Beauty and the Dragon

by Melody Rose

  Instead, my last-ditch effort to tempt Troy ended up with him tucking me in. I guessed that would have to do, and I thought I saw a knowing gleam in his eyes. Maybe he was onto me, or maybe it was all in my head.

  At any rate, I decided to just fall asleep, not even willing to touch myself. I thought I would practically explode if I added any more fuel to the fire, and if I couldn’t actually have him, then I just needed to turn in for the night. I was honestly surprised how worked up I was over this because before encountering Troy, I’d just want to curl up with a nice book. According to him, he didn’t have a lick of magic, so why did he have a hold on me?

  I lulled myself into a deep slumber with all those questions, nuzzling my impossibly soft pillow.

  After some choice dreams that involved Troy peeling my gown off me and peppering me with kisses, I finally came to. It was pretty nice not having some obligation I was responsible for after the past couple weeks of racking my mind to create the perfect spell. I yawned and sit up, not even needing to stretch out my arms because my body felt so aligned. My bed was so perfect that I didn’t have a single ache or touch of grogginess. I looked around me and couldn’t believe my luck, incredibly pleased with my accommodations.

  While the library was brimming with books and the temple had its own tranquility, this was downright swank. The decor was so exquisite and pleasing to the eye that I didn’t even feel like a guest. I should have worried that I was a human out of her element, but instead, I believed I truly belonged here, so smitten with it that I would trade my library branch for it if I needed to.

  I hoped that this wasn’t temporary, but I didn’t feel that I had to worry about it too much. Troy seemed very generous and sincere about his offer, claiming I deserved this. I could get used to being depended upon for my spellwork if it ended with more amenities like this.

  Staying in bed for a long, lazy moment, I rolled out of bed and walked to the oaken wardrobe, pulling it open shamelessly as though I were entitled to what was inside. All the opulent clothes stored within were varying shades of green. The recurring hue particularly soothed my soul, bringing to mind forests, nature, and rejuvenation. I pulled out a crushed velvet gown with gold damask trim and bell sleeves, form-fitting but much more modest than my riding dress than exposed my legs to the entire clan.

  After I was dressed, I looked down and studied my hands. They seemed more regal in this lavish dress. A vision of leather reins flashed in my mind, the texture alarmingly real.

  I shook my head and closed my eyes momentarily, summoning a porcelain cup of matcha tea to celebrate the verdant beauty of my room. I sipped in leisurely contemplation, enjoying the unique sweetness as I paced around and took in all the details. The more I moved about, the more I began to settle in and felt like I never even missed home at all. There was no way my little hovel of an apartment could stand up to this. I wouldn’t be able to get close, even with several years’ worth of raises on my measly library salary.

  I’d simply have to make myself indispensable so that I could keep these digs.

  As I continued my stroll, I thought I’d seen myself in a mirror, smiling as I realized I must’ve rolled out on the right side of the bed, because I was looking damn good. My pitch-black hair was perfectly coiffed despite having slept in like nobody’s business and my amber eyes bright and determined. Clearly, this outfit really brought out the best in me.

  When I was beginning to get really confident, it struck me that what I thought was a glamorous version of me after a good night’s sleep was a hyperrealistic painting. It depicted one of the draconic queens I read about during my sabbatical in the temple, and I had a hunch about who it was. With the profusion of green in the room and the extremely specific wardrobe, I should have caught on sooner.

  Once I reached forward and touched the portrait, I studied the smile, a mixture of arrogance and composure. It should’ve been off-putting, but instead, I felt that I could understand this woman’s entire journey, all the steps and struggles it took to ascend to where she was. Flashes of banquets, battles, and even a betrothal came over me, making me lose sight of the bedroom.

  I could point to every scroll and tome where these tales were found, all relating to Queen Zielona. The vision of the proposal, a handfasting ceremony in the Jörmungandr tradition, was so compelling that I felt I was reliving my own romance. I could feel the cool, gliding touch of the ribbons, as though they were wrapped around my own hands. They were pretty long, one a bright juniper green and the other gleaming and pitch black. As the tales revealed, together, they represented the intertwining of prosperity, beauty, strength, and unbreakable love.

