In the Shadow of the Dragon (Corsair and Xana)

Esther stirred first, moving slowly as she looked for her clothes. “Now, if I contend that you are indeed a Master of carnal delights, would you walk me home?”

“Of course,” Ostred replied, yawning and stretching as he fought off the delicious fatigue that had entangled him. “I’ve been informed that my position makes me a gentleman,” he grinned, “and that I must act like one as a result.”

“Oh?” Eliza laughed. “Whic position is that?”

“All of them,” he replied, looking for his pants.

Eliza sat up, wrapping her arms around Esther’s waist and leaning against her back. “You could just stay,”she murmured. “Both of you,” she added with a quick glance at Ostred. “I could find the room.”

Hitching up his pants, Ostred considered the barmaid and the expression on the prostitute’s face, and smiled. “It’s appreciated,” he said, tugging on his shirt. “But both of us have duties to attend to.”

Eliza nodded sadly, then gently kissed the back of Esther’s neck. “I close the tavern every night,” she whispered. “Uhm... last call at ten.”

-*-

The mountain wind but like frozen razors, leading Ostred to wrap his cloak around Esther as she leaned into him for warmth. Warmth, and comfort as well. There were concerns on the woman’s mind now, deep concerns about her future that tumbled out as they walked.

“I’ve known Hilda - Princess Hilda - almost my whole lot fe,” he said. “I was, let me think, six? No, seven when I was brought to court to begin training as Prince Ellistar’s bodyguard. She was three then, and as willful and stubborn as then as she is now.”

“The rumors say she will wed Lord Kamil and I just worry… “ she whispered, “Is she a jealous woman? I know some wives they… well, they seek to protect their children’s position, by any means necessary. Even if it means…”

He nodded sympathy and squeezed her shoulder gently, trying to offer comfort.

“You, you know her, right? You could talk to her?” Her voice went higher, more desperate. “He’s a bastard, a whoreson…he’d be no threat to her own children…” She forced a smile, but they fear was still present in her eyes. “You’ll tell her that, won’t you?”

It was a moment before he could speak. “I’m a bastard as well.” His grin was lopsided as he glanced at her. “My father was Sir Dario Giordano, one of Duke Ellesia’s bannermen, and my mother was, well, in your same position.”

With a sigh, he stared into the middle distance. “I’ve got a younger half-brother, about Hilda’s age. Lucio. I... don’t know him. His mother wanted me gone, once it was clear he was going to survive infancy. So my father arranged for me to serve the prince - not a bad position for a bastard.”

Another sigh. “I can’t tell you how Hilda would respond, not really. But if she marries Kamil, it’ll be for politics. Not love. And your son would still be politically valuable until she produces an heir. After that?” He shrugged. “She wouldn’t have him killed, I’m sure of that. A grin. “Hell, by the time it becomes an issue, we may have another prince that needs someone to keep him from getting his fool self killed.”
 
Esther forced herself to laugh, to relax and to sink into the comforting heat of Ostred’s embrace. “That all makes me feel so much better.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “Sorry, she seemed so upset when Kamil and me approached, I thought she was jealous. But if she isn’t jealous over Kamil, then I won’t worry too much. And…well, it’s nice to know even a bastard can rise above his station.”

They reached her home now, a cozy cottage near the castle entrance. Ostred felt nice, against the chill in the wind, but Esther couldn’t help but wish she’d invited Eliza to join them as well. Oh well, perhaps next time. “Come on, let’s get out of the cold.”

~*~
Astrid was quite ready to break her fast this morning, wearing a sated, sleepy smile on her lips as she smeared honey on half a hunk of bread. After surviving their encounter with the dire bear, Ellistair kept her up more than half the night, pounding her cunt from every angle. And had even woken her up at the crack of dawn with his lips wrapped around one throbbing breast. So, once she finished riding him until her entire body ached, she dressed, and dragged him downstairs for to refuel so they’d have the energy to go again.

What could she say? The memory of her husband’s heroic stand against the bear fucking worked for her, and even tender, she hungered for him. And food. But mostly him.

Her good mood even seemed infect Duke Kanimir, who shared his wife’s amused smile. He held up his glass in a toast. “Well, Princess Astrid, I may have to contend that there is wisdom in the ways of Fearfire. I have great faith that you will bear Prince Ellistair many heroic sons. Truly a glory to the Camden lineage!”

