Summer's Dragon

by Lisa Daniels

The knight looked as if he had good gear. He'd likely Quested to some forest witch to get better items, gone into some mysterious cave for the sword, or rifled all the gear from a mysterious trader travelling on a rickety cart with a hood obscuring their features. The harder the Quest, the better the item.

  Didn’t people fight dragons as well for a chance to reach their treasure hoard?

  The knight struck first. He whirled the sword, and some kind of shockwave came from it, which Kazak buffeted aside with his tail, before crushing down on the knight with his front paws. The knight rolled out of the way, and held up his shield in time to deflect a blast of fire, which dissipated into the shield.

  Basic anti-dragonfire shield. He's Quested well.

  “Taste darkness!” Kazak roared, his wings spreading out to an impressive length, before around them, a black dome materialized, concealing the entire fight from Marea's view.

  Wait. Dragons cast spells?

  Belatedly, she realized the stupidity of her thought. If dragons could breathe fire and shift into humans, of course they knew how to cast spells. It made her wish she'd paid attention in magic class, since even if you weren't a natural mage, you could still learn some basic chants – though it'd be nothing compared to a trueborn.

  She heard an awful lot of shrieking, yelling and clashes of sword against scales, before she saw the Quester suddenly fly out of the dome, hurtling away at an impossible speed, far across the mountains, no longer holding his magically enchanted sword.

  “Curse you...!” she heard the Quester bellow, before he disappeared into the distance.

  Marea hoped he'd at least possessed a Falling Feather or a null gravity enchant, to make his fall a slightly more pleasant event.

  The black dome vanished, and Kazak stood there in dragon form, the sword between his teeth, looking rather smug with himself.

  “Well done!” Marea said, clapping her hands, and Kazak glanced up with her, and even exaggerated a bow.

  Marea immediately halted her reaction. She'd just cheered for a dragon. A sodding dragon.

  He disappeared inside the cavern entrance, and was unlocking her door a moment later. “Phew!” He said. “We had a noble Quester this time. Some like to try trickery or to sneak into the tower. It's a full-time job protecting a princess, but certainly entertaining.”

  Marea grinned, imitating his almost boyish enthusiasm, obviously fired up with adrenalin from his encounter. “Is that your first Quester?”

  “Not my first,” Kazak replied. “I've helped other dragons before, when the Questers bring companions. You can get full bands of five, so it can be quite a challenge for a newly princessed dragon.” He flopped onto her bed, folding his arms behind his head. “But I've Quested on my own. It's basic for any good adventurer to have at least some enchanted weapons and items to succeed in this world. And I have a few witches as friends.”

  “Do you kill Questers?” Marea asked, though she knew it was a foolish question. Dragons got slain. So did Questers.

  “Sometimes. It depends on them and whatever conditions they state. And of course, upon the dragon. A perfect match is where both sides are shielded, and the first to break the shield wins. But you get dishonorable Questers and dragons, so that kind of event is exceedingly rare. Mostly, someone tends to die. Our little Quester here didn't state any conditions, and you might be a little averse to some blood, so... I sent him flying. Let's hope he was as well prepared as he looked for the fall, eh?”

  Kazak was really talkative now, his face alight, the smile never leaving his face. Marea sat beside him, now stroking his hair, secretly delighted at the idea that he'd stopped himself from killing a Quester. For her.

  He turned to face her, green eyes glowing. “Did you see me, though?”

  “Well, up until the point when you conjured up the impenetrable cloud of darkness, yes,” Marea said, now settling into the bed next to him. “I'm sure it must have been impressive.”

  “Probably.” On sudden impulse, Kazak turned and kissed her fully on the lips. Not a dainty, nice one, but a full one grab of her cheeks and a suck that made it feel like he was trying to draw all the air from her lungs, before he released her, laughing exuberantly. “We should feast tonight! I'll send invitations to some of the others over the mountains, and we can celebrate the event of your first Quester!”

