“It may be a bad situation,” the Blue argued. “We can’t just…leave.

What if women and children are involved?”

Not about to spend one precious second of his life dealing with this, Ragnar said, “Meinhard.”

Meinhard quickly stepped up to the royal. “Remember what we talked about before we left?”

“Aye, but—”

“And remember what you promised?”

“But I’m only saying that—”

“Remember?”

The Blue let out a sigh that made Ragnar contemplate slapping him…

just to make him cry. “Aye. I remember.”

“Then do as you promised.” Meinhard patted his shoulder. “That’s a good lad.”

Ragnar headed down the street. As they got farther and farther along, they began to see more people. The biggest crowd was near the Baron Lord’s four-story castle.

“An execution,” Vigholf murmured behind him. “That explains it.”

“Good,” Ragnar said and pointed to another street shooting off from the main one. “We’ll cut around that way and head out. By the time they’re done, we’re through and out.”

Ragnar headed off, his kin and the royal following. But he kept one ear open for what was going on at the execution. Sometimes, if it was a popular local being executed, the occasional uprising might start and those could turn ugly fast. He’d prefer not to get caught in the middle of something like that. Especially with the royal do-gooder bringing up the rear.

They were nearing the corner where they would turn onto the next street when Ragnar heard whoever was running the execution say, “Do you have any last words?”

He picked up his pace, knowing that those last words could really get a riot moving along.

“Good people—” He heard the words ring out over the yard and street, and Ragnar stumbled to a stop, his chest—which hadn’t bothered him since he’d last spoken to the Dragon Queen—beginning to itch again.

His brother and cousin stopped short next to him.

“What is it?” Vigholf asked.

Ragnar ignored him and looked over at the royal with them. The Blue had stopped too, and when he saw that Ragnar’s gaze had locked on him, he cringed.

Stepping around his brother, Ragnar looked up at the executioner’s block. A fresh noose swung in the cool afternoon air, and a black-masked bull of a man stood at the ready to do his job.

And there, at the front of the block, wearing more chains than seemed necessary for someone these humans should at least think was also human, and with two units’ worth of men aiming pikes at her, stood one royal who didn’t know how not to find trouble.

With her long dark red hair blowing in the same direction as the noose behind her, and dirt on her cheeks, nose, and blue gown, she held her shackled hands out, her big brown eyes imploring as she said again, “Good people. I beg you to see the injustice you are doing here. The unfairness. For I am innocent!”

Hardly.

“What is she doing here?” Vigholf asked, his gaze fastened on the executioner’s block.

“Performing,” was Ragnar’s only answer. Because that was the only explanation. She was a dragoness for the gods’ sake! She could blast the entire town to embers without even shifting to her natural form, and yet she’d let them put her up there for execution!

What exactly is wrong with these Southland royals?

Keita clasped her hands together and looked up into the skies above, making sure to angle her head so the crowd could see the tears glistening in her eyes.

“I assure all you good people that I had nothing to do with Lord Bampour’s tragic death. For I—”

“Is this going to take much longer?”

Keita snapped her mouth shut and glared into the audience at her feet.

She looked past all those unnecessary guards, focusing on the male who had interrupted her eloquent soliloquy.

“Sorry,” he said, the hood of his cloak covering his handsome face.

“Go on.”

“Thank you,” she snipped.

Keita let out a breath, looked up at the sky again, and asked, “Where was I?”

“You had nothing to do with Lord Bampour’s tragic death,” that familiar voice offered.

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I am not the one who has done this horrible deed. I am an innocent! And I beg all of you”—she brought her gaze down and opened her arms as much as the thick chain between her shackles would allow—“to save me from this horrid fate that I do not…” Keita’s words faded away, and she leaned forward a bit, trying to see beyond the crowd of men and pikes in front of her. After a moment, she asked,

“Éibhear?”

Her baby brother, towering over the entire crowd, waved at her and, grinning, Keita waved back. Making sure not to hit herself in the face with that stupid chain. “Éibhear!” she cheered. “What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through,” he called back. “You all right?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she answered honestly. “Are you going to stay for the execution?”

“I guess I better so we can bring your body back to Mum.”

“Don’t take me to her. She’ll just spit on my corpse and dance around it. And being trapped in the afterlife, I won’t be able to beat her within an inch of her miserable existence. But tell Daddy I said hi.” Keita clasped her hands together again and said, “Now, where was I?” She heard her traveling companion clear his throat, and when she glanced over at him, he pointed to something that had pushed past all the townspeople and guards and now was right in front of the block she stood upon.