  While I was moved by what I read about Queen Zielona and her valiant lover, this was on a whole other level. As soon as I looked up into the man’s deep eyes, a unique russet tone that combined chocolate brown and fiery undertones, I perfectly understood the dragoness’ desire to remain with him for an eternity. Maybe I should have compartmentalized things, respected this was Queen Zielona’s life and not mine, but I truly fantasized that I could have what she once did.

  In my vision, I was a slave to my impulses, feeling victorious that I’d won such a gallant lover for the rest of my life. The boundary between reality and illusion was blurred, and I was hypnotized. I leaned forward with bound hands, have to tilt my head up to face this man despite the boost Queen Zeilona’s war boots gave me, but the moment I tried to kiss the mysterious yet entirely familiar man, the dream dissipated. I was back to my normal self in my new accommodations. I had been happy with what Troy set me up with, but now, I was struck with a sad ache.

  I stood on the intricate rug and stared at the ground, watching how my robe pooled around my feet. I should put on some war boots to give myself a boost just like Queen Zielona did, but I just couldn’t bring myself to move. Usually, when I picked up a new interest, I delved into every book possible, motivated to find more each time. This time, I was just utterly dejected. I felt a gaping hole in my heart and wasn’t sure how to fill it, maybe because Queen Zielona wasn’t just a legend to me anymore. I’d grown to relate to her so much after researching her, overcome with vision after vision.

  Now that I identified with the dragoness so strongly, cold remorse washed over me, along with a seething anger that she may very well be lost in the ether, forever ripped away from the warrior she pledged her heart too. That was enough to make me want to rise against the Drikkende and agree to provide my magic to Troy’s clan. I’d never gotten into so much as a catfight before, and now I was ready to leap into a war of epic proportions, maybe even greater than what my own world was capable of. These demons had robbed so many territories of the gifts most precious to them. On top of that, they deprived this clan of its strongest protectors, two warriors destined to fight alongside with each cycle of reincarnation.

  Ruminating over all the injustice filled me with energy again, and the power flickered in my stomach. So renewed, I walked around the room to examine the art on the walls with a bittersweet smile. One tapestry depicted Queen Zielona placing the blade of her sword on the shoulder of her lover, marking him as her blessed Champion. Another seemed to capture a scene early in their romance when he was a troubadour, a warrior-poet attempting to impress a royal lady. He strummed a harp as she listened, a broadsword sheathed at his hip to prove he was as powerful as he was graceful. I stroked the beautiful weaving wistfully, but try as I might, I couldn’t will the visions to come back.

  I guessed that there was no helping it, I was at the mercy of whenever these trances chose to take over me. As I mulled this all over, I decided to stay in the room just a bit longer. Troy didn’t say I was expected anywhere, nor was I obligated to leave if I didn’t want to, so I figured it wouldn’t be any trouble at all. Maybe some, especially Astrid, would gripe about how great my lodgings were if they caught wind of it. If that happened, I would just say I was trying to channel one of their greatest guardians. That excuse would be more than credible after last night’s performance
.

  After I tore myself away from the portrayals of the dragoness I most admired, I magicked away my tea and limped back over the bed. I then threw myself over it like a despairing damsel, groaning in aggravation. Why was I so drawn to all of this?

  It now seemed eerie that I was in the very bedroom of the woman I latched onto after choosing her tale out of many to showcase in front of the clan. Even though legends claimed that she was completely lost, Queen Zielona was practically inescapable to me. She haunted me so exquisitely, forcing me to find her at every turn.

  I vegged out for about ten minutes, then resolved I’d be letting the dragoness down if I languished around without accomplishing anything. Poring over all of the books that were kept here, I learned that Zielona was just as enamored with war strategy as she was with the arts. Her tastes were so refined and diverse that she could’ve curated her own library if she wanted to. If our paths had ever crossed, we probably would have created some killer literary events together.

