by Sahara Kelly
He lifted one scaly eyebrow. “Like invading that icky territory a few shires away?”
“Hey. A good battle gets the blood heated a helluva lot more than most of the idiots I was fool enough to fuck.” She sighed. “And I never did hear the last of that little episode.”
Theo shook his head. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Not many princesses get to join a military campaign in disguise, chop off some heads, skewer a knight or two and live to tell about it.”
“Good point. But shit, it was fun, Theo.” She smiled sunnily at him. “Better than sewing any day.”
Theo’s non-lips parted in the dragon equivalent of a grin. “Yeah. I sort of figured that out.”
“About the barfing thing...”
He lifted a claw. “Don’t go there, okay?”
Georgie shrugged. “Okay.” She stretched and moved to the battlements, looking out over the countryside. “So. What’s next?”
“For you? Marriage I suppose.”
“Fuck. I was afraid of this.” Georgie squared her shoulders. “Father’s got ‘em all lined up, hasn’t he?”
“Yep. It’s his duty.”
“Duty schmooty. He’s after loot, that’s all. We’re commodities to be bartered in the market of dowries and land. It sucks.”
“Maybe he’s picked out a nice one for you...” Theo was obviously trying to be supportive.
“Yeah right.” She snorted in her turn. All that was missing was the smoke belching from her nose. “I’m lucky thirteen, babe. No matter that I’m sharper than the rest of ‘em put together. No matter that numbers one through seven took a few more years to graduate because they had problems spelling their names.” She curled her lip in disgust. “I seem to come from a long line of flaming twits.”
Theo chuckled. “Well you broke that mold right enough. And in all honesty, it would be fucking scary if all you princesses could wield a sword instead of a needle...”
“Another good point.”
Georgie was about to continue her discussion when a chime sounded within the roost. “Princess Georgiana - to the main hall please. Princess Georgiana - to the main hall.”
Her jaw dropped. “An intercom? What the fuck is this? Castlemarts?”
Theo shrugged. “It got installed some time ago when the King had laryngitis and couldn’t yell for his servants anymore. Gotta say it pisses me off.”
“Princesses Shirley and Florence - please see the seamstress. Princess Arabella - your prince has come.”
Georgie rolled her eyes. “Shit. I can see why.”
“Cancel Princess Florence. Cancel Princess Florence.”
“And this morning it’s been going nuts.” Theo sighed. “You’d better go, honey. The King doesn’t like being kept waiting.”
Georgie grimaced. “Yeah. And I’ll just bet there’s a maid in my room now with some really trashy piece of clothing she’s gonna want to squeeze me into. Like my tits are gonna sell me since my dowry won’t.”
Theo was oddly silent and Georgie turned to look at him. His eyes were glassy and fixed on her chest, and his tongue was hanging out. “You okay?”
He cleared his throat and politely blew the smoke downwind. “Of course. I was just thinking about your breasts, that’s all.”
Georgie smirked and tugged her tunic up, flashing him a look at the real thing. “Not bad, huh?”
Then she spun on her heel and ran toward the stone stairs. “Later, dude. I’ll be back.”
Theo rocked the battlements with the ensuing groan.
*~*~*~*
Court Courting and the Art of the Negotiated Deal
The main hall was a seething throng of lush fabrics, massive glittering jewels and fanciful hairdos - and that was just the men.
The women were even worse, at least according to Georgie’s bored eyes anyway. She’d never actually seen so many women engaged in what she could only describe as “synchronized simpering” in her life.
The Princesses had been seated on a dais to the left of the King’s throne. (The Queen, poor dear, was recovering from the birth of yet another daughter. Georgie had given up trying to remember how many sisters she now had. And she also wondered if the Queen had ever considered birth control - or, if that proved ineffective, castrating the King with his own sword.)
To the right of the throne was the King’s trusty Seneschal, now a graying elderly man with a rather harried look in his eyes. Since he was the one who had to continually tell the King about the arrival of more daughters, Georgie wasn’t surprised.
