“She has her little foreign lap dog with her—what does she need me for?”

“Someone sounds bitter. And you’ve been a bitter bastard ever since you’ve returned with her from the fair. Why? What happened?”

“Nothing.” And that was the absolute truth of it. Nothing had happened when they returned. Instead, the royal had spent the rest of the previous eve talking to her foreign ally, which was fine with Ragnar. He didn’t have time for the royal and her games. “And I’m not bitter. I’m wary.

As you both should be. Don’t let that beautiful smile and swishing tail fool you.”

“You are such a tail dragon,” Vigholf said.

“I’m trying to give you some advice, brother.”

“And don’t forget her beautiful smile, Vigholf. I don’t remember either of us mentioning a beautiful smile,” Meinhard chimed in.

Frustrated, Ragnar demanded, “What are you two talking about?” Vigholf patted Ragnar’s shoulder. “We understand, brother. Really we do. All of us get to a point where we start thinking about settling down.”

“Settling down? With her?” That wouldn’t happen. And not simply because she saw becoming someone’s mate as some form of excruciating bondage either. As Ragnar had tossed and turned last night, unable to sleep with the dragoness that close to him, he’d realized what a mistake any involvement with her would be. Why? Because she was up to something. He knew it. Her brother knew it. That Eastlander definitely knew it. The only ones who seemed oblivious were his own damn kin.

“But you said yourself, brother, that she has that swishing tail.”

“And that beautiful smile with those perfectly aligned fangs.”

“I said nothing about her fangs.”

“But they are perfectly aligned, and I’m sure that’s important to you.” Fed up, Ragnar grabbed his bag and headed toward the city, shifting as he went.

“You’re not leaving us, are you, cousin?”

“If you’re going into the city, you may want to have a healer look at that chest of yours, brother. All that scratching you’ve been doing lately can’t be good,” Vigholf said.

“It might be scale-fungus,” Meinhard added.

“And your pretty princess with the beautiful smile and alluring tail won’t like that much.”

“’Cause it spreads, it does!”

“Aww, now, Ragnar! That’s rather a rude gesture!” Ren parted from Keita as soon as they were in the center of the small city of Fenella, which boasted some of the top universities, mage schools, and witch’s guilds in all the Southlands. It was here that the paths of both Ren and Keita had shifted dramatically more than a century ago. And where they always returned when they needed answers.

And the gods knew, they needed answers and quickly.

Ren handed the necklace the Northlander had found in Esyld’s house over to the jeweler. An old human who knew his craft very well. And while the human did his work, Ren sat back and let his mind drift, letting his energy reach out around the city to make sure all was well. He smiled a little when he saw that Keita had found their old trainer. An elf named Gorlas.

Ren himself had never been a fan of the elves. Yes, they had a way with the trees and land, much as Ren’s people did, but gods, they could be superior-acting bastards. To most of them, dragons were nothing more than giant lizards that needed to be brought to heel. How Keita managed to find one of the few elves who respected almost all creatures equally amazed Ren.

Although if there was one being who could find the exception to any rule, it was his Keita.

Knowing she was safe, Ren explored more, only to ram right into a protective barrier. From his spot inside the jeweler’s store, he felt around that barrier. It was a relatively small one and was moving, meaning that it protected an individual rather than a building or one of the many secret guilds that existed here. Still, he hadn’t met many who could keep him out.

Keita’s mother and sister were two, but they were both white Dragonwitches. Their kind’s power legendary, even in his home country.

Using more of his power, he caused a rip in the barrier and pulled it open enough for his essence to look in. A monk? A monk managed to keep Ren of the Chosen out?

But then that monk slowly turned his head and looked right at what he shouldn’t be able to see. He looked at Ren with blue eyes as cold as the mountains this dragon came from.

It seemed Ren wasn’t the only one using Magick to hide the true level of his power, and he’d only managed to think, The Northlander, before the Lightning raised his hand and, with a flick of his fingers, sent Ren’s essence slamming back into his body.

Ren jerked forward, his chest bending over his knees while he gasped for breath, the jeweler watching him but not making a move to help.

“Keita,” Ren gasped out, “is not going to be happy when she finds out that prick followed us.”

Then he laughed, because it had been a long time since anyone, much less a barbarian, had managed to surprise him.

Keita had been searching Fenella’s largest bookstore for nearly twenty minutes for her old friend and mentor Gorlas, and was moments from giving up. Perhaps he’d gone out for a bit.

Remembering her one year at the university here, Keita smiled. She came as human, her mother sending her off in the hope that her youngest daughter might have some skill other than seducing a few of the Elders’ sons and grandsons. Although Keita had a wonderful time that year, she didn’t attend many classes—except for the one with that very attractive professor.