garbhán Isle all the better. I do hate to see her unhappy.”
“Unhappy? Me? Oh, no, sister! I’m deliriously happy.” Keita ran her hands through her dark red locks before adding, “Although you might want to get off that sacrificial pyre…we need the wood.”
“What does that mean?”
“‘Oh, no, Talaith!’” Keita mocked her in an annoyingly high pitch that sounded nothing like Morfyd’s voice. “‘I don’t want to eat. Just let me starve in my virginal white robes. You all go on without me. Honestly, I’ll be fine—if I don’t die first.’”
“That is not what I said, nor what I meant.”
“Oh, really? Because that’s what it sounded like to me, my Good Lady Dragoness of Suffering.”
“Come now, sister,” Morfyd lashed back. “Don’t be so jealous.”
“Jealous? Of you?”
“Of the fact that there are others who care about me, who like to take care of me. But I don’t want you to worry. I know for a fact there are many who care about you. Even now I’m sure there’s a bed set up in the middle of the barracks with a line of soldiers wrapped twice around the building, waiting just for you.”
Keita stood up fast, her chair slamming hard to the floor, while Éibhear caught hold of their no-longer-sleeping nephew before he could tumble to the ground.
“Keita!” Fearghus snapped.
“What is it, sister, that really bothers you?” Keita asked, ignoring Fearghus. “The fact that I could pleasure every one of those soldiers in a way you couldn’t even dream…or that your precious Brastias might be at the head of that line?”
To be honest, Morfyd didn’t remember much after she let loose that roar.
Ragnar was so busy wondering if there was, in fact, a line of soldiers waiting for Keita that it never occurred to him to grab her. Besides, why would he have to? She was a royal, after all. Trained in the fine art of etiquette, proper poise, and all that.
Unless, that is, your sister just called you a whore in front of your entire family, which meant you had to return the favor by suggesting you’re whore enough to f**k your sister’s mate. Apparently the Southland dragon etiquette rules varied little from the Northland Dragon Code when it came to sibling fights.
Still, Ragnar knew he’d never have been prepared for any Northland female of his acquaintance to suddenly jump up on the table and charge across it as Keita was doing, only to meet her roaring sister in the middle, the two of them colliding. Their bodies spun as they hit, both of them grabbing on to the other’s hair and pulling, screaming obscenities at each other like drunken Northland sailors on leave. No. Ragnar would never have been prepared for that—and he wasn’t prepared for it now.
And what were their kin doing? Nothing. They mostly looked bored while the Blue just kept saying, “We have to do something!” But he wasn’t actually doing “something.” Even the human queen had gone back to her book. Only Dagmar seemed shocked, her hand over her open mouth, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.
Realizing none of Keita’s kin were going to do anything to stop this, Ragnar stood and climbed up onto the table.
“You don’t want to get into the middle of this,” Fearghus, the queen’s eldest and seemingly most useless offspring, warned. He’d quickly retrieved his wandering children and was holding them securely on his lap, but that was all he seemed in the mood to do.
Yet Ragnar didn’t want to get in the middle of this, but the Fire Breathers had left him little choice.
He had just gotten his arms around Keita’s waist when a human male rushed in from another exit. “Damn,” he muttered before he dropped his shield and ax and joined Ragnar on the table. He took firm hold of Princess Morfyd, and, together, they pulled the two royals apart. Too bad the females still had each other by the hair.
“Putting up with me?” Talaith demanded. “Putting up with me? ”
“All right,” Morfyd cut in, her hands raised. “Perhaps we can table this next Talaith–Briec argument to a time when we don’t have guests.”
“But we were so looking forward to another one of their arguments,” Gwenvael muttered.
“Quiet, snake,” Talaith shot back. She pushed her chair out and stood.
“I’ll get you something to eat,” she said to Morfyd.
“Oh, don’t bother.” Morfyd waved her off. “I’m not hungry.”
“Are you sure? It will only take me a moment.”