The rest of the table cheered and laughed, and Astrid’s mood dropped, just a little. She managed to meet the duke’s word with a strained smile, wishing she could get a day from the pressure to pop out Ellistair’s babies. Hadn’t she proven herself more than just that? But Ellistair gripped her thigh under the table, and it was easier to push those concerns from her mind. He was all that mattered, not anyone else.

Breakfast was nearly half over when Hilda dragged herself downstairs, dark circles under her eyes mirroring the ones Astrid and Ellistair bore. But her face lacked the euphoric grins they still wore. Guilt warred with the joy that had consumed Astrid. Had they kept her up with their lovemaking?

Breakfast didn’t go on much longer before there was another interruption, this time in the form of a familiar messenger from Radharc Realta. But the guarded panic in his eyes didn’t bode well.

“Duke Pilnova, I bring an urgent word from Mount Fearfire.”

Conversation and laughter ceased at that declaration. All eyes turned towards the messenger, unease filling the silence. Verrier rarely made proclamations to his subjects.

Kanimir nodded, and spoke up first, “We are listening.”

“Lord Verrier has called for all the kingdoms to rouse their levies and prepare for war.”

“War?” Astrid breathed, the word hardly audible over the clang of her knife dropping onto her plate. With a huff, she nodded, and pushed herself from the table. She couldn’t ride to Verrier’s call in this dress, after all.
 
“War?”

It wasn’t Astrid alone who repeated the word. It ripples through the dining hall in tones of shock and disbelief. Not at the prospect itself, but at the nature of the command. In living memory the Dragon has never commanded such a thing. Not even in the time of the Kettlepot Plague, centuries gone, when demons and the walking dead had roamed the lands.

“Where... where does the Dragon desire us to gather?” Ellistar asked, his voice cutting through the confusion.

“Gather at the Mountain,” the messenger told them, “with all due haste.”

“We will need time to prepare our forces,” the Duke states. “How long will the armies be gone? They are needed here as well, to...”

“You may keep a reserve force to defend your people from threats,” the messenger interrupted. “But judge those needs carefully. Our Lord lacks patience with oathbreakers and those who would play the fool with him.”

Shaken by the commands, Ellistar left the table and made his way back to his chambers. Astrid was there already, her gown traded for the garb she wore on the Mountain and her Dragon-gifted sword on her hip. “I suppose,” he said with a half-hearted grin, “that there’s no persuading you to say safely behind?”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “I thought not. Let me change, and tell Hilda and Istred, and we’ll ride for Landisford. Those terrible steeds of ours should make it in a few days, and I’ll want my armor if we’re going to war.”
 
“I suppose,” he said with a half-hearted grin, “that there’s no persuading you to say safely behind?”

“I may be your wife, Ellistair, but I am a Drakul too. Duty requires that I answer Lord Verrier’s call to arms.” Astrid gave him a lopsided smirk then, and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Besides, if we are together, we won’t be in real danger. We’ll have each other’s back.” Despite how much she believed, or wanted to believe the words, anything big enough to drive the dragon to call upon his subjects was big enough to be dangerous to everyone.

Chuckling, he shook his head. “I thought not. Let me change, and tell Hilda and Ostred, and we’ll ride for Landisford. Those terrible steeds of ours should make it in a few days, and I’ll want my armor if we’re going to war.”

~*~

“You think to lead our forces in a foreign battle at the heed of the dragon?”

Reynart eyed his son, features narrowed in judgment that was typical of their interactions. Then, in a rare moment of pride, offered him a smile. “This is a good choice, Ellistair. The men would not otherwise respect you if you did not lead them in battle, and fight alongside them. This campaign will garner you allegiances and loyalty that will last a lifetime, and serve you well when you take the throne.”

“You will lead our forces, alongside Sir Ramir Muset and Sir Nigul Alver. Take heed of their counsel and experience, my son, for a wise ruler surrounds himself with wise advisors, and command obedience.” Reynarts gaze drifted to Astrid, flashing with momentary scorn before returning to Ellistair. “And that includes your wife. Men will not follow a leader who cannot even bring his wife to heel. Take care of indulging her flights of fancy too much, and if she comes up pregnant, you must order her retreat. As your wife, her first duty is to bear and protect your sons, and you must be ready to remind her of that.”

