Gwenvael came to an abrupt stop, and she watched her brother pull air in his lungs to unleash flame at Brastias. Tired of her brother’s ridiculous vendetta against her mate, Morfyd wrapped her arms around Brastias’s shoulders, pulled him in against her with her chin resting on his shoulder, and unleashed the fire ball she’d been planning to use on Keita.

While her brother flew back across the room, she finished her thought.

“Delightful. That sounds delightful. Let’s go.” Ragnar and Vigholf stepped aside, watching the Southlander fly past them engulfed in flames.

Once he hit the wall, they moved together again and focused on the crowd.

“What else have you heard?”

“Lots of talk about attacks on small villages and towns in or near the Western Mountains. They try to make it look like the barbarian tribes, but the troops are finding evidence it’s the Sovereigns.” Ragnar blew out a breath and nodded. “All right. Good work.”

“You sure you’re not just reading too much into those missives?”

“Perhaps, but I’d rather be sure, wouldn’t you?”

“You sure this has nothing to do with your princess? A reason to keep her around maybe?”

“It has almost everything to do with her. But that doesn’t change the fact that if the Irons come, they’ll be coming down through the Northlands.”

“You really think Styrbjörn would be that stupid?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Then I’ll see if I can find out any more.”

“Good. Thank you, brother.”

Vigholf nodded. “There’s one other thing. It may be nothing, but…” If it was nothing, Vigholf wouldn’t bother to bring it up. “But what?” He leaned in closer, dropped his voice even lower. “They say the human queen has been having dreams. About something riding down mountains of ice on horses with eyes of fire, giant dogs with horns running at their side.”

Ragnar stared at the floor, his heart skipping several beats. “Are you sure?”

“It’s what I heard, but the rumor is only now starting to spread.” He shrugged. “They all think she’s mad anyway, so few take these dreams seriously.”

Because they didn’t know.

“If it’s them she dreams of, brother—” Vigholf began.

“Don’t panic.” Ragnar lifted his head, glanced around. “Let me see what I can find out. We’ll talk more later.”

“All right.”

Ragnar motioned across the room to Meinhard, who’d found himself several females to talk to. “He seems to be doing all right for himself.”

“He has all his hair,” Vigholf muttered, making Ragnar want to punch his brother in the head.

“Perhaps you’d like hair like these royals. Past your ass, so you can look particularly enticing to other males.”

“I didn’t say I wanted that. I just don’t want this.”

“Be grateful you still have your head.”

“Lord Vigholf!” Keita called out, stepping away from the dancing crowd. “There you are.”

Considering he and his brother had not moved, Ragnar wasn’t sure how hard it could be for Keita to find Vigholf.

With her hand on another She-dragon’s shoulder, Keita said, “Lord Vigholf, this is my cousin Aedammair.”

“My lady.”

“It’s ‘captain,’” the brown dragoness gruffly corrected. “You wanna dance then?”

“Well, actually—”

“Good.” The dragoness grabbed Vigholf’s surcoat and yanked the poor bastard out onto the dance floor.

Keita leaned her backside against the table, her palms pressed against the wood.

“And what exactly was that about?” Ragnar asked.

“He looked depressed. Aedammair will help him with that.”

“Tell me, princess, do you whore out all your relations to appease outsiders?”

“Only the cousins who tell me, ‘I’ll f**k that purple stallion over there. What’s his name?’”

“Why does she get to bed a purple stallion without question, but you can’t?”

“Aedammair is a low-born. I, however, am of royal blood. I can’t be running around, bedding just anyone.” She pursed her lips before admitting,

“I do, but I’m not really supposed to.” Ragnar laughed, gazing down at her. “You look amazing tonight.” Her smile was bright. “I know. I put in all this effort for you, I’ll have you know. It best pay off.”

“I think I can arrange that.”

Gwenvael had finally managed to get to his feet, stumbling up to the table while brushing dirt and flame residue off his still-intact clothes, proving whoever had set him aflame hadn’t been trying to hurt him as much as make him go away.

“You’re unreasonable!” the Gold yelled at someone across the hall.

“Do you think whoever he’s yelling at was being unreasonable?”

“No, not at all.” Keita spread her arms out a bit farther, and her fingers brushed against his.

Ragnar watched his brother cut through the crowd on the dance floor, trying to make it to an exit, the brown dragoness hot on his heels. “When can we get out of here?” Ragnar asked, keeping his voice low. “I have a great need to be back inside you.”

“We could brazenly walk out with me over your shoulder like one of my cousins did with his mate. Although I’m fairly certain that may lead to your imminent death from my brothers before we make it out to the courtyard.”