And off to the far right were the suitors. Georgie looked them over.
Shit. That’s a sorry-looking lot.
Ranked by importance, even the most noble of princes looked a bit light in the loafers to Georgie’s critical gaze. Of course, she couldn’t see terribly well, since the princesses had also been arranged in order of importance and she’d ended up at the back - third row, last seat on the left.
The sister in front of her seemed to think that Big Hair was still “in” and Georgie spent a good portion of the time craning her neck around the monstrosity that her sister had teased up into some sort of hirsute mountain. There was a bird in it, too.
Georgie stared at it, wondering if it was a decoration or one that had mistakenly (although understandably) assumed that this was actually its nest.
A blast on the trumpets made everyone jump and silence fell as the King strode into the room. There was a rustle as the throng stood respectfully, and a muffled clang followed by a curse from one of the Princes when his dress sword dropped on his foot.
(The bird hadn’t moved, so that answered at least one of Georgie’s questions.)
Suppressing her snicker, Georgie schooled her features into an arrangement resembling princessly disdain. Mostly she figured she looked like she had gas, but what the hell. She might as well show the Court she’d learned something from her Princess classes.
“Welcome home, my daughters.”
Talk about having gas.
The King spat out the last word with barely restrained disgust. “I’m sure you are all ready to take your place beside your chosen mate. To become his support, his inspiration and bring pride to your family.”
Not to mention enriching the King’s coffers considerably. Georgie curled her lip. Of course, to give the guy his due, he lived in a castle where there wasn’t a raised toilet seat to be found anywhere.
“As you will see, there are many who seek the privilege of your hands in marriage.” He waved his own hand at the assembled suitors who blushed and fidgeted or coughed self-consciously.
Sheesh. What a load of overdressed assholes.
“The Court has carefully considered each and every applicant, each and every request, each and every offer for your hands.”
And each and every bit of property on the negotiating table too, I’ll bet. Georgie’s gut curdled. She wondered if she’d been bartered for a pigsty, or perhaps an acre or two of beet fields. She hated beets.
“Will you shut the fuck up? I’m trying to listen.”
Georgie jumped as Theo’s voice sounded in her head. It was comforting, familiar and she felt some of her tensions relax as she tried to hide the smile his words had stimulated.
Thinking about Theo made the whole drawn-out, incredibly boring ceremony a shitload easier, that was for sure. He would understand why she’d rather be given a sword, a horse and a sharp lance over a husband any day.
Although - a lick of heat shimmered between her legs - she’d prefer not to give up the chance to have some really good sex someday.
And consequent upon the thought of really good sex, her mind darted back to the moment a few years back when Theo’s tongue had touched her in just the right spot and blown her princessly brains out of her left ear. Fuck. She must be a serious perv herself if she was gonna start thinking about getting it on with a goddamn dragon.
His cock was probably half a mile long and he’d rip her to bits if he ever tried to -
“Wil
l you shut the fuck up?” Theo’s mental bellow of outrage nearly knocked her off her chair. She sucked in a breath and blushed. She’d forgotten he could hear every frickin’ thought now she was home.
“And now for Princess Georgiana...”
There was a silence until the sister sitting next to Georgie nudged her sharply. “That’s you.”
Georgie jumped and frowned. “I know that.”
“Then stand up, for God’s sake.”
Georgie sighed and stood, feeling a lot more like she was about to face a firing squad than an engagement announcement.
“Uh...let me see here...” The King consulted a sheaf of papers on a low table by the throne. “Where’s that one?” He hissed an aside to his Seneschal.
The man hurried to paw through the papers as well, while Georgie rolled her eyes, stared at the ceiling and tried not to whistle.
“What the fuck. That’ll do.” The King waved his aide aside. “Princess Georgiana. You are hereby affianced to Prince William of Littlewick.” He looked around, only to have the Seneschal return and whisper something in his ear.
