Iris's Guardian

by Lisa Daniels

  It made sense, she supposed. Xanthia could only hope Mokkan got too confident for his own good, and a Quester took him down, allowing the fifteen of them to finally escape.

  She passed one princess who sat on a sofa, brushing her hair, and she wrinkled her nose at Xanthia as if she smelled like dirt.

  “How long has it been since you've had a bath?” Princess Jackie said.

  Xanthia merely glared at her. “When one of you finally gets out of the bath long enough for me to have one,” she retorted, her irritation spiking.

  With only one bathroom and fifteen fastidious princesses, it virtually guaranteed that Xanthia rarely got any opportunities to bathe at all – not unless she wanted to line up for several hours and endure being taunted and laughed at by the others.

  Finally down on the lowest floor where the reinforced glass stretched all along near Mokkan's cave entrance, Xanthia went to one of the tattered sofas by the glass and arranged herself comfortably on it. From here, she was able to catch a brief glimpse of the outside and into Mokkan's living room, where she saw a fraction of a mahogany table, but nothing else.

  All the other princesses had managed to decorate their rooms somewhat, even the one who was bottom of the pit before, now that Xanthia had usurped the last place position.

  For Xanthia, the girl who led her sisters in games, who used to mock Ruelle for being more like a boy than a girl, who once got one of the cooking servants in trouble for adding an extra bag of flour in the soup when no one was looking, it never occurred to her that the tables might turn.

  And now she was being sucker-punched in the face by fourteen other bitches like her.

  Gods, I'm a terrible person.

  Xanthia absently plucked at her robes, like a plain brown monk's habit, with a few dirt stains embedded in her skin. Her blonde hair hung limply about her shoulders, a fragment of its former glory.

  I feel so bad for treating Ruelle as I did. What I wouldn't give right now to have her fighting skills.

  Someone walked through the cave entrance, and when he neared, Xanthia recognized him as Mokkan. Her captor. Not a visitor or Quester, like she'd hoped.

  The dragon, now in his human form, hesitated to regard Xanthia. Green eyes shone from his solid, wide features, which, upon second glance, suited him quite well. He had a bullish appearance, oddly handsome, though not in the conventional prince way, with their rapier thin cheekbones and elven faces. No – this one looked as solid as a mountain, with the muscles to back him up, and a fuzz of red hair upon his head. The kind of man who appeared aware of his body and aware of the strength he contained. He stared at Xanthia disapprovingly.

  “Excuse me. You're Xanthia, right?”

  She nodded reluctantly. At least he remembered her name. He probably made a point of remembering all the names.

  “Why do you look so filthy? Even as a scrub maid, you should have some kind of charm to you, so everyone knows there's something special. I even released mice in the tower so you could all learn to charm animals.”

  “Oh, is that why we have a sudden infestation of mice?” Xanthia raised an eyebrow. A smile twitched her lips – she remembered the screams when they discovered about ten mice in the tower kitchens.

  Mokkan looked crestfallen. “Did no one bother bonding with them? They're magical mice. They can understand human speech.”

  Xanthia shook her head. “I think all your princesses have a phobia of small, furry things.”

  “Hmm.” Mokkan folded his large, impressive arms. They bulged out of his tunic, tapering around his bones in a way that made Xanthia want to trace the individual veins running under his skin. “But why do you look so bad?”

  “There's one bathroom, Mokkan. And fifteen princesses. Each who takes on average one to two hours to have one bath. I don't think you'd ever bathe in that scenario, either.”

  The dragon wrinkled his brow. “Hmm. I didn't think of that. No one mentioned it.”

  “Why would they? They hate you.”

  Now Mokkan let out a sigh. “I suppose it's to be expected. Alright. I'll let you out and you can have a bath in my place. You should keep yourself looking pretty.”

  Xanthia blinked at the offer. “Uh… really?”

  “Really. You look like you could do with a little pampering. But, uh – seriously. I paid a lot for those mice. Try and befriend one, will you?”

  What an odd dragon, Xanthia thought, finding his gesture oddly thoughtful at the same time. It sounded like he took the rumor of princesses being able to bond with animals seriously.