With a hand on his son’s back, he led him back to the stables. “We will ride back to Euthoria together, in preparation for your sister’s wedding.”

~*~

Since Euthoria was closest to Mount Fearfire, all the armies would gather there. Preparations to receive them kept the caste chaotic, but inversely, gave Hilda plenty of time to herself. She was still expected to take meals with Pilnova’s, but her uncle and cousin were otherwise too busy to pay her much mind. Once the armies were en route to Fearfire, she’d be sent back to Landisford with a small contingent of guards. After all, a maiden princess couldn’t be allowed to travel on her own, regardless of the demands of the dragon.

On the third day after her brother and sister-in-law had left, the servants awoke her with a start. “We must rise at once, Princess, there is much to do before your father arrives.”

Hilda groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What duties are required of me, ahead of my father’s arrival?” It’s not like she’d be allowed to head for the mountain and take up arms.

“Why, we must sew your dress and arrange the flowers and decorations in the great hall, and prepare the feast…”

With an extended yawn, Hilda arose from bed. “Sew a dress? Arrange decorations in the great hall? Hardly seems necessary to welcome an army. Sounds more like a… wedding.” The realization dawned upon her on the last word, and dread churned in her gut.

“Hilda, has Vilja told you the news?” Kamil hobbled into her room, his crutch thudding with each step. “Your father has sent word and given his blessing for us to marry. He will be here in three days to see the forces off and we will wed as soon as he arrives.”

“Three days…?” Hilda murmured, trying not to be crushed by the news, trying not to show that she was crushed by the news. “Three days?”

She had done a poor job of hiding her discontent, and disappointment reflected in Kamil eyes. “I know it’s sudden, but it’s not so bad, is it? We had a lovely ride before, well…” He laughed somberly at himself, motioning at his bad leg. Shuffling forward, he caressed her face with rough fingers. “I can be a good husband to you, if you just give me a chance.”

Despite her years of training in obedience and deferment, Hilda couldn’t summon acquiescence in the moment. She couldn’t look Kamil in the eye to agree with his sentiment and offer optimism that he was surely right. It took all her composure not to sob, to rage, to throw a tantrum at the injustice of it all.

With a sigh, Kamil backed away. “I’ll have some breakfast brought up for you. We can discuss this more, later. After you’ve had some time to absorb it all.” With a last look, a last attempt to commiserate with her, he left the room.

When the door closed behind him, Hilda allowed herself to cry.
 
“Father,” Ellistair said carefully, “about this wedding...”

“Yes?” Reynart asked, equally carefully.

It was the second day of the return journey to Euthoria, and it had taken all of that time for Ellistair to ready his arguments. His father the Prince was not, after all, an easy man to challenge. “Are you certain this is a good idea? Hilda is opposed, and there are other suitors yet to consider.”

Reynart sighed. “I’ve been expecting this, my son. Ever since I informed you.”

“Yes, well...” Ellistair began

“Well, nothing,” Reynart interrupted. “My son, for people such as us, marriage is a political matter. Euthoria is the strongest of our vassal duchies, and this marriage will bind them closer to our House.”

“There are other...” Ellistair trued.

His father looked at him. “Do you understand why I opposed your marriage to Astrid?”

It was the first time he had used his wife’s name that he could think of. “I... no, father. I do not. The king...”

“My father the king,” Reynart said, “was swayed by you, and by your claim that the wedding would tie Landis more closely to the Mountain.”

“And it will!” Ellistair insisted.

Reynart shook his head. “My son,” he said, actually smiling a little. “You allowed your heart to rule you.” A smirk. “And other parts as well, I wager.”

“Father...” Ellistair began.

“No, hear me,” Reynart said, raising a hand. “She is a comely lass. Willful, but comely. I can understand why you find her appealing. But. Does she bring us a lessening of the Tribute? Will she bring us the aid of the Dragon, if a duchy rises against us?”

“...no,” Ellistair admitted.

“That is why I opposed the wedding.” His father regarded him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the road. “Euthoria will bring us hard, skilled troops. Increased trade. Tangible benefits.” He shook his head. “Hilda will grow to accept this match in time. But if she does not, it will still take place. Landis needs it. Our family needs it.”
 