He sighed and actually deigned to look at Georgie. “The moron isn’t here yet. Sorry about that.”
The others fidgeted as Georgie sat back down with a thump. She’d gotten herself engaged to an idiot who couldn’t even show up on time.
Hah. We’ll see about that.
Theo, who had been carefully monitoring things via his link with Georgie, grinned. She was pissed off to the hilt, but he couldn’t quite figure out if it was because she’d gotten herself an unwanted fiancé, or if it was because he wasn’t there at the time.
Theo had also squelched down some very un-dragonly emotions as he’d caught her musings on sex. With him.
It was utterly and completely impossible. Theo knew that, Georgie knew that and it was a rather sore spot in Theo’s existence. His body might be about half a ton of scales and fire, but his soul was still vaguely human and he could still yearn.
Thankfully, although he shared Georgie’s dreams, she hadn’t shared his. Especially not the ones in which he had his own human body back and fucked her every which way ‘til Tuesday - and then some. Or the porn movie ones. Those were really good ones, all things considered.
Of course even if he was human, she probably wouldn’t be interested in a pimply low-born dweeb, not when there was some aristocratic twit with a title lurking around just waiting to pounce on...on...those gorgeous breasts she’d flashed him.
He sighed. Sometimes it was hard being a dragon. Especially when said dragon got hard and his pouch pinched him in rather uncomfortable places. Still, all things considered, he wanted her to be happy more than anything else.
And if this William of Whatever could do the trick - then Theo would bow out of the picture, do his best to sever the mind link and let her live the life she was entitled to.
He might just throw himself off the battlements to celebrate his joy at the occasion.
Morosely he trundled to the edge of the ramparts and rested his chin on the stones, staring at nothing in particular. He could hear the noise from the main hall even at this distance, which wasn’t really surprising since the sound of about a gazillion women all talking at once ranked right up there with earthquakes, violent explosions and Dandelion’s farts on the decibel scale.
There’d be a party going on right about now, food and drink would flow freely and be followed by dancing. Most couples would then pair off for the night, since they were formally affianced and could fuck their empty brains out without fear of recrimination.
This day was, in fact, a helluva lot more fun than the actual weddings that would come not long after. (Close enough that any accidental royals-in-the-making would have legitimacy.)
But Theo, naturally, wasn’t invited. Nobody invited dragons to parties since they tended to knock things over with their tails and scorch the curtains when they belched. Plus they really sucked at charades.
A flurry of noise behind him distracted Theo from his depressed musings and he raised an ear, recognizing Georgie’s light step.
He didn’t move. “What’re you doing here? Shouldn’t you be waiting for your fiancé?”
She groaned and came to stand beside him, resting an arm on his neck and staring along with him at the countryside. “He couldn’t even be bothered to show up, Theo. That’s how unimportant I am in the overall scheme of things.”
Theo huffed sympathetically.
“I’m thinking of becoming a nun.”
This time the huff was more of a chortle. “You’re kidding, right? You’re gonna hide those fabulous breasts under a black robe for the rest of your natural days?” He finally turned and raised an eyebrow. “I soooo don’t think so.”
“Better that than spend my life in bed with an asshole.”
“Why should you be any different than a good percentage of the women in the world?”
She pinched a scale. “Shit, Theo. That’s pretty harsh.”
“I’m feeling harsh. You’re gonna marry somebody. I’ll be all alone.” He turned back to his former slumping position and slumped even more.
There was a ping from the chime behind them. “Princess Georgiana - to your room please. Princess Georgiana - to your room please.”
Theo turned, hissed out a snort of disgust and accurately fried the intercom with a quick blast from his left nostril. “There. Perhaps now I’ll get some peace and quiet for a bit.”
“Theo...” Georgie leaned over and dropped a kiss on his ear. “I’ll never love anybody as much as I love you. Please believe me.”
