Elina stared at the open doorway. It had been a long time since she’d disliked someone so much. Especially a male. Like most Daughters of the Steppes, she’d been taught that men served three purposes—breeding, child rearing, and trash removal. She needed no one’s protection. She’d gotten here alive, hadn’t she?
But she had to remember that the dragon was not her problem or priority. She had a task she needed to accomplish and she’d committed to that. And it was a task she would truly enjoy doing, unlike the task that had brought her here.
Confident that she could tolerate the dragon until she reached her homelands, Elina headed to the doorway.
She stepped into the hall but took a quick step back when two females suddenly moved in front of her. Both wore chain mail and had weapons hanging from belts around their waists and strapped to their backs. Many in Elina’s tribe would love for her to look this much like a warrior and be able to back up that battle-ready appearance. But she really had no desire to be a warmonger. It simply was not in her blood.
The one with short black hair and black eyes, who seemed to be the sister of the rude dragon, smiled at Elina. “Hi.”
Elina gave a typical Rider greeting. “Hope death finds you well today.”
“Um . . . okay.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Branwen. This is Izzy.”
“Elina Shestakova of the Black Bear Riders of the—”
“Yes, yes. We got that. Earlier. Your . . . extensive name.”
“Have you come to kill me?” Elina asked.
“Uh . . . no.”
“Then move.”
They did, and Elina stepped between them and began walking. She studied the castle as she walked. There were beautiful tapestries on the walls. Some depicting battles. She stopped to look closely at one and realized the two females were still behind her.
She faced them and asked, “Do you fear I still plan to kill your Dragon Queen?”
“Surprisingly, no,” the one called Branwen replied.
“So you follow because you find me attractive? Sadly, for you,” she went on honestly, “I do not desire females. But there are many in my tribe who do. I can introduce you. You can become one of their many wives.”
“What? No.”
“There is no shame. Many of our tribes are made up of only females. They do not like men. They do not like cocks. They only like the pussy.”
“No, no, no,” Branwen quickly corrected. “We like the cocks.”
The brown-skinned woman, Izzy, suddenly turned to her comrade. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know. But she’s completely freaking me out! I think it was that greeting. Who says hello like that?”
“If death does not find you well,” Elina explained, “he will take you. So we hope he finds you well.”
Izzy nodded. “See? That is quite logical.”
“You have eyes like bastard dragon,” Elina noted about Branwen. “And you were with him earlier at jail. Do you share mother? Or do all your dragon people who are not royal look alike?”
“We share mother.”
“Now you’re starting to talk like her?” Izzy asked.
“I can’t help it! The way she talks is oddly entrancing.” She took a breath. “He’s my brother.”
“I pity your soul. He is bastard. And deserves painful death. You, however, seem very nice. I am glad to know you.” She nodded at Izzy. “And you, too, dark-skinned female with big shoulders. You remind me of bear I once hunted during snowstorm. I use his pelt now on my hut floor.”
Since the females did nothing but stare at her, Elina turned and went in search of food.
Celyn caught up with his parents in the Great Hall. “Mind telling me what that was about?”
“You have a job here, Celyn,” his mother said in her most “I’m a general and you’re not” tone.
“I’d believe that, Mum, if Brannie wasn’t busy telling me in my head that you two wouldn’t let me go because you consider me weak. Do you consider me weak?”
“Of course not!” Ghleanna tapped her mate’s arm. “Tell him, Bram. Tell him we don’t consider him weak.”
“Ow, Ghleanna,” Bram whined, rubbing his poor arm.
“Tell him.”
“Because gods forbid a Cadwaladr be considered weak.”
“Yes,” mother and son said together.
“No one considers you weak, Celyn,” Bram said. “You have to know that.”
“Then what’s going on?” He stepped closer. “Brannie called me Fal. Am I Fal in this?”
Fal was Celyn’s older brother and one of the most useless dragons in the Cadwaladr Clan. He’d been sent to the Desert Land borders to guard the salt mines. Only the most worthless or corrupt troops were sent to the salt mines. And it was too horrifying a thought that Celyn might be considered a Fal.
He was not a Fal!
“First off,” Ghleanna snapped, “don’t talk about your brother that way. Fal has many . . . talents.”
“Do you pause like that when you talk of me?”
“Of course not!”
“Son,” Bram said, his hand resting on Celyn’s shoulder. “We have complete and utter faith in you.”
“Then why don’t you want me to escort that girl? It’s one of the things Cadwaladrs are called on to do all the time.”
“And we’re sure you’ll do it very well.”
Celyn reared back, horrified.
“What?” Bram asked, panicked. “What did I say?”
“That’s what you said to Fal before Uncle Bercelak had him shipped off to the salt mines.”
“Oh.” Bram glanced at Ghleanna. “Did I?”
Disgusted, Celyn turned and stalked off. He now, officially, had the worst headache of all time!
Dagmar, her dog Adda by her side, searched the library until she tracked down her nephew Frederik. She wanted to fill him in on all the latest. Not because she needed him to do anything, but because he was always a good source of rational thought in this insane household filled with a mad queen, her dragon consort, and the dragon consort’s entire bloody family.
Frederik had been left on Queen Annwyl’s doorstep by Dagmar’s older—and idiotic—brothers some ten years ago. It was something done by many a Northman when faced with a boy he didn’t know what to do with.
And, at first, Dagmar had found the boy’s presence the highest inconvenience. As Battle Lord to Queen Annwyl and Steward of Garbhán Isle, Dagmar had little time for boys who seemed tragically . . . stupid.
Yet she’d been as wrong about Frederik as her own people had been wrong about her simply because she was a woman. Frederik had not been stupid. Cursed with as poor eyesight as herself? Yes. Stupid? Oh, very far from it. In fact, he’d been much smarter than she’d been because he’d successfully hidden his keen mind from his kinsmen, forcing them to send him away rather than deal with his supposed uselessness.
But Frederik had become quite useful to Dagmar once he’d gotten