by Lisa Daniels
It took her the better part of two days to transform the place, and on the second day, she ordered Kerric to buy her some kitchenware, get a decent pot to cook in, and obtain extra chairs and light sources. He did so, promising to be back within a few hours, and Ruelle sat herself down on one of the new, soft cotton armchairs, fingers curling on the golden rest.
She tilted her head to stare at the ceiling, before admiring the new furnishings. Now the place actually looked like a home. Nothing as grand as the castle back in her kingdom, but better than she expected. He sure had a lot of random crap in his vault.
Absently, she raised her palms up and rubbed at her face, to rid some of the tiredness etched into her soul.
I wonder how Xanthia is doing. I should try asking after her. And maybe find if any of my brothers and sisters were also sold there, in a different auction.
With such a huge raid by the Dark Clan in the heart of a central kingdom, there must be rampant fear back home. She expected there’d be a review of their magical defenses, so ill equipped for the portal that ripped a hole in time and space. That type of magic tended to be so rare, most assumed it didn’t exist.
A mistake, of course.
Now, she lived with a dragon, forced soon to attend Quest she didn’t care about. To make herself feel better, she focused on finding small entertainments in her life, on keeping herself busy. And thinking up ideas to escape. Now Kerric was gone, she had ample time to brood.
Maybe I can look through his treasury and try and find a genie bottle. See if I can get the curse lifted.
Buoyed up by the thought, she approached the dragon’s hoard, only to find some sort of invisible barrier which prevented her from entering.
“Drat,” she muttered, running fingers through her short, curly hair.
“Princess!”
The noise made her turn in alarm, and she faced a knight clad in shining white armour, an enormous broadsword strapped to his back. He lifted his visor up, revealing a beautiful, noble face with glittering blue eyes. He gave her the whitest of toothy smiles and bowed to her.
“Uh, hi,” she said.
“Princess! I am Oberan the knight, and I come to succeed in my Quest!”
Oh, fuck. “That was fast,” Ruelle said, thinking on her feet. “I’ve only been here for two days. Usually it’s about a month until the Quests start coming. And we’re really deep in the Wilderness here. How did you find me?”
“Well, I was on another Quest,” he admitted, looking shamefaced. “But then I got the call about yours. Your family is offering an awful lot to get you back.” His eyes flickered to the faintly glowing hoard of treasure. “Where’s your dragon?”
“Gone to get some kitchenware,” Ruelle replied, making the knight blink in polite confusion.
“Oh. Well, I suppose that makes it easier, then. Come with me, princess. We shall escape! I have the Wings of Icarus, we can be back in your kingdom in no time.”
“You realize the Wings of Icarus melt, right, when exposed to heat?”
The knight shrugged. He took a few steps forward, and Ruelle took a few steps back.
“I can’t come with you.”
“Why not?” The knight scowled at her, suspicious. “Are you under a spell?”
Ruelle was about to say no, then considered again. “Actually, yes. One that kills me instantly if I try to escape, escape, or harm my captor. So, I really can’t escape. Not unless you want a dead princess to haul home.”
“Huh.” The knight stared for a moment, nibbling his lip, before reaching into the leather satchel resting on the side of his gleaming armor. “Maybe I have an antidote for that…?”
Ruelle waited, hopeful, in case the knight did have something that helped. He shook his head after a short search. “No. I got nothing. Sorry.”
“You should leave. Before the dragon gets back. Dragons,” she clarified, and she noted the beads of sweat pop on his head at the mention of dragons. “And do tell everyone about the curse. Maybe you can find someone who’ll help me.”
“I can’t leave with nothing, princess…” the knight looked rather crestfallen, his bottom lip trembling like a child’s.
Ruelle sighed. “Well, alright, then. Take this thing.” She plucked a necklace from her dressing table and tossed it to him. It had a sapphire on it the size of her palm, and the knight smiled in delight as he caught it.