  Dragons are weird, Marea thought, slightly disorientated from his effort at sucking the soul out of her body. She couldn't help but smile along with him, though.

  Chapter Five

  Am I even a princess, anymore? Marea twirled in front of the mirror Kazak had procured, checking out the first dress she'd been given since her confinement in the tower. The more she had cleaned, the more she realized that it served as nothing more than a distraction for her, to keep her busy so she didn't grow bored out of her mind, or plot too strongly about escaping. According to Kazak, he said the dragon manual of How to Keep Your Princess recommended extensive chores, as well as the basic locked tower, and to trim princess hair every now and then so she couldn't use it as a ropeladder. Also, to keep potions of extreme grow and shrink away from them.

  The dress shimmered a deep yellow, holding a glossy shine with her glittering blonde hair. Frills and a tight bodice pushed out her chest, making it seem like she had substance there. After a long, hot bath, she'd brushed out her hair until it glimmered, and picked out a sapphire necklace from Kazak's treasury (she hadn't yet seen his treasures, understandable, since dragons tended to hoard a lot.)

  One month after Marea’s first Quester, nine more had come along, all of them beaten in a similar manner to the first. Since Kazak had defeated ten Questers, he'd been rewarded formally by a dragon king.

  A Dragon king. Apparently, dragons liked to celebrate achievements, and Kazak had messengers turning up outside his cavern to shower him in gifts. More gold, special enchantments, and a formal invite to the king's table in their annual convention.

  That sort of thing.

  Kazak bought Marea a dress, inviting her to try it on, and now she felt awkward, standing in front of the mirror, closer to the princess she used to be.

  Except, she didn't feel like that person any longer. Gone was the woman who felt misshapen and off because she didn't have a husband near the age of thirty. Gone was the jealously and envy towards the servants, for their skill sets and their simpler lifestyles.

  Ever since Kazak whisked her away, she'd grown callouses over her hands, and a new hardness about her features. Kazak now left her tower door open, no longer bothering to lock her in, because he saw the light in her face as she appreciated the freedom. She went to his bed in the night, or he to hers. She still didn't know much about dragon society, but he'd promised to take her along with him when he next went to visit the witch of the swamp, and when he needed to check in at the goblin general store to procure new curses.

  Marea understood partially why some princesses never returned to their kingdoms after being stolen. Not because they got eaten, but perhaps they learned to fall in love with the peculiar creatures, with their own brand of morality and their irritatingly attractive human forms.

  Deeming herself of acceptable appearance, though her eyes seemed too dark for her liking, she ventured down the stairwell, and met Kazak in the main cavern room with the feasting tables, dressed up in a neat black and white suit, smiling radiantly at her appearance. He looked so powerful there, owning the room with his presence, his squared, strong body and rugged features. Though he kept his red beard neatly trimmed, he'd been growing it out a bit, leaving a growth that gave him a rough look to his handsome features.

  He held out his arm to her. “Shall we go, milady?”

  She looped her arm in his and grinned. “Anything for you, sir.”

  All they did, really, was go for a stroll down the mountain path, exploring some of the vibrant scenery there, from the blushing pink flowers to the scraggly ferns that clung to the edges.

  “I must say, princess, with that outfit, your be
auty could kill.” He bent to kiss her hand, eyes flaming with desire and admiration. She flushed with pleasure from the flattery, feeling confident and beautiful. When they approached a tough cliff edge, Kazak pointed in the distance, to where the human kingdoms stuck out of the land beyond the Wilderness.

  “Your home is over there,” he said, pointing to a small city, where the distant castle was the size of her fingernail.

  She expected to feel sadness and longing for Glenderal. Instead, she felt nothing. No sadness. No heavy desire to return home. She had no taste for that life again of constant judgement, competing with other princes and princesses far more accomplished than she ever was.

  Being a dragon's princess meant more to her than anything else.

  How strange.

  Kazak watched her expression for a long moment. “You might have a hard time being rescued, princess. I plan to cherish you for as long as possible, and to fight every Quester in your name.”

