The dragon growled as she led him to the nearby stream.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Elina slid out of the bed they’d only made it back to a few hours before and quickly pulled on her clothes. She grabbed her bow and quiver and left the room silently so as not to wake Celyn.
She gently closed the door and was turning to head down the stairs when her sister’s door opened and the Northland boy was shoved into the hall. His clothes were balled up and held by one hand while the other hand managed to keep a blanket in front of his naked cock.
He opened his mouth to say something, but Kachka slammed the door in his face.
Elina watched the poor boy’s expression fall into dejected misery, and she worked hard to hide her smile. She walked up to him while he stood there, staring at that door like he expected it to open again. It wouldn’t. Not for him, anyway.
Elina placed her hand on his forearm, and the Northlander turned those intense grey eyes toward her. Yes. She could see what had attracted her sister—at least for the moment.
“It hurts now, I know,” she explained. “But trust me . . . what my sister just taught you in the last few hours will last you for centuries and have a horde of eager females scratching at your door, looking for good fuck.” She grinned and patted his shoulder. “And a good fuck you shall give them.”
She winked and headed off down the hall toward the stairs.
When Elina reached the Great Hall, she made her way to the table and grabbed a piece of fresh fruit from a bowl.
“You,” she heard behind her and turned to see Dagmar Reinholdt walking toward her, while Gwenvael the oh-so-yummy ran across the landing toward the stairs.
Pointing a finger at her, Dagmar demanded, “What did your Outerplains whore of a sister do to my nephew?”
“She made him man. Something these little Southland girls could not do for him. Fucked him raw based on what I heard through walls.”
Dagmar took an awkward, clumsy swing at Elina’s face that Elina managed to avoid simply by leaning back slightly. Before the Northlander could swing again, Gwenvael caught his mate from behind and pinned her arms to her sides.
That’s when Elina realized that Dagmar Reinholdt was a damn lucky woman. With only his leggings and boots on, Gwenvael the Handsome was the epitome of male beauty. Especially with all that long, golden hair and those rippling muscles. His face was angular perfection. Honestly, Dagmar was lucky Kachka hadn’t dragged him off to her bed last night. Elina had no idea whether either Dagmar or Kachka was considered pretty by these vapid Southlanders, but Kachka definitely had more to offer. She was a very good provider and protector; could give a punch as well as take one; and would always put food on the table thanks to her hunting skills.
Could Dagmar Reinholdt, a weak, Northlander female, say the same? Elina doubted it. Not to say this woman didn’t have her own particular talents, but only in the Southlands was sneaky plotting considered a useful skill.
Gwenvael pulled his mate away while Elina watched them and ate her delicious fruit.
“You should be happy,” Elina informed the foolish woman when she saw that the Northlander’s anger wasn’t abating. “Yesterday he was boy with only worthless girls that took ride on cock. Today he is man. Now you can get several oxen and quite a few horses for his large Northland shoulders and for what my sister taught him in the bed.”
“Keep your sister away from my nephew!” Dagmar snarled.
“My sister got what she wanted from him,” Elina calmly explained. “She no longer wants your nephew.”
Gwenvael shook his head and lifted his mate off the floor, stumbling back a few steps. “You are not making this easy, Elina.”
“I am honest. I do not know other way to be.”
“Of course you don’t,” he muttered, carrying his mate away.
“Just remember,” the Northlander yelled back at her, “I can have you and that sister of yours executed in the town square. I have that kind of power!”
Elina tossed the core of her fruit to one of the dogs sniffing around under the table and grabbed another from the bowl.
She headed outside and as she went down the stairs, she found Annwyl the Bloody standing there, staring off . . . at what, Elina had no idea.
“May death find you well this morning, Annwyl,” Elina greeted her, tucking her fruit into the outside pocket of her quiver.
Annwyl chuckled, her gaze still locked on something past the courtyard. “I hate to say that death has found me many ways over the years, Elina. But I’m not sure it ever found me well.”
“You still live, so it must have.” Elina frowned a little. “Are you all right?”
“I was sleeping. . . .” She closed her eyes, her head tilting up so that the suns shone down upon her face. “Fearghus is always so warm. I love sleeping next to him in the winter. Summers can be hard, though. But I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not anything.
“Are you going to stay here?” the royal abruptly asked, her sudden change of subject startling Elina a bit. Annwyl turned her head to look at Elina, but Elina could barely see the queen’s eyes through all that hair. When had she stopped combing it? And why? Daughters of the Steppes might live a hard life, but they prided themselves on always being well groomed.
“I . . . I had not thought of it,” Elina said, stumbling over her words a bit. “But everything has happened so quickly. Do you want us to go?” Because Elina would never consider sending her sister away alone. Not when Kachka had given up everything to protect Elina. Everything. And that was a debt Elina would never forget or be able to repay.