How to Drive a Dragon Crazy by G. A. Aiken

it near impossible to have royals, human or otherwise, staying within the queen’s castle for any length of time. She had little patience for outsiders, trusted few, and when she threatened to remove someone’s head, she often meant it. So Rhi’s Aunt Dagmar had had a large guest house built on Garbhán Isle for any visiting royals. It was a small castle that was equipped with its own staff and human guards. Once the house was finished, royals were more comfortable traveling to Dark Plains for important meetings with their queen. Something Rhi could easily understand.
    “The queen believes in providing visitors with a lot of space.”
    Albrecht nodded, glanced off. Rhi waited. No use in rushing him.
    “I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” he finally said.
    “Oh, you didn’t really. I was just sketching. I like to come out here where it’s quiet. It can get so busy in the house.”
    “I’m sure.”
    When he appeared at a loss for words, she prompted, “Would you like to join me for a bit?”
    “Um . . . yes. Yes, I would.”
    He started to walk toward her, but stopped. He blinked and suddenly brought his arms around, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “I nearly forgot. These are for you.”
    “Oh! Those are beautiful!” She held her hands out and Albrecht was leaning down to hand them to her when a stream of flame torched the gorgeous blooms and had the poor boy screaming like a small animal.
    “ What do you think you’re doing, boy? ” Briec the Mighty’s voice boomed across the glen.
    “Father!”
    “Quiet, Rhi!” her father ordered, while he stomped through the trees. At least he was in his human form. She had the distinct feeling Albrecht would have soiled himself if Briec the Mighty had faced him while in his silver dragon form.
    Her father pointed at the boy. “What makes you think you’re worthy of my perfect, perfect daughter, you worthless human? Now get from my sight before I have you turning on a spit for my evening meal!”
    Holding his singed hand, Albrecht bolted off and Rhi got to her feet.
    “Oh, Father!” She stomped her foot. “ How could you? ”
    Face blank, her father shrugged, and asked calmly, “How could I what?”
     
     
    Talaith, Daughter of Haldane, sat on the big table in the dining hall and watched one of her sisters-by-mating pace in front of her. Matching the woman step by step, as always, were two of her well-trained battle dogs.
    “I don’t know why you’re getting so upset,” Talaith said again.
    “Because I should have said no. To think I actually agreed to this!” Dagmar Reinholdt, Steward to Annwyl the Bloody and Battle Lord of Garbhán Isle, stopped and faced her. “I should have said no.”
    “But you didn’t. So suck it up already.”
    Steel-grey eyes narrowed on Talaith behind round spectacles. “You’re not being very sympathetic.”
    “I didn’t know I had to be.” Talaith tossed up her hands. “Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Your nephew is one blood relative. How bad can he be?”
    “You met my father. That should tell you something.”
    “I liked your father.”
    “Which disturbs me endlessly.”
    Talaith took Dagmar’s hand. “It’ll be fine.”
    “You’re right, you’re right. I’m panicking over nothing.” She pulled her hand back—Dagmar never liked to be touched except by the children and her mate, Gwenvael—and took a deep breath. In that instant, Dagmar Reinholdt had put herself under control again. It was something that Talaith absolutely envied about the small Northlander. Her ability to keep control. It was a skill Talaith didn’t have when she became angry enough and Annwyl never had in the first place.
    When Talaith had first seen Dagmar Reinholdt, she’d dismissed her as a sad, plain woman that the hedonistic Gwenvael the Handsome was hoping to fuck. In her plain gray gowns and fur boots, and with a gray scarf on her head, it seemed she was just some old maid. Oh, how wrong Talaith had been. There was nothing