Chapter 1

The orders from their queen had been direct and to the point: Stop the Ice Land dragons from regrouping and attacking the Northland dragons on their coast.

The Northlanders had been holding their own for years, pushing the Ice Land dragons, called the Spikes, back to their territorial lines and holding them there. Yet the Mì-runach were the ones who stopped the Spikes from ever really gathering enough forces in one place, at one time, to push their way back into the Northlands and putting the dragon warlords’ territories at risk.

It had not been easy, though. Not for them. For they were the Mì-runach and they were all Fire Breathers trapped in one of the harshest lands known to dragon or gods. The Ice Lands with their hard winters and their even harder people. But that’s why the Mì-runach had been sent here. Because among their own, the Mì-runach were considered hard and harsh. They didn’t belong. They were the outcasts, the troublemakers, the pit fighters. They were the ones you didn’t want setting up camp near your cave, but if you’d run out of options . . . then they were the ones you called.

They were the ones who killed. For their honor. For their queen. And because they were all really bloody good at it.

Mì-runach Legion Commander Angor landed on the mountaintop and watched his troops move in. As he’d trained them, they moved quick and quiet. Dragons they might be, one of the largest beings in the world, but that didn’t mean they had to stomp everywhere. Not like the Spikes who let their snow-and-ice storms hide their presence. But the Mì-runach didn’t let storms or being outsiders or anything else get in the way of their queen’s orders.

Angor smiled a bit when he saw a flash of blade and then, as if from nowhere, a blue claw caught the Spike leader’s head by the hair and yanked it back. A broadsword rammed through the neck, cutting off the Spike’s chance to do anything but look stunned.

The Spikes, who had been rallying around their leader to begin their flight into enemy territory, froze, blood splattering their white and silver scales. Then the Mì-runach attacked, coming up from under the ground where some of them had been hiding for days.

He watched and waited while his troops decimated the Spikes. It didn’t take long. They’d been trained not for battle but for massacres. That’s what they did best. They struck with no warning, no negotiations, no prisoners. There were only sixty-six of them total, but they could do—and had done—the work of a full-size legion. They were the Dragon Queen’s deadliest weapon and were hated and feared amongst the dragon world—and for very good reason.

Angor sat back on his haunches as his squad leaders landed in front of him.

“We’re done,” one of them reported. “And I sent out my team to strike down any stragglers.”

“Good. We’ll be heading back to the south in a few days.”

“Really?” another asked, but he wasn’t the only one thinking it. The queen had kept her Mì-runach in the Ice Lands off and on for years, but it wasn’t for him or the rest of the Mì-runach to ask. Merely did as they’d been ordered by their queen.

“Really.” He jerked his head to the side. “You lot. Get ready to move out for the night. Wait,” he said to the one who’d killed the Spike leader. “Not you. Not yet.”

Angor waited until the others had gone back down the mountain before turning to the dragon he’d trained himself.

To be honest, he’d had no hope for this one when he’d been forced on Angor nearly a decade ago. He’d been uselessly angry and astoundingly bitter. He’d refused to do even the simplest of tasks and put himself and his brethren at risk more than once during important assignments. But Angor had been able to see past all that rage and he’d kept the young dragon close to him and trained him hard from day one. Beat him when necessary, praised him when deserved. And now . . . ?

And now he was the most heartless, vile, and murdering bastard many of them had ever had the displeasure of knowing, and the most loathed dragon in all the Ice Lands.

For he was Éibhear the Contemptible, a Southland prince, and one of the dreaded Mì-runach Squad Leaders. He was also blindingly loyal, incredibly smart, and as close to a son as Angor ever had since he and his mate had never wanted offspring of their own.

The only problem with the royal? He read a lot, which Angor thought added to a lot of his problems. Who needed all those bloody books anyway?

“What do you need?” the blue dragon asked.

“We’ve stopped these Spikes from moving into Northland territories and meeting up with that young leader from the Ice Land tribe. But I want you and yours to go in, strike that leader down, so that them Spikes will understand this ox shit is over.”

“Right.”

“Just your squad. The others will come with me.”

“Got it.”

“You’ll find them near that territorial line by them Mountains of Depression or whatever.”

The Blue chuckled. “I think you mean the Mountains of Pain and Suffering.”

“Yeah. Whatever. You go. You kill the leader, end this. That way we can head home without worrying about it.”

“Consider it done.”

“Then you can go back to your kin, Éibhear the Contemptible. You go back and see your mum.”

The dragon stopped, blinked. “What?”

“Go home. See your mum.”

“Um . . . why? Is something wrong?”