The next two days were a whirlwind that progressed despite Hilda’s resistance to the marriage. At first, Kamil tried to assure her that they could be happy together, but by the second day he left her alone. Whether or not he wanted to win her over, it didn’t matter in the end. She would be his.

By the second day she’d concocted a plan, a small hope to avoid trying herself to Kamil. Under the cover of night, she fled her room with a small pack of supplies and food. She could saddle a horse and be fifty miles away before anyone knew she was gone. But, she wasn’t sure she could make it anywhere alone, and went in search of the one man she could trust right now.

“Ostred… Help me flee. I cannot marry this man. He’s twice my age and…”

Ostred returned her gaze with hardened sympathy. “I cannot.”

“We can!” Hilda insisted, digging nails into his weathered hands. “We can flee to mount Fearfire, and with all the chaos of the Dragon’s command, they’d never find us. Then we could go to the Cerulean Coast or al-Nithiel.”

Ostred tore his hands from her grasp, “No.” The lone word struck her like a slap, cutting through her fantasies and hopes. “If I were caught, I’d be executed.”

This was true. Still, she had hoped he’d see how clever her plan was, and agree anyway. Am I not worth the risk? But the question didn’t come, because she already had her answer.

She was not.

“Must be nice to be a man, to be able to say ‘no,’” she snapped, striking back with the only weapon she was allowed to wield. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she didn’t bother wiping them away, just turned away from him.

~*~

No one would save her from this fate. Not her brother, not Ostred, not even Astrid. In the end, life wasn’t a story, and there were no knights to whisk the princess away from her terrible marriage and ride off into the sunset.

The great hall was filled guests, mostly with strangers. She’d recognized a handful of the lords present, all who had arrived to meet the Dragon’s demands, and not to pay witness to her wedding. Her mother wasn’t even present, because her Father wanted this done as quickly as possible.

Each step towards the altar weighed a hundred pounds, heavy beyond the dress she’d been sewed into. Her father’s hand was a vice on her arm, urging her forward, ready to hand her off to another man.

Be a good girl, Hilda.

Kamil stood across the altar, leaning on his crutch as he took her hands. He offered her a sympathetic smile, but even now, she couldn’t return it. Her eyes burned with tears, but she was just able to hold them back. Mostly because if she started crying, she wouldn’t stop, not with the hundreds of eyes upon her. The officiant’s words hardly penetrated her mind, wishing that blocking out the vows could hold their power.

“Hilda.”

Her father spoke, low and stern, motioning with eyes towards Kamil and officiant. Hilda was silent a minute longer, realizing it was her turn to give the vow, but, how could she? How could she say yes, when every bone in her body said no?

“I…” The words wouldn’t come. She was embarrassing her father, she knew, as the lords of the land watched her refuse to go through with his command, but she found it hard to care, in any case. How much did he really care about her feelings? Kamil’s thumb brushed the top of her hand, a silent supplication, but she just exhaled.

“I do.”
 
Ostred watched Hilda turn and try to storm off. She didn’t make a good show if it, more blonde ndly stumbling away than anything else. Her look of hurt and betrayal and then helpless fury lingered even after she was gone.

Must be nice to be a man, to be able to say ‘no’.

“You’re wrong, Hilda,” he whispered, slumping into a chair. “I can’t say it eather. Or I’d have helpe you.”

-*-

This is wrong, Ellistair thought, sampling the next dish without really tasting it. His attention was on his sister, sitting controlled and tight-lipped at the head of the table next to her new husband. Kamil largely ignored her, chatting with a court official to his left.

Her wedding should have been a grand affair, he knew. Months in the planning, with nobles acriss the kingdom attending. With her family attending. Not a hurried ceremony before everyone she knew ride away to war.

Crown Prince Reynart rose, tapping his goblet for attention. “A toast,” he said, “to the happy couple. May they be happy, and their Union fruitful.” He raised the goblet. “Kamil and Hilda!”

“Kamil and Hilda!” chorused the guests. Ellistair didn’t miss the look of betrayal on his sister’s face, and hatred for his father suddenly stabbed through him.
 
