The Dragon's Choice

by Wesley Allison

  “I suppose I could,” replied his mother. “Why?”

  “Well, men have needs. They’ll want certain things and you’re too old for that now.”

  Yuah blinked.

  “What I’m saying is that you don’t want a man pawing at you.”

  “Not at my advanced age,” she said dryly.

  “There you go,” he said, standing. “I’m off. I have a meeting with the Department of Lizzie Affairs.”

  He stood up and walked out the door to the foyer, leaving the two women alone again.

  “You see?” said Yuah. “He’s full of Iolanthe.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Gladys. “I see quite a bit of you in him. He has the same kind of spiritual power that you have.”

  “Suuwasu.”

  “What?”

  “The lizzies call that Suuwasu,” Yuah explained. “I’ve been told that I have some, but I’ve never actually seen any evidence of it.”

  “Well you have it,” said Gladys. “What do we have planned for the rest of the day?”

  “When I’m feeling pensive, I like to buy dresses. Also when I’m feeling sad, happy, angry, or hungry.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  Mr. Barrymore, the butler, opened the door and with a bow invited Prince Clitus to enter. Clitus spent several minutes in the parlor with Lady Esther and Lady Iolana, before Lady Terra joined him. When she entered the room, she took his breath away. Her deep blue evening gown was cut very low, giving him a good view of her shoulders and her long neck. Her arms were mostly bare, but she wore a pair of black gloves. Her purse and her hand fan both matched the blue and black ensemble.

  “Are one of these ladies acting as a chaperone?” he asked. “Or should we stop and pick up Mrs. McInerney? She’s ready and just down the street.”

  “We don’t need a chaperone,” she replied. “I’m sure there will be a veritable multitude watching us at any moment.”

  They climbed into the back of the car, with Stigby and Bob in the front, and drove to the waterfront. Waiting at dockside was the royal yacht H.M.S. Sovereignty. It was a sharp looking vessel, some twenty years old, and 380 feet long with modern steam power, though it carried masts for the use of sails in an emergency. A line of about a dozen crewmen in brilliant white suits stood at attention, as the Prince and his guest passed by.

  Walking up the gangway, the Prince led Terra to the stern of the ship, where a table had been prepared with fine silverware and porcelain dishes, and a white tablecloth. He pulled out a chair for her and she sat, carefully smoothing down her gown. He took the chair across from her. A pair of white-clad stewards appeared. One lit the candles in the center of the table and the other poured two glasses of sparkling wine.

  “To the most beautiful woman I know,” said Clitus, raising his glass.

  “Well now, that’s just silly,” she said. “We both know any number of women whom you think are more beautiful than I am.”

  “Um, what?”

  “I happen to know that you think Iolana is the most beautiful woman you know, though I was always of the opinion that her nose was a bit too small for her face.”

  “I always, um… what?”

  She looked carefully at her wine glass and then took a sip.

  “Water. You remembered.”

  Clitus shook his head to clear it.

  “I must protest that I do find you most beautiful.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m glad we got that settled.” He sipped his own drink.

  “Don’t feel like you’ve won a great argument,” said Terra. “Surely you didn’t expect me to argue my own hideousness, after all.”

  The Prince put down his glass and crossed his arms.

  “Lady Terra, you confound me,” he said with a frown.

  “Yes, I know. You have found me increasingly intriguing, but until recently you haven’t felt that certain spark.” She reached across the table and held out her hand. Hesitantly, he reached out his own. Like the snapping of a trap, she grabbed it, causing him to flinch.

  “You feel the spark now,” she said. “Your pulse is rising. Your mouth is getting dry. Your trousers are getting a bit too tight.”

  “Lady Terra!”

  She pulled her hands back and suddenly seemed the very portrait of propriety. Half a second later, the two stewards returned, setting out an array of bread and a tray of butter, honey, and assorted jams.

  “Water, please,” said Clitus.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  They brought a glass of water and two lightly dressed salads and then they were gone again.

  “Um, bread?” he asked.

  “Pumpernickel with black current jam, please,” she said primly.

  He prepared a slice for each of them and handed one to her, warily. She took a bite and then set it aside and started on her salad. He watched the look on her face change with each bite. She looked so thoughtful, as if carefully considering the taste of each ingredient. He smiled.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Are you enjoying dinner so far?”

  “I am. People seem to care an awful lot about food. I’ve never really understood why. I suppose it just hasn’t caught my interest.”

  “Fortunately your station insures you won’t have to cook.”

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t do it,” she said. “I’ve just not tried.”

  “And you excel in everything you try?” he asked with a grin.

  “Not always at first,” she said. “But always in the end.”

  “I seem to recall that you were less than a success shooting pheasants.”

  “All part of the plan, My Prince.”

  The stewards, who removed the salad plates, delivered steaming bowls of soup. Just then the rumbling of the steam engine created waves in the deep brown chicken broth and the yacht slowly moved away from the dock. They were silent for several minutes as they ate.

  “What is your goal for this evening?” she asked.