Actually Morfyd was starving, but she had other plans for this evening with her mate in their room, and sitting with her family, eating cold food wasn’t one of them. But she wasn’t about to go into any detail on that in front of her brothers and, more importantly, Chief Dragonlord of the Lightning dragons, Lord Ragnar.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
And that’s when Morfyd heard it. A sigh. A soft, annoyed sigh. Her gaze moved to where her sister sat between Lord Ragnar and Éibhear. And, as timing would have it, caught her sister at the midway point of an eye roll.
“Something wrong, sister?” Morfyd asked sweetly, already tired of Keita’s presence in her home.
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? It seemed there might be some issue? Something you’d like to discuss?”
“Sisters,” Fearghus said low, the warning in his voice clear.
“It’s all right, Fearghus. I’m just trying to find out if there’s something I can do to make my precious baby sister’s stay here at Garbhán Isle all the better. I do hate to see her unhappy.”
“Unhappy? Me? Oh, no, sister! I’m deliriously happy.” Keita ran her hands through her dark red locks before adding, “Although you might want to get off that sacrificial pyre…we need the wood.”
“What does that mean?”
“‘Oh, no, Talaith!’” Keita mocked her in an annoyingly high pitch that sounded nothing like Morfyd’s voice. “‘I don’t want to eat. Just let me starve in my virginal white robes. You all go on without me. Honestly, I’ll be fine—if I don’t die first.’”
“That is not what I said, nor what I meant.”
“Oh, really? Because that’s what it sounded like to me, my Good Lady Dragoness of Suffering.”
“Come now, sister,” Morfyd lashed back. “Don’t be so jealous.”
“Jealous? Of you?”
“Of the fact that there are others who care about me, who like to take care of me. But I don’t want you to worry. I know for a fact there are many who care about you. Even now I’m sure there’s a bed set up in the middle of the barracks with a line of soldiers wrapped twice around the building, waiting just for you.”
Keita stood up fast, her chair slamming hard to the floor, while Éibhear caught hold of their no-longer-sleeping nephew before he could tumble to the ground.
“Keita!” Fearghus snapped.
“What is it, sister, that really bothers you?” Keita asked, ignoring Fearghus. “The fact that I could pleasure every one of those soldiers in a way you couldn’t even dream…or that your precious Brastias might be at the head of that line?”
To be honest, Morfyd didn’t remember much after she let loose that roar.
Ragnar was so busy wondering if there was, in fact, a line of soldiers waiting for Keita that it never occurred to him to grab her. Besides, why would he have to? She was a royal, after all. Trained in the fine art of etiquette, proper poise, and all that.
Unless, that is, your sister just called you a whore in front of your entire family, which meant you had to return the favor by suggesting you’re whore enough to f**k your sister’s mate. Apparently the Southland dragon etiquette rules varied little from the Northland Dragon Code when it came to sibling fights.
Still, Ragnar knew he’d never have been prepared for any Northland female of his acquaintance to suddenly jump up on the table and charge across it as Keita was doing, only to meet her roaring sister in the middle, the two of them colliding. Their bodies spun as they hit, both of them grabbing on to the other’s hair and pulling, screaming obscenities at each other like drunken Northland sailors on leave. No. Ragnar would never have been prepared for that—and he wasn’t prepared for it now.
And what were their kin doing? Nothing. They mostly looked bored while the Blue just kept saying, “We have to do something!” But he wasn’t actually doing “something.” Even the human queen had gone back to her book. Only Dagmar seemed shocked, her hand over her open mouth, her eyes wide behind her spectacles.
Realizing none of Keita’s kin were going to do anything to stop this, Ragnar stood and climbed up onto the table.
“You don’t want to get into the middle of this,” Fearghus, the queen’s eldest and seemingly most useless offspring, warned. He’d quickly retrieved his wandering children and was holding them securely on his lap, but that was all he seemed in the mood to do.
Yet Ragnar didn’t want to get in the middle of this, but the Fire Breathers had left him little choice.
He had just gotten his arms around Keita’s waist when a human male rushed in from another exit. “Damn,” he muttered before he dropped his shield and ax and joined Ragnar on the table. He took firm hold of Princess Morfyd, and, together, they pulled the two royals apart. Too bad the females still had each other by the hair.