  I sighed again and did another sweep of the room, desperate to unearth any artifact, any scrap even that could tell me more about her. Pent up and anxious, I paced and searched the entire surface area of the bedroom, even peeking under the bed. Finding nothing there, I rolled my eyes and made one more round out of a sense of duty.

  Strange. There was a little give in the floorboards, and I wondered if I was just delirious. I gave a short, hard laugh, embarrassed at myself.

  There was no way that the most elite dragoness in the realm would reduce herself to a trapdoor. This wasn’t some Saturday morning cartoon with a crime-solving dog, after all. Still, I walked back and forth to test my theory, and sure enough, the ground was solid as can be. I mentally kicked myself. Of course, I was just grasping at straws.

  And that’s when a glowing jade circle glittered into view on the wood. Runes emblazoned the circle, alien to my human eyes yet recognizable to my enchanted mind. Those runes stood for self-expression, secrets, and passion.

  Intrigued, I knelt down and rapped the floorboards, mostly out of reflex. I gasped when it was actually activated by my touch. A filigree brass handle appeared, and I pulled it back to reveal what lay below. Sitting in the space beneath the floor was a leather journal with a beautiful red stain and embossed with a draconic coupling. Both beasts bowed their heads toward each other, touching muzzles and intertwining tails to create the perfect heart. It was pretty adorable to see that Queen Zielona had a soft side, squirreling away what I guessed was a diary like a lovelorn teenager.

  I pulled it out with great care, impressed that it wasn’t cloaked in dust, and unwound the supple strap that held it shut. Warmth coursed through me as I scanned the pages, practically swooning at the elegant cursive. Even though Zielona was long gone according to lore, seeing the scarlet ink, fresh as blood, was a revelation. It was hard not to believe she was alive when the writing looked so insanely recent. As I leafed through the entries, my heart fluttered to read about the two ribbons from my vision. There was no prying me away from this room now that I’d found this trove of information.

  I doubled down, eager to read Queen Zielona’s account of her handfasting. Now that I’d seen it and experienced it for myself, I felt that I could relive the moment countless times.

  22

  Troy

  As I had given Lady Rosalind leave to enjoy her seclusion for the evening, I hoped that her spirits would be lifted by the time the sun rose. I idled in my quarters in the early morning, sifting through maps I could somewhat comprehend to help plot defensive maneuvers. When I exhausted those diversions, I made mental notes of every victory I led my clan to.

  Eventually, though, I growled and pounded my fist against my thigh. I expected the Sorceress’s enchanted heart to steer her true and, most importantly, guide her to me. Hadn’t I entertained her every request?

  Surely, after some well-earned rest, she would arrive at my doorstep, brimming with enthusiasm as she thanked me for my hospitality.

  Hours passed by, though, and the footfalls I hoped to hear never came. I decided then that I would check the banquet hall. While she could conjure her own meals, I wondered if she might need a couple of days to regain her mana. The spellmistress certainly expended quite a great deal of mana with her fantastic display, and beyond that, she clearly adored indulging. Maybe she was at our breakfast gathering, willing to endure others if it meant a proper spread to enjoy.

  I cleaned, dressed, then made my way to the dining hall to gather my breakfast. Chef Ramsey seemed to be his usual ornery self, and I noticed that we were given what nearly amounted to gruel. I rose an eyebrow and studied my wooden bowl of oatmeal with displeasure, noticing he’d only sprinkled some tasteless seeds on top.

  As I sat down on a bench next to my comrades, we all spooned our disappointing fare in almost perfect silence. The entire atmosphere was rather dreary, with only the creaking of floorboards or the soft thump of put-away bowls sounding throughout the room. I scanned the spiritless crowd, and the tumble of raven locks and bright amber eyes that I hoped to see were nowhere to be found. A phenomenal waste of time, as well as an offense to my palate.