“Thank you, princess! I’ll spread the word. And good luck.” He bowed awkwardly as he left the cave.
I was lucky with this one. He was quite prepared to believe me and to leave.
Barely moments after the first knight left, she got confronted by another. When she shifted him after five minutes of persuasion, she encountered a band of five.
In short, she spent four to five hours rejecting the people who planned to rescue her.
What the blasts is this? I’m fucking insane.
Each rejection made her hope to die a little more. This wasn’t fair. This stupid curse stopped her from making it home. Stupid curse and stupid Kerric.
By the time Kerric returned in the early evening, she was slumped on the sofa in a mood. When he asked her what the problem was, she explained about the Quester visits.
“Are you sure your security is any good? Because they just walked into your cave without any issues whatsoever.”
Kerric looked suddenly alarmed and guilty. “Maybe it’s not as good as I thought…”
She caught the lie in his words. “You don’t have any, do you?”
The green-eyed dragon placed a cauldron down in the kitchen area. “Well, no. I didn’t expect any Questers to find this place so fast.”
“You realize I’m a central kingdom princess who is unmarried? You don’t think Questers will be lining up by the dozens to get me home? What if one of them assumes I’m forced to lie? They’ll drag me out and I’ll die. You need to be more prepared for taking on a princess!”
Kerric appeared a little ruffled by her viewpoint. He hesitated, green eyes narrowed in concentration, before saying he’d contact all the witches he knew to help fortify the place.
In the meanwhile, he needed to help Ruelle fend off the additional Questers that kept pouring into the cave. When the witches finally came around, Kerric’s travel clothes were completely ruined, and the seven witches who answered the call set to enchanting his place – all for a rather hefty sum.
“You can afford it,” Ruelle said to him, when he pulled a rather mournful expression at one witch, known as Hattie. She had rolled him out a large bill for her disorientation and cat enchant.
“Can you ladies help enchant the kitchen as well?” Ruelle led Hattie and another one, Gertrice, to her kitchen to help empower her cooking utensils.
“I know the perfect spell for this!” Gertrice, red haired and wobbly chinned, placed a few symbols of enchantment on the cauldron. “I’ll help it produce a few foods successfully every time. You should list your top five foods and it will work beautifully.”
Kerric looked even more moody when Gertrice rolled up her price tag as well. “Can’t believe I need to do this…”
“Oh, cheer up, you great lump,” Hattie said, clapping him on the back. “Least you have a sensible princess to run the house for you. Don’t lose sight of this one!”
“I’m not planning to,” he said, whilst Ruelle glared at him.
With the enchants finally in place, Ruelle and Kerric bid the seven witches goodbye, as they mounted their broomsticks and flew off into the Wilderness sky.
“That was almost one eighth of my entire treasury for those enchants.” Kerric examined his treasure room, which no longer risked overflowing through the door. He appeared rather upset, and Ruelle relished the reaction.
Over the next few hours, Ruelle noticed cats accumulating outside the cave entrance through the Spy Mirror, courtesy of Wenda the witch. It seemed Hattie’s cat enchantment worked a little too well. One prince strolled up to the cave entrance, before suddenly popping into a ball of fur,
and meowing in confusion.
“Well, it works,” Kerric said reluctantly, also peering through his Spy Mirror. “By the Gods, though, I’ve never seen a princess be so popular, so fast.”
“I’m not going to explain to you again why,” Ruelle said, cracking her knuckles. “Now, are we going to train me or not?”
The handsome dragon regarded her, before he allowed a smile to uplift his lips. “Sure. Let’s go ahead with this.”
He liked her enthusiasm, though Ruelle felt her determination was false, because he stripped the idea of choice from her.
Well, at least she adapted to what life shoved in her face. And if it planned to shove a shapeshifting dragon that wanted her to fight by his side, then she may as well put all her years of training to use.
I’ll be as free as I can allow myself to be. She breathed in deep, placing her mind into a calm state, even as Kerric handed her a wooden sword.