  “I hope you will,” Marea replied, grinning. “But if you want me sticking around, I’d like you to decorate the place better. It’s awfully drab with the gray and the lack of seating areas.”

  “That can be arranged,” he said. He bowed to her hand and kissed the back of it, his lips soft and hot against her skin. A pleasant shiver travelled up her body.

  “Shall we go home then, princess?”

  Home. I like the sound of that.

  “Yes,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

  She kissed him upon the lips, and he lifted her off her feet, twirling her around, before slinging her over his shoulder, and sprinting for the cave.

  She laughed the whole while, her dress billowing in the wind, clutching her new love close.

  The End

  Captured by Gerran

  Dragons Take a Princess

  (Book 2)

  Chapter One

  When princess Esmer was six years old, her mother once asked her what she wanted as a treat. The princess’s prompt reply was: “I want a dragon.”

  Her beautiful, dolled up mother, with stunning, crimson hair fluttered her eyelashes in mild confusion. “But, darling, you can’t own a dragon. They’re monsters. They steal princesses and only brave knights can rescue by them. Surely you want to meet one of the young princes from the nearby kingdoms instead…?” Her mother’s tone was rather hopeful, wishing that her daughter would say something appropriate and conventional, mostly to prove to herself that she hadn’t fucked up the raising process.

  “People have pet unicorns. Why can’t I have a pet dragon?”

  “You just can’t. Monsters, sweetie. They’re monsters.”

  Esmer ignored the monster statement, completely fixated on her object of desire. “Can I meet one, then?”

  “No. They’re monsters. I already told you, dear. They capture princesses and lock them away in their towers.”

  “Then I want to be captured by one!”

  The little princess stamped her foot on the ground, putting on her best pout face. Her mother at this point started displaying real panic in her eyes.

  “That’s not a normal princess thing to ask. Your sisters all want to meet a prince. You should want this, too. Or a pony.”

  Little Esmer rolled her eyes at this statement, stamped her foot again in childish tantrum, before screaming, “I want a dragon!”

  Her screams followed her mother down the hall as she hastily called for the nurses to scoop Esmer up and place her in the nursery with her two younger sisters, to help calm her down by any means necessary.

  Now Esmer was nineteen years of age, though she’d grown out of the horrendous spoilt brat stage, demanding impossible things, she never quite let go of her fantasy to meet a dragon. She stood in front of the mirror of her bedroom, the light perfectly illuminating the curve of her body, the red gown, the simple black wedge shoes, and her bright red hair fanning over her shoulders. She wore a red brooch and pendant, though honestly, she would have preferred to go without. Her mother had scheduled Esmer to meet a prince from one of the central kingdoms, and she’d gotten to the point of arranging four to five meetings a week, desperate to get her errant daughter married whilst she still existed in the “young and beautiful” time frame.

  Except, well, so far, Esmer had managed to turn every single prince showing her the slightest sign of interest off the idea of marriage. Either through excuses, by telling them she had an incurable disease, or that she slept with hundreds of men daily. Well, the last one might be a stretch, but it certainly put off all the princes from ever wanting to interact with her again. Something about having a tainted princess made most of them squeamish, though some of the hardier princes seemed rather turned on by the idea of someone with experience.

  Not that Esmer had much experience with anything other than her hand, and a few racy books.

  Her mother, of course, was at her wit’s end, tearing out chunks of her hair in private and complaining to her poor, beleaguered father, who held the quiet sentiment that wives should be seen and not heard.

  Eventually, queen Mereen simply summoned Esmer to the throne room one day, and told her in no uncertain terms that the next prince they procured for her, she’d have to marry. Warts and all. She simply couldn’t be an embarrassment to her kingdom any longer, and she needed to get herself married, to lessen her chances of being captured by Dark Clan humans or dragons.

  “Mother, I don’t want to get married yet!” Esmer protested, staring up at Mereen, who sat regally on her stone throne, eyes hooded over in contempt.

