Just like his aunt.
Unlike Dagmar, however, Frederik did manage to find the hidden warrior within. It hadn’t been easy for him. Not like it was for her other nephews, who many believed had been shot from the womb with small warhammers at the ready. Frederik had had to work much harder to get as far as he had, but—as always—he’d been very smart. He didn’t ask any of Gwenvael’s brothers for battle training. Instead, he’d approached Bercelak the Great. A bold and risky move that had impressed everyone.
Because of his bravery, many dragons and humans came to Frederik about sensitive issues that they hoped he’d bring directly to her. It should have bothered Dagmar, but it didn’t. There was something about knowing that dragons feared her the way many humans did that had a rather heady effect.
Especially considering where her life had started. As a “girl child” of the great Reinholdt. True, girls were revered in the Northlands because they were so rare, but they were also protected to the point of smothering. It wasn’t until Dagmar came to the Southlands that she’d found her home, where she could happily be her true manipulative, plotting, conniving self. And she’d found a dragon who was the perfect match for her.
Although, Dagmar had to admit that as things had changed so drastically between them over the last few years, she’d thought Gwenvael’s feelings for her would change too. But she’d forgotten he was not a human male. He was a dragon and dragons were different. Difficult, but different.
She was grateful, though, because she still loved the devious bastard. With all her hard heart. Important since the last ten years they’d been forced to need each other more than they’d ever thought possible.
Dagmar turned a corner in the expansive library that Éibhear and Frederik had organized together and that Frederik now meticulously maintained, and she stopped as she neared a large table covered in books and scrolls.
Frederik, always sensing when Dagmar was nearby, lifted his head from his work. He had the Reinholdt eyes. Grey and cold . . . just like her own. He smiled at her, a warm and loving smile that disappeared as soon as that ball of parchment hit her in the forehead.
She sighed and glared at the offender, desperately trying to ignore all those giggles. “Does someone want to miss supper yet again?”
“You’d starve us?”
“Yes. Yes, I would.”
Small feet landed on the table, small balled fists were placed on small hips. “I’ll tell my father that you dare starve his precious offspring.”
Dagmar pointed a finger at her eldest daughter, Arlais. “You would think you’d be grateful.”
“Grateful for what exactly?”
“That I didn’t smother you at birth. A situation that can change at any moment.”
“Auntie Dagmar!” Frederik admonished, even while he laughed.
“She started it!”
“You’re the adult.”
“She’s the demon spawn.”
“Auntie Dagmar!”
Dagmar’s saving grace came up behind her. As beautiful as his father but as cold and devious as his mother, her eldest child and only son looked over his six sisters.
“All of you, out,” the boy said calmly, a thick book tucked under his arm, cold grey eyes locked on the eldest girl.
“We don’t take orders from you,” Arlais snapped.
A silent battle raged between grey eyes and gold until Dagmar’s daughter snarled, “All right, fine!”
She jumped off the table and motioned to her younger sisters. “You lot, come on.” She walked toward the door but stopped next to Dagmar. “Perhaps you should keep in mind that while you may be the daughter of a warlord, I am the daughter of a prince.”
Dagmar slowly looked at her child. “And perhaps you should keep in mind that I am the one woman not afraid to send your insolent ass to a nunnery.”
Arlais sniffed, her haughtiness resting on her shoulders like a mantle. “My father would never allow that to happen. And when I rule, you’ll suffer my wrath!” And with that, the spoiled little bitch marched out the door, her golden-headed younger sisters happily following.
Once they were gone, her son turned to her.
“What?” Dagmar demanded, but already knowing what he was going to say.
“You’ll have to learn to handle them on your own eventually, Mum.”
“When they’re older and less annoying—”
“They are, tragically, just like my father. So they’ll never be less annoying.”
“Unnvar, your father does love you.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t see how that knowledge helps me in any way.”
Dagmar shrugged. “My father’s love kept me going for thirty years before I escaped the Northlands. I hope the same for you.”
“You do know, Mum, that my father is your only true weakness?”
“I know.” She sighed. “I’ve learned to live with that flaw . . . just as you’ll have to.”
With a sad, forlorn sigh, Var nodded his head and walked away.
Frederik cleared his throat. “Are we really sure he’s—”
“Yes, Frederik. He’s ten.”
“If you say so.”
Annoyed and more than a little angry, Celyn returned to the room he’d been in before and dropped face-first onto the bed.
What had he gotten himself into? Trying to prove something to his parents, he’d bargained himself into a right shitty situation with that female. He’d passed her on the way to his room. She’d been studying some silver chalices and he wondered if she planned to steal them. The Riders were known thieves. He doubted she was much better.
Which was worse? he wondered. Being so unappreciated by his own parents or being forced to deal with that harpy all the way to the Steppes of the Outerplains?
He didn’t know.
Honestly, how could any female, dragon or human, be as annoying as that woman? There were dragons who lived in the Steppes who were said in legend to be annoying, but they weren’t friendly or organized and wanted to be left alone, so other dragons did. That meant Celyn didn’t know exactly how annoying they might be, but he refused to believe even the Steppes dragons could be as annoying as this one human female.
Celyn rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling.
All right. So he’d forgotten her. Not his best moment, he’d admit. But she had been sent to assassinate his queen. How could she be so haughty about it all when she’d come here to do something that would normally get her head bitten off?
In fact, he’d saved her life. Because if Uncle Bercelak had gotten his cruel claws on her, he would have torn her to pieces for such an affront. But it had been Celyn who spirited her away in time.
Yet did he get any credit for that? A bit of appreciation from the death-ready female? No! The squirrel simply nattered at him. The way real squirrels nattered at Dagmar’s dogs from the safety of the trees.
Natter, natter, natter.
And now? Now he would be stuck with her for days. Listening to her complain about his life while wishing for her own death.
The bedroom door opened, and his sister and Izzy walked in.