They’d placed him and his kin on the third floor, far away from the family rooms, which was fine with him. He made it to the second floor and walked down the hallway to reach the next set of stairs. A door opened, and Ragnar stopped, allowing the occupants to go by him.
Gwenvael walked out, the smile on his face fading when he saw Ragnar. “Oh. You’re attending dinner?”
“I thought about allowing myself to starve to death,” Ragnar replied,
“but decided against it.”
“Lord Ragnar.” Keita slipped past her brother and latched on to Ragnar’s arm. “As always you have perfect timing. Show him,” she said.
But when there was no reply, she released Ragnar and stalked back around her brother, and into the room. Two seconds later a flustered and embarrassed Dagmar Reinholdt stumbled into the hallway. Ragnar could only assume she’d been pushed.
“Does she not look lovely?” Keita prompted after taking his arm again.
Surprised at The Beast’s new look—and knowing exactly how uncomfortable she was with it from her expression—Ragnar replied,
“Lovely.” He took Dagmar’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Very lovely.” Dagmar gave a small laugh. “Why, thank you, my lord.” Gwenvael yanked his mate’s arm back. “I swear by all the gods, I’m going to tear that Lightning’s arm off and beat him to death with it.”
“Don’t be surly, Gwenvael,” Keita chided her brother, and they began to head toward the stairs. “You don’t look very handsome surly.”
“I always look handsome,” her brother argued.
“Isn’t my brother adorable?” Keita asked Ragnar.
“No. Not even a little.” Ragnar glanced down at where Keita’s hands clutched his upper arm. “So has the game begun?” he murmured, so only she could hear.
“And I thought you knew, my lord.” She smiled. “The game is always being played.”
It was a quiet dinner tonight. The Cadwaladr Clan had remained at the lake since the rest of the kin were beginning to show up. Keita didn’t mind.
It was easier to get caught up with her brothers without the distractions of her aunts, uncles, and cousins. She even had the chance to spend time with Fearghus’s twins. Talwyn was proving herself to be her mother’s child by challenging anyone and everyone with her training sword— who gave her that bloody thing anyway? —and Talan crawled into Keita’s lap after he finished eating, buried his face against her bodice-covered br**sts, and dropped right off to sleep.
At that point, everyone—even Ragnar—looked at Gwenvael, who quickly denied any involvement. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t teach him that.”
“It seems more like the boy is taking after his father.” Briec took his own babe from his mate’s arms. Whether he was doing it to give her a rest or annoy her was anyone’s guess and impossible to tell with those two. “You do seem to have a fetish, Fearghus.”
Now they all looked at Annwyl. Unlike everyone else, she hadn’t dressed up for dinner, but wore what she’d worn all day. She also wasn’t paying attention, her gaze focused on her lap. When the silence continued, she finally lifted her head. “What?”
“You’ve got a book under there again, don’t you?” Dagmar accused.
“What if I do?” Annwyl slammed the book onto the table. “What of it?”
“We have a guest,” Dagmar snapped back.
Annwyl glanced at Ragnar and shrugged. “So?”
“Despite the fact you tried to kill his brother and cousin—”
“I told you I didn’t know who they were!”
“That’s a lie. You could at the very least, your royal worship-ness, give him the respect he deserves as Chief Dragonlord and representative of the Northland dragons. Is that asking too bloody much? ”
“When I’m this bored… yes! ”
“Uh…excuse me,” Ragnar interrupted and, dying to see what he’d actually say, Keita turned in her chair to look directly at him.
“Yes, Lord Ragnar?” Dagmar asked, attempting to keep her voice calm.
“Well…” He reached under the table, pulled something out, and slammed it onto the table. A book. “All right. Fine. You caught me.” Dagmar’s back, already painfully straight, managed to straighten more. “Ragnar!”
“I’m sorry. I was bored, too. It was all this chatter about relatives I didn’t know, never intend to meet, and couldn’t care less about. So I smuggled in a book.”
Queen Annwyl, human ruler of all the Southland territories and one of the most feared warriors to ever live, pointed her finger across the table at Dagmar and screamed, “Ha! ” Then she raised her fists in the air and cheered, “Yes! Yes! Yes! ”
“Oh, shut up!” Dagmar looked at Ragnar. “You do understand, my lord, that I am trying to train her on basic etiquette?”
“I’m not one of your dogs, barbarian!”
“No, you’re not. Because my dogs are smarter.” Annwyl gasped. “Savage beast!”
Ragnar had to admit he was intrigued. He’d never seen Dagmar Reinholdt get into a verbal argument with anyone. Not one that involved actual voice raising. And he remembered clearly how she was around her sisters-in-law. A catty, vicious group of hags who took delight in making her life miserable. Too bad for them doing so was near impossible because Dagmar didn’t care. She didn’t care what they called her, she didn’t care how they treated her, she didn’t care if they liked her or not. All Dagmar cared about was the safety of her people and of her father, The Reinholdt himself.