by Daila Wright
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 hot 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.
Furious at the injustice, Xanthia found herself sighing in exasperation. She understood why the others acted as they did. Through jealously, through a need to feel better about themselves by crushing someone else into the dirt. Through doing something, just because they could.
In short, exactly how she behaved to everyone else. Including her younger and tomboyish sister, Ruelle.
I can’t believe I’m on the other side of this. She tried shaking herself free, but to no avail.
If Mokkan’s dead, and I can’t get out of here, I might even die. The thought sent her into mild panic. She did her best to control it and stay calm, because panicking never did much for successful escapes. The darkness pressed into her, even as a tiny slice of light revealed itself through the gap where the doors closed. Tentatively shoving it, she found she could only budge it a few millimeters. Somehow, those bitches had managed to secure it really tight.
She didn’t know how much time passed. She heard nothing from below and couldn’t untie her hands or force the rag from her mouth. It felt as if it was slowly sawing its way through her lips. A bleak sense of despair instilled itself in her, and she sighed, closing her eyes, tears leaking out and trailing down her face.
Presently, she heard a scratching noise from outside. She fluttered her weary eyes open.
Did I drift off? Unsure of the answer, her heart gave a leap of hope when she heard inquisitive squeaks from outside. She responded with a muffled “Help!”
Squeaks answered. There was silence for a moment. Then the squeaks intensified, and she heard scratching all along the cupboard. Bless their little mouse hearts, they were trying to free her!
She waited with ignited hope in her veins, and the moments passed, before the mice successfully gnawed their way through the bindings holding the wardrobe together.
Not wanting to crush any of the mice, Xanthia waited patiently until they prised it open themselves and got to work gnawing through the rags on her mouth and wrists.
She’d never even con
sider hurting another mouse again, or owning a cat, or anything that threatened their beautiful little lives. She was free within moments from the swarm of mice working away at her, and she hugged a few of them gratefully.
“Thank you!” Her voice came out hoarse, dry. She placed the mice back down and rubbed at her red, raw wrists, sighing. Now she needed to get out.
Once the mice had cleared a path, she staggered out of the closet. Her first thought was to immediately go down to the bottom floor. Maybe she’d be in time for a rescue. Or maybe she’d find all the princesses sitting there in a mournful heap at having their dreams crushed for the umpteenth time.
Either way, the faster she got down there, the faster she’d find out. Her blood pulsed in her ear, until the sound of her heart beating overwhelmed everything else. Down the spiral staircase, awkwardly because her limbs still needed to wake up, she made it to the bottom – and her heart sank like a stone.
She saw no princesses. The door in the wall stood open and she spotted Mokkan on the floor, as still as death in his dragon form.
Stepping through the door, she noticed his ransacked home, with all the beautiful decorations yanked off, and the little room where he kept all his treasures opened and emptied. Everything was stripped and gone, and the mighty dragon, capturer of princesses, lay slain.
Xanthia could now escape. Sure, she’d be doing it without the aid of a Quester, and stood a chance of getting recaptured the moment she entered daylight… but the option existed.
She crouched by Mokkan, with his normally green, scaly face swollen up like a blueberry. She touched his snout with her palm, checking for any signs of life, feeling a little sorry for him.
For a dragon, he was nice enough.
His eyelids fluttered open, and he gave a great heave of air. Startled, Xanthia stepped back as Mokkan began coughing weakly, his scaly body shuddering.
His eyes focused on Xanthia. He bared his teeth and spluttered, “P-p-potion. I-in my kitchen. B-bottom drawer.”
Unsure what else to do, Xanthia nodded and went into the kitchen to locate the potion, wondering if it’d been looted. The bottom drawer was full of pots and pans, and she rummaged through them until locating a glimmering red potion in a tiny bottle.