“It’s not bad, is it?”
“No.” Fearghus shook his head, probably more times than was actually necessary. “Not bad at all.”
“Are you all right? You look like you’re sweating.”
“Just seeing you in that dress has my blood surging.” Annwyl scowled, her gaze locking with her daughter’s. “Did she just snort?”
“No.” Fearghus placed his hand over his daughter’s giggling face and pushed her back to the bed next to her brother. “She probably just has a little sniffle.”
“You are such a bad liar. How did you ever convince me that you and the knight were two separate beings?”
“Probably because you never let me finish a sent—”
“It’s insane to even imagine it now—you’re such a bad liar.” Keita, who hadn’t quite managed to get any clothes on for this evening’s dinner, removed herself from Ragnar’s c**k and clambered across the bed until she faced him.
“What did you just say?” she demanded.
Covered in sweat and, well, covered in her, Ragnar lifted his head. “I said you should accompany us all to the Northlands as a Battle Maid.”
“Is that like a tent whore?”
“No. ” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Let it out. “It is an honored position among my people.”
“You sure this isn’t just a way for you to get me back to the Northlands and keep me busy with your c**k when you’re not out fighting the Irons, so that I’ll eventually stay with you forever?” Ragnar gazed at her, blinked once. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”
She pointed a finger at him. “Because I’ll give myself to no male. I don’t mind having a regular lover, but I’ll not become my mother. Chained to some male who adores me beyond all reason.”
“Because what female would want that?”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“What gave you that idea?” He motioned to his still hard, and deliciously thick cock. “Now would you mind getting back over here and finishing?”
“As long as we understand each other. I’ll come as your Battle Slag—”
“Battle Maid.”
“—but I’ll make no commitment beyond that. And I won’t be the winning prize of any Honours, my wings will never be threatened, and you won’t even think about scarring up my perfect, perfect body with flames or lightning or whatever it is your kind uses to brand your victims.”
“Mates.”
“Whatever.”
“I guess that’s fair enough.”
“I will not be Claimed, warlord. By you or anyone else.”
“Fine.”
Feeling confident she’d gotten her point across, Keita crawled back across the bed and on top of Ragnar. She caught hold of his c**k and positioned it underneath her, allowing her pu**y to slowly slide down until she’d taken him fully inside her once more.
Keita groaned, still shocked at how much she always enjoyed the feeling of Ragnar the Cunning sliding inside her.
Ragnar caught the back of her neck, big fingers massaging the muscles there. “But remember that while you are with me, princess—”
“I still hear prince- ass. …”
“—you’ll have no other c**k inside you. No other male’s claws or hands on you. That seems a fair trade, don’t you think?”
“Fair enough,” she gasped, already rocking her hips against him. “Fair enough.”
Dagmar headed toward the stairs. She wore another dress picked out by her sister-in-law Keita that looked as good as the first she’d given her.
Apparently the royal intended to get Dagmar “an entire new wardrobe of pretty things!” A thought that horrified Dagmar a bit, mostly because she knew Keita had no intention of actually buying that new wardrobe, so she feared for any caravans that might be traveling through the area in the next few days.
Halting her steps, Dagmar glanced down at Canute. She raised her brow at the dog, knowing they both had sensed it, and went back down the hallway until she stood in front of her niece’s room. Without knocking, she walked inside and caught her niece quickly hiding something behind her back.
“Give it,” Dagmar ordered, her hand out.
“But—”
“Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec, give. It. ”
“He cheers me up.”
“Don’t give me that face, Queen’s Squire.” And she saw her niece purse her lips, trying to stop the smile she got anytime someone called her that.
“Can’t I keep him until we leave?”
“Trust me, Izzy. You can’t keep him at all. Now give him over.” Sighing, she pulled the puppy from behind her back and placed him in Dagmar’s hand.
“I like dogs,” Izzy said.
“Izzy, you like everything.” Dagmar kissed her forehead and headed out of the room. “Get dressed. Dinner soon.” Dagmar took the puppy down the stairs and out the back way of the Great Hall before she tossed him to the ground. “Stop pretending you’re a puppy, Nannulf!”
The wolf-god landed on his giant paws and grinned at Dagmar, his tongue hanging out. If he had a human form, she had no doubt he’d be laughing at her. “And leave my niece alone,” she warned him. He opened his mouth, and she quickly added, “And no barking!” The fortress walls couldn’t stand the damage that would cause.