  I wasn’t the only one with a sour disposition over Lady Rosalind’s absence, because I spied Chef Ramsey stomp off in a huff. Of course, he made sure to toss daggers at me through his eyes. Maybe he had created dishes especially for the Sorceress, and he was displeased that she hadn’t arrived to appreciate them. Based on our last conversation, he may have even disapproved of me showing up without the spellmistress by my side. He had already laid Harlin and Kalen’s secrecy to waste, hinged upon his feverish theory that Lady Rosalind was my Fated Mate, so it wouldn’t bode well to leave her alone for too long.

  Even if I wished to be respectful, allowing Lady Rosalind to fend for herself would impede our ability to grow closer to one another. I left my comrades to clean their bowls on their own to check on how Lady Rosalind was settling in. Truly, I simply wished to speak to her, since it was obvious her lodgings were more than suitable. She was residing in the bedroom of our most revered queen, after all. It could have even been seen as a heresy to hand this off casually to a foreigner, but it simply felt natural to me, an obvious choice.

  As I scaled over a dozen staircases to hold an audience with Lady Rosalind, I wondered what could possibly keep her from returning to the clan. At the very least, her first objective upon waking up should have been to rejoice in her circumstances. I didn’t need the ego-stroking, of course, but a woman of her bearing ought to know what to do in this situation. I was not only a reasonable host, but I was also remarkably generous. Annoyance flickered in my belly, both with my subpar breakfast and the spellmistress’ distinctive lack of thankfulness.

  Still, I had to tamp down my irritation, if only because even rational anger would likely be seen as unalluring, at least at the beginning of our courtship. With that in mind, I paused before Rosalind’s closed door to collect myself. I took a quiet breath and exhaled to calm myself. When I was convinced that I was prepared for civil discourse, I straightened my posture and rapped my knuckles against the door.

  When I didn’t hear a word of acknowledgment nor the shuffle of movement, I knocked a bit harder. No response came, and so I felt that I was well within my right to open the door. She was on my clan’s territory, and as the Champion, I was entitled to enter as I saw fit to. I cracked open the door, and when I did not hear a wail of protest, I pushed it forward even further.

  There she was, perched upon the bed with her legs folded over each other, hunched over a mass of papers. Her luscious black hair was matted and tangled, her velvet gown rumpled, and her chapped lips quivering. Even out of sorts, she was achingly pretty, her uncommon beauty enhanced by the sense of purpose that gleamed in her eyes.

  I stepped in, hoping to capture her attention. I wanted that hypnotized gaze trained on me if only to imagine the experience of being sought after by a gifted Sorceress. But, even with this obvious intrusion, she did not raise her head to e
ither greet or refuse me.

  Now that I was closer, I could confirm that she did not tap into her instinctual magic to make herself presentable. What seemed to be involuntary must have actually taken a measure of mana. She was clearly unwilling to expend this, whether unconsciously or not. I could smell sweat, her natural scent, and even pheromones waft from her. I salivated at her innate fragrance, wondering what she was reading that stimulated her so.

  In fact, I wished that I was literate so that I could read the text that moved Rosalind so. Since I couldn’t, I was tempted to sweep aside the whole collection of papers wreathed around her. As I studied her closer, though, I took pity upon her. Her features were slightly sunken with the telltale signs of fatigue and hunger.

  I scanned the room and was only able to detect a cup with green residue around the rim. She could spirit away items she was finished with, so she must have been truly immersed in her studies to neglect this. The lack of sustenance clearly had taken a toll on her even though it had only been an evening since she feasted. Perhaps a Sorceress of her stature with seemingly boundless enchantment required more meals than usual to perform.

  Currently, Lady Rosalind focused all her will into making sense of the works cluttering the bed where she should have been sleeping. She even began to sway back and forth in a worrisome way. I needed to intervene before she wasted away.

  She was quite fortunate she had an ally such as myself to oversee her welfare. What she possessed in terms of bookish intelligence and sorcery, she lacked in prudence. Perhaps this was the nature of Fated Mates. We would need to counterbalance each other.