  Grateful, but not wanting to show it, because for the love of the gods, Mokkan was a freaking dragon, she hurried over to the locked door and stepped through once he unlocked it. For a brief second, she entertained the thought of just running for the exit, bath be dammed, before twenty-four years of reality caught up with her. Just exactly how far did she expect to get in the Wilderness, from a dragon who could fly at ten times the speed of her run? With a wistful sigh, Xanthia followed Mokkan into the living room, grateful that none of the other princesses bore witness to her temporary release from the tower. She'd never live it down.

  Looking at Mokkan's living room, she concluded he at least had some sense of style. Artfully crafted tapestries adorned the walls, most of them depictions of knights fighting dragons, or dragons of various colors holding stones, eyes closed as if meditating. A piano sat in the corner with a simple velvet stool by it. Her eyes took in a book shelf, a fireplace with a red rug underneath, a dining table with some kind of obscure board game on it, and guest sofas around what appeared to be a coffee table.

  Not bad. She nodded in appreciation and commented on it to Mokkan, who smiled.

  “Thanks. Many dragons are terrible at decorating their homes, but I like to look forward to coming back home, you know? To see my home, and to see my princesses.”

  Hence the enormous glass wall. Mokkan's kitchen contained several cauldrons hissing away, a hanging rack for his pots, pans, and cutlery, and a surface for preparing food on, complete with a little sink. Dust accumulated in the corners and under cupboards, suggesting the area didn't get used much.

  She didn't get to see his bedroom, but admired the spacious bathroom he held for himself.

  Mokkan tossed her a towel and told her to be no longer than an hour. He'd knock ten minutes before to remind her as well.

  “Thanks a lot,” Xanthia said, giving the dragon a smile. “Really.”

  The green eyes stared at her, slightly embarrassed. “It's not a problem. I'm... busy a lot. And I know I should spend more time trying to socialize with my princesses. I just... I'm fighting Questers a lot, entertaining guests a lot... I don't get so much spare time.”

  Xanthia shrugged at his statement. “I'd say that's kind of your fault for having so many. Most dragons are satisfied with just one. Why fifteen?”

  Mokkan pursed his lips. “I don't know. I just like collecting them. And it gets me a lot of attention. People wonder how I can keep so many.”

  Barely, Xanthia thought. She scrutinized Mokkan again. Was he a young or old dragon? With his features, he could be anything above or below the age of thirty. With so many princesses, it was a wonder Mokkan hadn't lost any. She supposed it was testimony to his cave's enchantments, and his own fighting skills. Or just how vastly incompetent all the Questers were.

  “Look, if you want to make keeping the princesses a better thing, I strongly recommend investing in more bathrooms. Like, at least five more.”

  He nodded, but didn't promise anything, and left Xanthia to it.

  It felt good to know she could bathe, though she doubted he'd be so willing to give her another chance like this. And the princesses would ask questions, of course, if they saw her come back squeaky clean.

  I can say I washed myself in a toilet. That should repel all of them for about a hundred meters each side.

  Princess Xanthia of the Cleaned Toilets. A glorious title. She waited until the bath was three-quarters full with h
ot water, moderated for her temperature tolerance, then she stripped off and slid into the water with a sigh.

  For a moment, she imagined Mokkan doing the same thing. Lying in this bath tub, naked, his green eyes closed, his arms sprawled along the rim, taking in the warmth after a long day doing whatever it was that dragons did.

  She shivered, her cheeks flushing from the errant thought. It wouldn't do for a princess to allow her mind to wander so. Especially not a captive one, waiting to be rescued.

  She might be waiting for an awfully long time, though. Maybe even years. Would any prince want to go for her if she came back as a wrinkly forty-year-old?

  The thought depressed her slightly, but also had the effect of bolstering her determination to stay strong and hope for the best.

  When her bathtime finished, Mokkan shyly handed her a small snack, and sniffed approvingly at the smell that emanated from her.

  “See? You're beautiful. You shouldn’t hide yourself.”