  “Oh, I assure you that my intentions are completely honorable.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt,” she smiled. “However, that isn’t what I asked.”

  “Um, well.” He stopped and took another sip of water. She went back to spooning her soup. “I suppose I wanted to get to know you better.”

  “And you expect to accomplish that over the course of an evening?”

  “I know a bit about you already,” he said, defensively.

  The soup bowls were taken away, his half empty and hers completely so. They were replaced by large dinner plates filled long, bright red crab’s legs and artichokes drenched in caviar and truffle butter. Terra’s face broke into a wide grin.

  “Crab legs are my favorite,” she said. “In Birmisia, we have these small little crabs with soft shells, but we don’t have these big ones.”

  “So, there is some food you’re interested in.”

  She grabbed a crab leg with both hands and snapped it in half, little droplets of butter splattering on her chest and her face. Then she pulled the meat out with her teeth.

  “Mmm.”

  “It’s been said that this is the um, sexiest meal,” he said, watching her attack a stuck piece of crab meat with the fork designed for that purpose. “I confess, I didn’t understand that until now.”

  She cocked a brow and then winked at him as she dipped the crab meat in truffle butter.

  “Some people swear by lobster,” she said. “To my mind, king crab beats it every time.”

  Then she spooned at least twenty-five marks worth of caviar into her mouth.

  Clitus later couldn’t remember if they had carried on any more conversation during the main course. He didn’t think so, but he was so engrossed in watching her eat that the rest of the world just seemed to fade away. At last, she was wiping her face and hands with a moist towel. He did the same, though he seemed to have less of a mess to clean up.

  “Why don’t we take our dessert on the
upper deck,” he suggested, as the plates were cleared from the table. “We can look at the lights along the shore.”

  The stewards pulled out both of their chairs and he took her by the hand, leading her up the spiral staircase to the upper level where two comfortable chairs from the lounge had been moved just for the evening. They both sat down. A glass of fortified wine and a cup of crème brechlaise were delivered to each of the deck tables that sat beside each chair. The Prince jumped when he felt Terra take his hand.

  “How soon do you think we can be married?” she asked.

  “Muh… Married? I’m only just getting to know you.”

  “Do you like me?”

  He thought for a moment. “Yes, very much.”

  “And you find me sexually attractive?”

  “Lady Terra!”

  “It’s an important question,” she said. “My man will not stray beyond my bed. I’ll not have you visiting Madame Fleurchaud’s to find your satisfaction.”

  “Lady Terra!”

  “Let me explain something to you, Clitus. You will never know me completely. There will always be something new to discover. I will spend the rest of my life discovering new things about me, and so will you. Here is what you need to know. I will be your lover, your confidant, your best friend, and your partner in everything. I will kill for you. If necessary, I will die for you. I will never betray you.”

  “But, you don’t love me,” he said. “Do you?”

  “I do,” she smiled. “Though I confess that I didn’t yet when I decided that I would marry you.”

  “When did you do that?”

  “About two years ago.”

  “We hadn’t even met!”

  “We had actually. You just didn’t notice. I noticed you though. You ticked every box in my list of husband requirements. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you though. Then I found out how wonderful you are, and then you risked your life to save a woman and her baby. I really couldn’t help but fall in love with you. You love me too. You just don’t know it yet. You would kill for me. In fact, you already have.”

  “I’ve never killed anyone,” he said quietly.

  “Not with your own hands,” she said. “You did order Simon McCleary killed though.”

  “How did you find out about that?”

  “I was just guessing. Thank you for confirming it though. After all, I don’t have a secret organization of spies and wizards at my beck and call.”

  “And how did you find out about that?”

  “Oh it’s amazing all the things that people will tell you when you give them obscenely large amounts of money.”

  He picked up his cup of crème brechlaise, and took a sip of the smooth custard drink.

  “You frighten me a bit, Lady Terra.”

  She stood up and moved over to him, dropping lightly into his lap.

  “Not the effect I’m going for this evening,” she said.

  Taking the cup from his hand, she brought it to her thick lips. Setting it aside, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed those warm lips against his. He felt her tongue push its way into his mouth, and a flood of the crème brechlaise followed it, from her mouth to his. As the custard disappeared down their throats, they continued to share saliva as their tongues and lips fought their own little war. His hands roamed over her bare shoulders. He didn’t even realize how aroused he was, until she pressed her hand against the evidence of that arousal.

  She oozed out of his lap and came to rest on the deck in front of him. Once there, she began unfastening his trousers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I will remain a virgin until my wedding night,” she explained. “I can’t leave you all frustrated though, and looking elsewhere for some release.”

  He fought with her, but when he felt her hot mouth engulf him, he realized that he must not have been fighting all that hard. He looked down to see her extremely large brown eyes looking back at him as her head bobbed up and down. Her watching him seemed to heighten his arousal even more. He lasted what he thought was an embarrassingly short length of time. Leaning his head back, he sighed.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “A thank you seems in order.”

  “Thank you. Oh, let me help you up.” He took her by the shoulders and lifted her to a standing position. “Do you need something for the mess?”