Theo wanted to. Oh how he wanted to. But she knew him as a dragon, not the bewitched man who yearned for her. “You’d better go, sweetheart. Your prince has come.”
“Will you - like hover outside or something? Just don’t go all moody on me and leave me alone with him?” She sounded worried, genuinely worried, which was unusual for his brave Georgie, who could gut enemies without a blink.
He sighed, helpless to refuse her anything. “Okay, if that’s what you want. I’ll keep an eye on your room. But all you have to do is give me a signal and I’m out of there, okay?”
She kissed his ear once more. “Bless you, babe. I’ll feel a lot better knowing there’s help around if I need it.” She paused. “If I say ‘light the fire’ then you can consider your job done. But only that, nothing else. If I scream ‘fry his ass’ then just do it, okay?”
Theo nodded. It wouldn’t be easy, but he would - as always - be there for his personal Princess, up to and including the moment when her Prince came. Or she did, if the guy was any good at all.
Chapter Four
Some day my Prince will come...but not inside me!
Georgie heard the knock on the door and tried to quell her racing heart. This was it, the moment she’d get her first look at the hopefully-not-total idiot her father had assigned to her as her future husband.
She crossed the room preparing for the worst, since she placed little reliance on her father’s skills at matchmaking.
She opened the door - and caught her breath.
Standing in front of her was every maiden’s dream come true. Stunned, her jaw dropped as she let her gaze travel over the six-foot-and-then-some of delectable male.
Curly dark hair fell to his shoulders, brushing them softly. And nice firm shoulders they were, too. Beneath them was a chest wide enough to make any girl drool, especially since a good portion of it was revealed by a flowing white shirt that wasn’t quite laced tight enough to hide his well-defined pecs.
A trim waist followed, long muscular thighs in tight black pants whispered of strength and hard riding, and shiny boots completed the dramatic ensemble.
She whisked her gaze back up to his face, noting the attractive stubble on his chin and the darkly luminous eyes.
He was sex-on-the-hoof, straight off the cover of a romance novel - and he was all hers. She stood back, licked her lips and waved him in.
He smiled an
d entered, pushing the door closed behind him with one firm hand. Then he spoke.
“Hewwow.”
Georgie blinked.
“I’m Wiwwiam of Widdlewick. I beweive you were expecting me?” He wandered around the room, taking some sort of inventory.
“Er, yes. Hello. I’m Georgiana.” She struggled to regain her wits.
He nodded. “Yes. They towd me you were pwetty.” He glanced at her. “They were wight.”
“Would you care to sit down?” Georgie fought to remember her manners.
“No, that’s awwight. We might as well get stwaight to the fucking.” He looked hopeful. “I bwought a book.”
“You did?” She gulped. “What sort of book?”
“A book with pwetty pictures in it. Of people doing things. Boy people and giwl people.”
“Oh. That’ll be a help, I’m sure.”
Prince William sighed. “Yes. For some weason the women I’ve swept with seem to wike wooking at it first.”
No shit. Georgie turned away, biting her lip hard. “Er - have you swept...sorry...slept with many women?”
“Oh yes. Hundweds.”
“Weely?” She blushed. “I mean - really?”
He wrinkled his handsome nose in thought. “At weast ten.”
“Ah.”
He tipped his head at the only painting on her wall, a landscape of some fanciful and nonexistent tropical island. “I wike awt.”
“Pardon?”
“Awt. Paintings. I paint, you know.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Would you wike to see one?” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a small miniature.
Curiously, Georgie walked to his side and examined the little piece of porcelain. There were several daubs of yellow and orange at the top and a harsh black line across the bottom.
“How...charming. And original.” Georgie racked her brains. “I see you follow the surreal techniques. Or would that be the Dadaist school?”
He laughed. “Oh no, I’m nothing wike that. Can’t stand my father.” He stroked his chin. “Of couwse it’s going to be hard to weave Mummy...” He shrugged and put the miniature away. “But perhaps you’d wike me to undwess?”