  “Well, like I said. Baths. More of them. Then maybe we'd all be less likely to want to murder you in your sleep.” She examined the food gift, which looked like a rice ball, and bit into it. “Oh! This is lovely. Where is it from?”

  “I made it,” he said. “I cook, sometimes.”

  “Wow.” Xanthia gave him a thumbs-up, and he smiled in an almost painful way, making her wonder something. Was he a lonely dragon? Was that why he collected so many princesses, like pets? Invited guests around to show them off?

  The inner workings of a dragon's mind sure was strange.

  Back inside the tower, with Mokkan shyly waving her goodbye, Xanthia considered searching out those mice he talked about.

  If they really did understand human speech, she could give the other princesses a bad, bad time.

  Chapter Two

  Lying on her bed, Xanthia watched as a little mouse dragged along a gold necklace across the floor, squeaking excitedly. Another one followed suit with a pearl earring. Then another one with a scrap of cloth torn from one of the plain work habits. Xanthia grinned at her little mouse army, and tossed them some breadcrumbs.

  “Good job, little guys. Those bitches won't know what's hit them.”

  At the mention of “bitches,” one of the mice squeaked, before covering up a smaller mouse's ears.

  “Oh. Sorry,” Xanthia apologized, guessing they didn't like swearing. Much like her parents. Although Xanthia, her brothers, and her sisters used to enjoy swearing at each other outside parental and servant supervision to see how offended everyone got.

  The mouse squeaked again before dropping the pearl earring in a crack in the floorboards, where many other princess items mysteriously went missing. Within a few days of deciding to seek out the mice, Xanthia had the entire batch listening to her and running errands. They seemed to like her, and a few even slept in the bed next to her. Xanthia didn't mind; they were very cuddly, and having them around the room had the extra effect of creating an invisible barrier which no princess would ever dare cross. She might have discreetly hinted to them that it would be an awful shame if the other princesses ended up with worse living conditions, having to constantly live in fear of mice, dragons, and getting old. So, of course, they obliged, using their little furry bodies to steal from the others – especially from Vanessa and her sycophantic cronies.

  She'd sometimes go down to the bottom floor to see if Mokkan might give her another chance to bathe in his nice tub, and he let her, except when he happened to be busy. Either from battling Questers who made it to the final boss, from guests, or from other dragony things. He also gave her a wave and a smile upon sight, and his eyes seemed to twinkle upon seeing her perched on the tatty sofa, watching for him.

  Yes. He certainly likes the attention.

  With Xanthia's mouse army assembled in front of her, close to three hundred of the little creatures, she congratulated them for their findings, gave some of them kisses, making them squeak in muted embarrassment, and she stroked them behind their ears, because they happened to be rather clean creatures. She considered using them to help clear out the bathroom, but didn't want to make it too obvious that the mice listened to her.

  So, instead, she stuck to her boring chores, the scrubbing, the torment of the princesses, and quietly got her revenge in other, non-violent ways.

  “I don't understand why so many things are going missing,” Vanessa complained, now only wearing one pearl earring, leaving a gash in her other ear because she had no other matching pairs. “It's like we're haunted by ghosts.”

  “Our castle has a ghost,” Andrea said, fluttering her eyelashes vapidly. “It likes to wail and bang the pipes in the walls, and throw things at us when we pass too close.”

  “That's a poltergeist,” Belle disagreed. “Ghosts just mope around and look miserable. Poltergeists are the ones that throw things.”

  When the princesses looked over at her, Xanthia said, hastily, “I lost the soles in my shoes and the ring on my baby finger.” A lie, but hopefully neither would inquire too closely.

  Vanessa did however squint at Xanthia suspiciously, sensing a little part of the glee in her face.

  I'm not that obvious, am I?

  “I don't like you, Xanthia. You're up to something, I can tell.”

  “Why would I be up to anything? I'm stuck scrubbing other people's crap and brooding about how unfair life is and my fellow princesses are.”

  Vanessa made a tch sound, before dismissing her. “Go. I'm in a merciful mood today.”

