Bring the Heat
Page 3Bickering, the sisters began to head back to the queen’s castle, but Kachka realized that the kitchen staff person was struggling to drag the bison back with her. Annoyed—at everyone!—Kachka grabbed one leg of the dead animal and her sister grabbed the other. Together, they yanked the bison back to the house, arguing all the way, while the girl was forced to run in order to keep up.
“I just don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” Elina said, yanking the bison over a ridge. “There’s plenty of food and water and soft beds to sleep in.”
“You don’t have to remind me of how pathetic we’ve become, sister.”
“How is enjoying a few amenities pathetic?”
“The fact that you have to ask that upsets me more than you’ll ever know.”
“Then find something to do, Kachka, rather than sitting around glaring at everyone.”
“What can I do here?” Kachka demanded. “What is there for me to do? Farm?” She stopped, glared at her sister. “Is that what you want me to be? A farmer? Like some . . . man? Is that what you think of me? That I’m a worthless man?”
“Of course not! I’d never say that. But perhaps you can talk to the Northlander, Dagmar Reinholdt. She is always up to something.”
“She hates me,” Kachka reminded her sister.
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t fucked her nephew . . .”
“He was there!”
They began dragging the bison carcass again.
“There has to be something constructive you can do,” her sister went on. “I’m sure General Brastias would be more than happy to have you—”
Kachka stopped again, now only a few feet from the queen’s home. “Take orders from a man? Have you lost your mind?” she yelled. “Has everyone lost their mind?”
That’s when the queen suddenly screamed. And screamed. And screamed some more.
Everyone who had been going about their day ran when they heard that scream. Soldiers. Merchants. Nursing mothers. Everyone. They ran and hid.
“That answers my question,” Kachka muttered.
“Shut up.”
The queen disappeared into her home, and Kachka and Elina finished dragging the bison all the way to the kitchens. Once they dropped it off, they returned to the deserted Main Hall.
Kachka stood there a moment before announcing, “See? There’s nothing to do!”
Gaius walked into the palace that now belonged to him and his twin. The original palace, the one his cousin Vateria and her father, Overlord Thracius, had ruled from, had been torn down. It had been partially destroyed during his sister Aggie’s rescue; then Gaius and a few chosen dragon friends had ripped apart the rest of it. He would never let that palace stand, no matter how many of his kin had lived and ruled there. Not after his sister had been held captive in that place by the bitch Vateria. They had been raised with their cousin Vateria, but from the beginning they’d never been close with her. Never trusted her. Definitely never liked her. And then, when their father was murdered by his own brother, Gaius had made it his goal to one day challenge Thracius for the throne. But, when he was old enough—and strong enough—to make that challenge, that’s when Vateria, always so very smart, had captured Aggie and held her hostage in the old palace. She knew it was the one way to control Gaius. To “keep him in his place,” as she liked to say. It had worked, too. And Aggie had been in a tolerable situation, as she was still royal born and niece of Thracius. But then Thracius went to war with the Southlanders, taking on the Dragon Queen, leaving his bitch daughter alone with Aggie. For five long, painful years.
Aggie refused to talk about what had happened, but some nights she woke up screaming. Some nights she didn’t sleep at all.
And yes, Gaius blamed himself, although he knew Aggie never did. But how could he not blame himself? His poor, weak, defenseless sister trapped in the web of that evil—
“You!” Aggie gripped Gaius’s throat, causing him to gag before yanking him into another room. “Excuse us, Lætitia,” she told their aunt before slamming the door in Lætitia’s stunned face.
“What have you done?” his sister demanded.
“That’s vague.”
“There are Mì-runach in our throne room. Why?”
“Of course I’m sure. Now why are they here?”
“I don’t . . . oh.” Gaius cringed. “Oh.”
“What have you done?”
“I had your best interests at heart.”
“You idiot,” Aggie sighed out just as Lætitia knocked on the door and quickly entered.
She closed the door, turned to her niece and nephew, and announced, “There are peasants in your throne room. Southland peasants!”
“They’re Mì-runach,” Aggie told her and gestured to Gaius. “That this idiot requested.”
“Gaius!”
“I did not request them.”
“Then what did you do?” his sister demanded.
“I requested help from the Dragon Queen, but . . .”
“But?”
“But I thought she’d send Cadwaladrs.” The Cadwaladrs were a Southland clan of Low Born dragons trained from hatching in the ways of war and defense of the Dragon Queen’s territories. They might not be respected, but they were greatly feared. And with reason.
“You need protection.”
Aggie suddenly stood tall, her spine straight, her long steel-colored hair reaching down her back in intricate braids and curls. She looked amazingly regal, which was how she always looked when she was getting defensive. “Why would I need protection?”
“Because he’s going off on a fool’s errand, that’s why.”
Gaius briefly closed his eyes. “Lætitia,” he sighed.
“What? I’m not lying. Tell me I’m lying,” she ordered. “Tell me.”
If Lætitia hoped to get Aggie on her side, she’d just failed because now the twins were giggling. Like they used to when they were hatchlings.
“The two of you! I swear by the gods.”
Aggie cleared her throat. “Aunt Lætitia, could you excuse us?”
“You’re sending me back out there? With those plebeians?”
“Or you could just go to your room. But you need to go . . . you know . . . away.”
Lætitia snatched the door open, gazed back at her niece and nephew. “Hmmph!” she snapped before walking out, making sure she slammed the door in the process.
“Mind telling me what’s going on?” Aggie asked. “You know I hate when Lætitia knows more than me. It gives her way too much enjoyment. And we both know that I can’t allow that.”
Dagmar Reinholdt was deep in paperwork, scrolls and parchments littering her desk. Ink covering her hands. And six of her best-trained dogs surrounding her. It had been that way since the last attempt on her life nearly seven months ago. Her mate, Gwenvael the Handsome, had insisted. She still had an assistant, but he’d been chosen by Morfyd, who used her magicks to ensure the Northland male sent by her brothers and approved by Dagmar’s father had no loyalty except to reason.