The wedding feast passed in a blur, and at least part of it was the way Kamil kept her wine glass full throughout dinner. Wine was about all she could stomach, and Hilda didn’t bother with pretense, pushing aside each plate without bothering to taste it. Why? Wasn’t it enough to force her into this marriage, and dictate the rest of her life? Why should she have to pretend to happy as well? Her emotions were all she had left to herself, now.

Servants walked her to the bedroom. Not the bedroom she’d occupied since arriving in Euthoria, of course, but Kamil’s bedroom. Their wedded chambers. Typically, her husband would carry her over the threshold, but Kamil was still walking with a limp and a crutch. Not that his injuries would prevent him from consummating the marriage. He’d assured her father of that much.

Hilda didn’t help, as her servants began removing her dress. She didn’t fight them, even if she wanted to, but she refused to take any effort to make it easier on them. This passive resistance was all the rebellion she was allowed.

“It’s not so bad, my lady,” one of her ladies in waiting assured her. Lysa, she though her name was. She was a few years older, with long blonde hair tied back in a neat braid. Once everyone else left, Lysa would be her only friend. “Try to relax, and he’ll be done before you know it.” She undid the tight updo Hilda had worn for the wedding, until Hilda’s own golden locks spilled over her shoulders.

“Does it hurt much?” Hilda whispered, her stoic resolving slipping like her gown down her skin.

Lysa stroked her face, the same way her mother would if she scrapped her knee. “Only if you try to fight it. It’s not so bad if you let it happen.”

To her relief, she wouldn’t have to get fully naked. A dressing gown, thin satin, was cool against her skin. With the hem falling to her mid-thigh, it would have been scandalously short to wear in front of company. To wear in front of anyone but her ladies in waiting and husband.

A dull thud against the door announced Kamil, and Lysa opened the door for him, “She’d ready for you, my lord.” Lysa shared a last sympathetic look with Hilda, before closing the door behind her, and leaving Hilda alone with Kamil.

“Lord husband,” Hilda murmured, still unable meet his gaze. His strained gait seemed loud in the silence of the room, but Hilda made no effort towards him. These where her last heartbeats of freedom from breeding a noble heir.

“You look so beautiful,” Kamil whispered, trailing his hand down her bare arm. Maybe it was an attempt at romance, but it made Hilda’s blood run cold. “Lie down,” he instructed, motioning with his head towards bed.

~*~
Astrid retired early to the bedroom, unable to stomach the distress in her sister in law’s face as everyone pretended what they were doing to her was no big deal. For the first time since her own marriage, there would be no lovemaking tonight. It would have been impossible to lose herself in Ellistair’s embrace, while Hilda’s bleak expression haunted her mind. Luckily, Ellistair shared her rage at the injustice, and even if he hadn’t, she knew he wouldn’t force the issue. An assurance Hilda wouldn’t be able to count on.

“Is there really nothing more we can do?” Astrid asked, huddled into herself on the bed. “Your grandfather is still king; can’t he annul the marriage?”
 
Ellistar paced the room, a thousand strategies dying in his mind as he tried to think of something - anything - he could do. “He could,” hesaid, responding to Astrid’s question. “But he won’t. Because my father has the right to arrange a marriage for his daughter, and because the political alliance is important. Particularly with the Dragon rousing the Kingdoms for war.”

With a strangled sound of fury, he threw himself into a chair. “But this is wrong, Astrid. All of it.” He made a gesture. “This marriage should have taken months to arrange. Hilda should have at least had time to reconcile herself to this, to have the support of my mother and sister as she prepared.” He glowered at the door. “It’s a political alliance, yes. But it shouldn’t be handled with n such a mercantile way.”

Hands balling and not fists, he rested his face on them. “Things have to change, Astrid. We have to make them change.”

-*-

“I know I wasn’t your choice of a husband,” Kamil murmured, untying the belt of the dressing gown, “But I promise I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

Hilda lay on the bed unmoving, a look of apprehension in her eyes. That was to be expected, of course. This would be her first time with a man, after all, and she’d probably heard that it hurt. But, if it did, he was sure the soreness would fade quickly. Esther had always praised his skill in bed, after all. He’d just have to use that skill to make it pleasurable for her.