  A mouse skittered by her foot, and she let out a shriek of terror and jumped onto Andrea, who stumbled backwards and fell onto the floor. Belle started screaming hysterically, and Xanthia fast ducked out of sight as if running, but really, she struggled to not laugh her lungs out. She wiped her eyes and continued chortling, heading towards the bottom floor.

  Already, in Xanthia's mind, she'd learned to separate herself from the other princesses. Maybe central kingdom types were different from the border or mid-ring ones. Maybe they knew how to tolerate more, though you'd think, living right on the edge of the Wilderness, the royals would be little more than country hicks. Uncouth but bold at the same time, whereas central types would wilt under pressure.

  Maybe it's just me, then. Or because of how they've treated me. She shrugged, travelling down the stairwell to the bottom floor with the glass wall.

  Four other princesses were down here as well, and beyond the glass, Mokkan seemed to be once again engaged in a fight with Questers.

  “Get the other princesses!” one of the watchers shrieked to her friends. “Oh, get them all here to watch!”

  Two princesses scampered by Xanthia, and Xanthia walked over to the wall. Mokkan, in his bright green dragon form, fought two bands of five, and in the huge cavern, he reared up to his hind legs and blasted fire in a circle, tail swishing viciously, wings flapping with such force that they created a massive slipstream of wind.

  However, it looked as if the Questers were well equipped this time. Also, more and more Questers poured into the cave, surrounding Mokkan on all sides, leaving him vastly outnumbered. His scales resisted the magic, and he gave as good as he got, slicing through the Questers, but it did look as though they’d organized beforehand, choosing to come here in a massive group – likely justified by the number of princesses locked within.

  Within moments, all the princesses had made it down to the bottom floor and were cheering on the Questers, groaning and crying whenever one fell.

  Honestly, it looked terrible for Mokkan. The knights scored hits in his sides, and witnessing the extra speckles of blood whipped up the princesses into a howling frenzy, as they stamped their feet and clapped.

  He brought this on himself, Xanthia thought, watching the dragon struggle valiantly against the superior numbers, roaring his fury, spreading out his wings rather impressively as he spewed fire, incinerating any who didn’t have protective barriers or anti-fire gear upon them.

  I’ll be rescued. I’ll be sent home. I�
��ll be out of this miserable tower! Xanthia grinned with the other princesses. However, watching Mokkan’s efforts, remembering the few times he’d allowed her to take a bath outside the tower and smiled at her, she couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

  Feeling bad for a monster? A dragon, nonetheless, the most hated foe of all the kingdoms?

  She didn’t want to watch his defeat.

  Vanessa, however, seeing Mokkan’s energy wearing down, his flames growing thinner, now bore her eyes into Xanthia.

  “Seize Xanthia! Now!”

  “What?” Xanthia said, along with some confusion from the previously squalling princesses. “Wait. What are you doing?” Hands grabbed and locked her arms from behind, and she squirmed uselessly.

  “Take her to the closet in my room! Gag her! We won’t let her go with us.”

  “What the fuck?” Xanthia screamed at her. “What did I do wrong? I did everything you asked!”

  “I don’t like you,” Vanessa replied simply, looking her up and down. “And I don’t know how you’ve been getting yourself clean, but you’re clearly hoarding something for yourself that you shouldn’t. Up to the closet! Up! Up! Up!”

  Other princesses took up the chant, and Xanthia, protesting shrilly and attempting to kick and flail, was dragged up the stairwell by the other princesses, taken to the fifth floor, and gagged with several layers of cloth. They tugged painfully into her mouth and her cries became muffled. Her hands got bound by cloth as well, and once thrown into the bare wardrobe, she heard Vanessa yelling for the others to bind it. Xanthia considered trying to tip it over, but realized rapidly if she succeeded, she’d trap herself further.

  Instead she waited, fuming, trying to gnaw at the fabric, which became wet between her teeth as she attempted to control her breathing.

  Soon, the princesses left, no doubt to savor Mokkan’s defeat, get themselves all released, and probably inform the Questers that Xanthia got freed earlier or ran away or something.