“Let’s test your ability to fight.” He readied himself, holding his training sword in a high guard, weight distributed well. Ruelle kept her stance careless, though the power curled through her body, fuelling every nerve. She highly doubted training with a dragon was what her parents intended for her to do – though their insistence at preparing her paid off. She mentally sent a note of thanks, even as Kerric executed the first move.
She sidestepped and used the swing of his sword against him, though he stepped backwards to prevent his balance from betraying him. The move she did usually cleared out any rookies.
Kerric grinned, speeding up his attacks. She parried and weakened every blow sent her way, and traded a few in return, aiming for potential openings, trying to trick her opponent off balance with different techniques. Sometimes she repeated the same moves, before switching suddenly, and sometimes she changed stances midway through a series of attacks, forcing him to react rapidly, or pay the consequence.
The impression Ruelle got was that the longer she duelled, the more she suspected that Kerric completely outclassed her. He gave her the opportunity to test the limits of her skills, but he anticipated and reacted perfectly to every single one of her attempts to oust him. As if he was toying with her.
He must be a lot older than he appears. She frowned at that realization. Who knew how long dragons lived for? Certainly longer than humans. More time to train in the techniques, to master the ways.
Eventually, he retaliated with a series of lightning fast strikes, disarming her with a strike of the hand.
She held her wrist. “Ow.”
Kerric dabbed at the sweat on his forehead, nodding to himself. “Not bad,” he panted. “You’ve had a lot of practice. I can tell.”
“So have you,” she replied, using her tunic to wipe her face before grabbing a glass of water.
Kerric smiled at her confidence. “Not bad, princess. Not bad.”
Compliments aside, Ruelle didn't know what sort of future lay in wait for her. She did know that training was something simple and relaxing for her. And she did find the steady accumulation of yowling cats outside amusing.
Irritating fairy Godmother curses aside, she threw herself into training, viewing Kerric an able and respectful opponent. He fought with confidence and valor, dignity and beauty, and Ruelle found herself learning more about him through the art of combat.
For example, he liked to go on the offense often, but not keep such a good defense, because he sought to overwhelm his opponent as quickly as possible. He had patience, but not as much as Ruelle possessed, and he harbored a strong pride in his abilities. Not the kind of pride that made him destructive and hateful of another person's skill, but a quiet confidence that he knew what to do and when to do it.
The signs of a good warrior.
Days passed as they trained. They progressed from sticks to wearing body armor and fighting with mithril swords, sparring and training over the course of three weeks, preparing for the Trial of Lovers.
Meanwhile, the number of cats outside had accumulated into the hundreds, and Kerric constantly acted surprised at the number of Questers flocking outside their door. After a particularly vigorous sparring session, both of them lay on the sofa, towels strung over their heads as they drank water and recapped events. Ruelle cast her eyes about the room, proud of how it looked, before rechecking her tight fitting combat clothes, her flexible boots and soft, hard grip gloves. Her armor now lay on the side, so she could stretch out her limbs easier. Her curly blonde hair was scooped up to the nape of her neck in a knot, and she waited for her lungs to deflate and adjust up in a severe band. The blood in her body continued to throb, and she downed most of the glass of water in one go, sighing.
“I honestly think we'll be ready to go tomorrow,” Kerric said, sprawled out, with his legs wide apart, revealing hairless knees and long blue boxers.
Kerric seemed to like the color blue, Ruelle noted to herself. Most of his clothes displayed it, which she thought odd, since green would illuminate the beautiful color of his eyes more.
He needed to wear better outfits, too. Underneath those clothes, she saw a male form in its prime, broad and powerful, and hard like iron, which she knew from the various times she'd tried to punch him in the stomach, almost breaking her wrists in the process.
As a sparring partner and fellow fighter, she respected him. He took the time to train her, to coach her, more intensive than any of her tutors dared, because they didn't want to wound a princess. Princesses were supposed to be unblemished and soft. One with scars turned heads and deranked her in the eyes of royals. Kerric, however, left her with bruises from her mistakes, welling along her arms and thighs.