  “I know you don’t, dear, but at this rate, you’re on course to never get married. You’ll be like that wretched creature from Glenderal. Thirty years old, and still unloved. A tragedy.”

  She means Marea? “Isn’t that the princess who got captured by a dragon?”

  Mereen nodded, fanning her head. “Yes. A horrible fate. No one’s had any luck in Questing for her. Her parents are not offering a good reward for her, either. They know her age is a deterrant.”

  Esmer chewed upon her lip. She liked Marea, and secretly admired her for being single for so long. Everyone else saw her as a freak, but Esmer aspired to be someone independent herself. So she did things princesses were not technically supposed to do, thanks to the assistance of the palace servants, who wouldn’t dare disobey an order. Especially from a notoriously bratty princess – though Esmer hadn’t yet resorted to chopping off heads like her eldest sister, Rure.

  “The prince we’re engaging you to is a nice enough boy. You’ve met him once – it’s Samm from the Blue Bow kingdom. That small lake kingdom with the big fishery.”

  “I hate the smell of fish,” Esmer said immediately, and Mereen laughed.

  “Oh no, darling. You’re not wriggling out of this one. We’ll make a proper princess of you yet.”

  Prince Samm represented the wheedling, sycophant type that drove Esmer up the wall. She shuddered at the thought of having to interact with the pimply faced prince on a daily basis even, ugh, kissing him.

  “I have to do this, dear. It’s the only way things will work out.”

  “For you, you mean,” Esmer spat, hands balling into fists. “You’ve never once cared about me. You only cared that I was a conventional princess. A girly girl.”

  “That’s enough of that,” Mereen replied, her voice crisp and commanding. “Stop these ridiculous accusations and go and get yourself ready. We’re arranging to meet the prince and his family tonight.”

  Typical. “You’re a selfish bitch, you know that?”

  At this, Mereen stood up, blue eyes blazing in fury. “Don’t you dare speak to your mother this way. Leave. Now.”

  “Oh, I will!” Esmer exclaimed, storming out of the throne room, seething in indignation. She hated her mother at this point, and the resentment infected her bloodsteam, making it difficult to think rationally.

  Leave? I’ll bloody well leave.

  Her guard trailed behind her, keeping at a safe distance. Esmer forced herself to take long
, deep breaths, before considering her situation. Unless she actually left, she’d be subject to an arranged marriage to a prince that stank of fish, and held a bigger gap in his teeth than the Wilderness.

  I should just run away. I should have done it years ago. Esmer began breathing faster as she considered the idea, wondering if she’d get away with it at all. She didn’t have the skill set to survive in the Wilderness, otherwise that might be an option. Everyone in the kingdom recognized her face upon sight, and the neighboring kingdoms also knew her identity.

  She glanced at her rather impassive guard, still thinking furiously. I’d need to shake him as well.

  To avoid suspicions, she went up to her room first, as if she was planning to have a good sulk and cry. The guards expected it. Virtually any princess who didn't get her way exhibited this kind of behaviour. Her lone guard waited dutifully outside her room as she locked the door, examined her absurdly pink room, and sighed.

  She wanted to run away, but in all honesty, she didn't know where to run away to. She was too recognizable. People would spot her on the streets and haul her back to the palace. Her mother forbade lessons with the palace magician, so she didn't know how to make herself invisible, or anything particularly useful to that extent. The last witch that made it into the kingdom, hunters had tried to burn her at the stake, but she simply turned into a frog and hopped away from danger.

  Nothing Esmer had learned would help her with survival outside of the palace, and it irritated her. Well, maybe the fact she knew how to cook might be useful, since she snuck down to the kitchens often to learn recipes and assist the cooks. At first, they'd been nervous of Esmer, since a wrong foot might have the little princess yelling for their heads to be chopped off, but they soon took Esmer under their wing, letting her assist with baking, stewing and chopping.

  There was only about eight dishes she could do well by heart, out of the hundreds the palace cooks churned out every day. But Esmer was proud of those eight dishes.