Seating himself and n the mattress, he opened her gown with slow hands. “You are beautiful,” he murmured as he bared her body to her gaze. “So very beautiful.” It wasn’t too much of an exaggeration. Learning to ride and hunt and fight had given hard money scale to her slender body. He preferred his women softer and curvier, but he suspected she’d be an animal in bed once her shyness faded.

Hilda’s lips tasted of the wine she’d drink all night when he kissed her, his tongue exploring her. He cupped her small, firm breasts, sighing in pleasure at the way they fit his hands. “So beautiful,” he whispered, kissing along her throat until he captured a taut nipple with his lips. “So very beautiful.”
 
Hilda squeezed her eyes shut, squeezing out what she could form the moment. Kamil was hot and heavy on top on her, his breath stinking of wine and venison as his tongue probed her mouth. Rough hands squeezed her breasts, fingers digging into the yielding flesh.

It was hard to wrap her head around the fact he was allowed to do this to her. Allowed to do anything he wanted, to her. So much of her life was spent preserving her honor, her purity. Spent preventing the appearance of impropriety. Only whores let men slobber all over them. So, what was she, when Kamil slobbered over her?

Despite the denial within her own mind, her body responded to him. Reacted to his touch and his tongue, nipples growing almost painfully erect. The wine left her fuzzy, almost detached from her own body. She lied very still, trying to follow Lysa’s advice. Don’t fight it, and he’ll finish soon enough.

Kamil shifted, and the bed shifted with him. He pushed her legs apart, overcoming her reticence with force. Not roughly, but with authority. Kneeling over her, Kamil stroked himself, and brushed the head over her opening. The act, and the warning contained in that act, made her stiffen, clenching as if it were a defense against him. Releasing his cock, he spat in his hand, stroking his saliva over his length. “Relax. It feels better if you give in to it.”

Again, he lined himself up to her womanhood, and Hilda’s fingers twisted into the sheet beneath her. That thick head pressed her lips apart again, her body straining to take him. Heedless of resisting muscle, Kamil pushed on, pushed into her. Every inch stretching her, with little more than the head inside her. A gasping cry stalled his advance, for a moment, but he twitched within her, and that drew another shuddered whimper. Was this what made Astrid scream so, this demanding pressure? But her moans never seemed pained…

Kamil released his cock, gripping her hips with both hands, and drove deeper within her. For a moment, it seemed her body defied him, denying him space inside her. But Kamil did not relent, thrusting harder as her body protested until he broke through. A pained wailed left her lips, tears welling in her eyes, but Kamil silenced her with a kiss.

“You’re a woman now, Hilda. My beautiful bride…”
 
Kamil held back for a moment, aware that the first time could be uncomfortable for a woman. But it was hard, because he was hard and she felt so fucking good around him. Then he kissed her, tasting salt on her lip. Tears? “You’re a woman now, Hilda,” he whispered, kissing away her small sounds of discomfort. “My beautiful bride…”

When the sounds so besides he began moving again, struggling to go slowly at first. “You feel so good,” he gasped, kissing her again. “So good.” His thrusts picked up pace, hands exploring her gentle curves as he kissed her again. “So... so good...”

He climaxed with a grunt, kissing her hungrily as his seed flooded her. Eyes closed he reveled in the sensation of finding his pleasure in her virgin body, of being the one to make a woman of his bride. Esther might be better in bed, but there was something primal and erotic about making a woman his.

“Maybe,” he gasped, rolling to one side and resting a hand on her stomach, “Maybe I’ve planted a child in you already.” He yawned. “A strong son, to carry in the family name.” He yawned again, and then fell asleep.

-*-

After a restless night that ended with fistfull sleep well after midnight, the knocking at the chamber door was an unwelcome and jarring sound. Yawning and scrubbing sleep from his eyes, Ellistair stumbled from his bed and across the room, belting a robe around him as he did. “Yes?” he asked, blinking as he opened the door a crack. “What...?”

His father stood outside, along wuth the Duke and a few other court officials. “Get dressed,” Reynart told him.

“Huh?” Comprehension dawned. “Oh. Oh, no.”

“It is time,” Reynart declared, “to confirm that the marriage was consummated. And it is your privilege to serve as a witness for the honor of our family.”
 