“If you expect to go through a fight without getting hurt, you're going to be sorely disappointed,” he told her.
At her bequest a week earlier, Kerric had inquired around the auction site to find out where Xanthia was sold to. “A collector from the Gloomy Swamp. They say he has about fifteen princesses now, and is an incredibly wealthy dragon with a lot of experience handling them. Not a good sign for your sister to be rescued if he's held onto that many princesses, I'm afraid.” Kerric paused, examining their defenses. “Even my security will be torn down with the right amount of artefacts from an experienced Quester. What I have takes care of the woefully unprepared ones.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” Looking into her Spy Mirror, Ruelle saw around two hundred cats sunbathing or meowing. “This is getting ridiculous.”
“Don't worry. Someone will receive the Quest to rescue those who have been turned into cats sooner or later. They'll be fine.” Kerric shuffled closer to Ruelle, peering into her mirror, and she scented his hot body, the sweat still clinging to his skin, and noticed the pert nipples under his shirt with an odd hunger. A hunger she couldn't explain, but stirred in the pit of her stomach, and sometimes consumed her thoughts at night.
Some nights she lay awake, dreaming of what might happen if she invited the shapeshifter into her bed, imagining the whole process from start to finish. It made her cheeks flush, before she always corrected her thoughts afterward. Hot human form or not, she was still a captive. A dragon's princess, with all the rules that applied to the situation. Although, to be fair, he didn't ask her to do chores, or lock her precisely. She could roam around the outside of the cave, as long as she didn't intend to escape. In the middle of a lonely forest, though, with trees so dark and thick she barely saw past them, she didn't find much to explore.
Most of her stimulus came from sparring and from conversations with Kerric, prying into his mind and figuring out how he operated. Where he came from.
The dreams she envisioned, they were dangerous to allow out. If he caught any wind of them, she knew Kerric would pounce upon the opportunity. Reel her in with a touch, a caress, and pin her down with his lust.
She shivered at the thought, trying to redirect her fantasies into something else.
“Why do you like wearing blue so much?”
Kerric shrugged, his green eyes gentle. “It's the color of the sky and of
freedom. It's also water, as a reminder to keep my cool when my temper flares high.”
“Really?” She stored the information away for later, digesting it in interest. He sounded more like poet when he talked about the sky, rather than a bodyguard of the Dark Clans, a person who presided over nobility as they got sold to prospective clients.
“You don't like wearing dresses so much, princess,” Kerric said, which forced a laugh out of her.
“I've been sparring with you every single day. It's pointless to wear a dress if it's only going to be ruined.”
“You've had plenty of time to wear one, princess,” he disagreed, clicking his fingers. “We don't spar continuously. I have to go on my errands and I give you spare time to yourself. Yet you never bother dressing up at all. Why?”
For some reason, his words sent a well of sadness within her. She wanted to snap at him, and hesitated in confusion when emotion flooded her lungs and heart, stretching her stomach. Her eyes fought to contain the threat of tears.
“I don't know.”
Kerric faced her on the sofa, one eyebrow arched. “Are you sure about that answer? Because your reaction suggests you do know.”
Ruelle closed her eyes, resting her palms on her lap. She sifted through her thoughts and feelings, trying to locate the source of the sadness. “Because... I never got to be a princess.”
Silence dipped in the room. Her words sounded absurd. Not like a princess. Even though she was one. What a dumb thing to say. She opened her mouth to retract the statement, but Kerric stood up, holding his hand to her.
“We're going to the wardrobe in your chambers now. Come on.”
Under her weak protests, Kerric dragged her to the wardrobe, which she opened, before asking it to display gowns that suited her body. The wardrobe gave a wriggle of confirmation, shaking its dark mahogany doors, before a set of glittering, fabulous gowns appeared within the inner rack holder.