Gwenvael began to argue, but his mate cut him off.

“She’s right.” Dagmar let out a breath. “We’ve become fairly certain the Sovereign human troops are raiding small towns and villages near the Western Mountains. Dividing Annwyl’s troops, hoping to pull more dragon troops there to help.”

“And it seems Styrbjörn the Revolting may be helping Thracius,” Ragnar added. “Everything is moving into place. As much as I hate this as well, we must push this along.”

“And what about the safety of my sister?” Gwenvael demanded, glaring at the Northlander but making Keita feel a touch more special than she had a few minutes ago.

“I will protect your sister with my life. I swear it on the Code and the name of my kin.”

“Which means what to me?” Gwenvael demanded.

“Everything,” Dagmar told her mate. “It means everything.”

“Keita?” Gwenvael asked her. “What say you?”

“I trust Ragnar the Cunning as I trust you…or actually more like I trust Ren.”

Gwenvael pouted. “You trust Ren more than me?”

“At least he’s reliable.”

“You can’t seriously still be blaming me for that, little sister! I was late one time!”

“And I nearly lost this amazing head! If it hadn’t been for Ren, my perfection would have been lost for the ages. I still don’t know how you live with yourself after that!”

“Because my perfection would have remained. And that’s all that matters!”

They eventually left the warehouse, the pairs separating. As they headed back to the castle, Gwenvael took his mate’s hand.

“Well?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you never told me.”

“It wasn’t my information to tell. And she’s my sister.”

“Reason help me, she is so your sister, Gwenvael.”

“What does that mean?”

“I hope Ragnar understands what he’s about to get himself involved with.”

“He’s already f**ked her—how much more involved can he get?”

“He hasn’t.”

“He hasn’t what?”

“As you so eloquently put it, f**ked her.”

Gwenvael stopped, pulling his mate to a halt. “How do you know that?”

“Instinct. Body language. Your sister is very smart. She knows having a very secret relationship with Ragnar, a low-born enemy dragon—no matter how many alliances your mother agrees to, many of your kin and other noble dragons still consider the Northland dragons enemies—Keita comes off even more of the bored royal itching for her mother’s throne. She plays stupid because it makes her seem controllable. Too bad she’s more like her mother than either of them seems to realize.”

“Don’t ever say that loud enough Keita can hear you. She’ll rip your throat out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She tugged, and they began to walk again.

“But they will be soon enough, I’m guessing.” Gwenvael had learned over the years that his mate had a tendency to jump from conversation to conversation because that’s how her brilliant mind worked. Most beings could barely manage one or two cohesive thoughts at a time; Dagmar seemed to manage hundreds.

“They will be soon enough what?”

“Fucking.”

Gwenvael stopped again. “I thought you just said they weren’t?”

“They’re not. Although I don’t know why it bothers you so much.”

“What if he’s just toying with my sister because he’s good and pissed I got you?”

“I think it would be very hard for any male to toy with your sister and live to enjoy it. But it doesn’t matter because that’s not Ragnar’s way.” When Gwenvael could only manage a grunt, Dagmar stroked her free hand against his chin. “And I’m with you, not with him. He understands that.”

“He better.”

“Besides, I’m sure once he beds your sister, he won’t think about me for another second.”

“How are you so sure that’ll happen?”

“Do you need my spectacles to see, Defiler?” She tugged him into moving again. “They’re both gagging for it!” Keita was heading out of town with Ragnar when she saw him. He stood by a blacksmith stall, talking to a pretty young girl. He held the girl’s hand and leaned in close.

She stopped, stared, rage singing through her veins.

“Keita?” Ragnar slid his hand down her back. “What is it?” Unable to answer, her anger too great, she marched across the street until she reached the pair. Lifting both her hands, she slammed them into the human male, shoving him to the side. She grudgingly had to admit she was impressed. Although hitting her brothers like that would do little more than annoy them, she had been known to break a few bones of the human males.

This one, however, just stared at her.

“Keita?” he asked, obviously shocked.

“Do you think,” she snarled at the bastard, “that you can do this and get away with it? That I’d let you do this?” The general of Annwyl’s armies and her sister’s worthless human mate frowned, appearing confused; then his eyes grew wide. “No, no. You don’t under—”

Unable to look at him without wanting to set him on fire, she spun on the girl. “You. Whore. Get from my sight, or I swear by all the gods that I’ll destroy everything that you love!”