  “No mess,” she smiled. “If this were Madame Fleurchaud’s, your essence would be wadded up in a silk cloth and tossed in the laundry. That doesn’t seem right for His Royal Highness.”

  She got to her feet and retrieved her own crème brechlaise, taking a long drink.

  “Hmm. Almost the same consistency.”

  “You seem to know a lot about what goes on at Madame Fleurchaud’s,” he said.

  “Well, I spent a week there, learning how to do this. Iolana says you can learn anything from books, but I say, until you’ve actually seen a thing done, any number of nuances might escape you.” She looked into his shocked face. “Calm yourself, My Prince. I did nothing but watch. But I did see enough to let me know that I shall be very happy with this.” She patted him on the crotch. “Now fasten up your pants.”

  * * * * *

  “Well, that’s bloody brilliant, my boy!” boomed King Tybalt III. “I thought I would have a tough time getting both of you to marry. Now, here Tybalt is walking down the aisle with the Freedonian Princess, and you’ve found yourself the perfect girl.”

  “Um, perfect?”

  “Do you love her?” asked the King.

  “I’m… not sure.”

  “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. Her brother is one of the richest men in the Kingdom. In ten years, he’ll be richer than we are. That’s a very good relation to have.”

  “It’s not a problem that her mother is a Zaeri?”

  “It would be if she were marrying Tybalt,” said the King, with a dismissive wave. “I doubt Parliament will even bat an eye in your case. She will have to be baptized before the wedding, of course, but that would be true of anyone you married.”

  “Well, okay then,” said Clitus.

  “We will have to wait a while,” said the King. “Can’t have royal weddings too close together. We shall announce your engagement when Tybalt gets back from his honeymoon. How does Festuary sound for the nuptials? I think the public will like that—give them something to celebrate besides their own dreary lives.”

  Clitus nodded dumbly.

  “She won’t mind waiting,” said his father, sagely. “Women enjoy the build-up, the chance to be a fiancé. Seven months will fly by. How about you? Do you think you will be able to manage for seven months?”

  “Yuh-huh,” said Clitus.

  Bob stuck his head into the room and gave a wave.

  “They’re ready for us,” said the King. “Let’s get your brother’s wedding out of the way and then you can concentrate on your own.”

  Clitus followed his father out of the anteroom and into the rotunda of Saint Raina’s Cathedral.

  Chapter Eighteen: Fall of the Cloud Princess

  “That was a lovely lunch,” said Gladys, as she and Yuah passed through the foyer and into the parlor, both loaded down with shopping packages.

  “It’s the most I’ve eaten in a while, I can tell you,” said Yuah.

  She stopped abruptly when she found Zoantheria sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper. She was, of course, in her human guise, wearing a black and white day dress, her long blond hair cascading halfway down her back.

  “What are you doing in my house, monster?” snapped Yuah.

  “Have you seen this?” asked Zoey, ignoring the question and holding the paper so that the banner headline was visible. “HRH CONSORTS WITH BIRMISIAN WILD WOMAN!”

  “That’s not the Gazette,” observed Gladys.

  “No, it’s a Brech City paper.”

  “Answer my question,” Yuah ordered.

  “I just thought you might want to read it, as the Birmis
ian wild woman in question would appear to be your daughter.”

  “What?”

  “Terra Posthuma Korlann Dechantagne. That’s nice. They got all four names. That is your youngest, isn’t it?”

  Yuah stomped forward, snatching the paper from Zoey’s hands.

  “We’re not done,” she hissed, and then started reading. “Dressed like a man! Face paint? What is wrong with that girl? Augie should never have sent her to that lizzie city. It’s made her mind weak. Still, you would think she would have mentioned something in her last letter about going to the opera with a prince—or sent a telegram.”

  “Children,” said Zoey. “What can you do?”

  “If Augustus wants to consort with you, I can’t do anything about it. He’s a grown man. But until he returns, I want you out of my house.”

  “Must we have all this discord?” said Augie, suddenly stepping into the room.

  Zoey jumped up and ran three steps into his arms, nearly knocking him over. In a fierce embrace, they pressed their mouths together.

  “Really?” said Yuah. “In the parlor?”

  “Mother,” said Augie, disengaging his lips, if not the rest of his body. “Zoey is welcome in this house at any time and will be treated with the same courtesy that all guests receive.”

  Zoantheria smirked at Yuah, whose eyes and mouth went very thin. A moment later, it was Zoey’s face with a very similar look as Dr. Megistus followed the young lord into the room.

  “What are you doing here!” she hissed.

  “Do you know one another?” asked Augie. “He’s not a relative, is he?”

  “He’s another dragon?” wondered Yuah. “In my house?”

  “Everyone settle down!” ordered Augie. “Gladys, take my mother upstairs. She’s overwrought.”

  “I’m not overwrought and I’m not going anywhere!”

  “And you,” continued Lord Dechantagne, looking at Zoey. “Yes, he is a dragon, but he’s one of the good ones, like you.”

  “What makes you think he’s good?” she snarled.

  “This,” said Augie, holding up a brown vial.