Hilda lied there, beside Kamil, very still. Ache burned between her thighs, sticky and hot and altogether unpleasant. The crimson spot on the sheet was the culmination of her worth, her value as a woman. And now that her virginity was gone, and the only value that remained lied in her ability to produce an heir. Her value bled out, but Kamil left a sticky purpose within her.

Nausea swelled in her gut, but she managed to keep it down. Everything was bad enough without making herself sick. Maybe she’d save it for tomorrow night, in case Kamil decided to rut in her again. Not that she could put him off forever…

Sleep came in fits and starts, in-between bouts of silent tears and utter emotional exhaustion. She’d doze off for a time, but then Kamil’s unfamiliar heat and weight would shock her awake, and his snores, soft as they were, would grate on her. Worst of it all, this was her life now. Sharing her body and her bed with a man twice her age, a man she could hardly stand. Wondering –worrying– if she were already bearing his child, and fighting down her last meal at the thought of it.

When the privy council –or, at least Duke Kanimir, his advisor and her father and brother, knocked at the door, Hilda jerked awake. Kamil was slower to rise, as she tied on her dressing gown and then robe. Another humiliation, one she could at least get out of the way quickly, opening the door before Kamil was ready. But he was covered, and he wasn’t the one being judged now, in any case. “Uncle Kanimir,” she muttered, curtsying, and waving her hand towards the bed. The men quickly crowded around it.

The spot was starkly red against the white sheet, and darker now, since it dried. Not big, smaller than her fist, but proof she had obeyed her father and honored his authority. Except now, she wished she hadn’t. Wished she’d rebelled against him, if only to repay her humiliation with embarrassment, and perhaps even get her out of this dreadful marriage. But this alliance was too valuable to all involved, and Kamil likely would have kept her, soiled or not.

“Excellent! As expected of the princess,” Kanimir praised, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised to meet my grandchild in a year’s time.”

Her father hugged her, ignoring her stiff resistance, and place a last kiss on her forehead. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, a moment that should have meant something to her. But she hated him, hated the man he given her to, hated everyone in this room. And since Ellistair was the only one who bothered to make eye contact, he received the brunt of her hate.
 
Ellistar had never felt worse than at this very moment, with the Duke’s court pawing over Hilda’s virginal blood, and their father congratulating her, and her hate burning holes in him. This is wrong, he thought, seeing as if for the first time the things that roused Astrid’s contempt for Landis. This is wrong.

“We should go,” he heard himself say.

Reynard looked up sharply. “What?”

Fuck. “We should go now,” he repeated. “Our, our duty is done. We should grant the Lady Astrid some privacy.”

“It is hardly the way a bride’s bedding is celebrated,” Duke Kanimir began.

“Damn your way, man!” Ellistar exploded, venting his sudden fury into his words. “Rushing a wedding is not the way either, but it was fine because the Dragon commands us to gather!” He advanced a step on the appalled man. “Muster your levy, Duke, for I will not see your sudden desire for spectacle bring ruin upon Landis!”

Everyone stared at him, speechless. Gripping the hilt if his sword, he raked his gaze over the assembled officers. “Well? Go!”

As they scurried out, his fathe caught his arm. “You would do well,” he snarled.

“I did do well, father,” he shot back, ripping his arm free. “I did exactly what you wanted, and look at the cost!” He glared back, unaware o just how much he resembled his father in that moment. “You gave me command of the knights we send to Fearfire, and I will lead them as it seems me good!” He spun on his heel and stride towards the door.

“This defiance,” Reynard growled. “I sense your wife’s hand in it.”

“Do you?” Ellistar stopped, then turned and met his sister’s gaze. “Maybe more of us should follow her example.” Then he left.
 
Perhaps Kamil wasn’t completely heartless. Normally, it would be her duty to stand beside her husband and play the dutiful hostess, and see the men off to the mountain, but instead he instructed a servant to draw her a warm bath, and even sent up a bottle of wine, to ease this transition. And perhaps to get her drunk enough to let him take his pleasure of her again, her mind filled in conspiratorially.

He was trying, and that made her hate him more. Because she couldn’t hate him more, while he was so accommodating to her without coming off like a spoiled brat. As if her dislike could be bought off with a few favors.

The heat of her bath dulled the lingering ache between her thighs, and the wine dulled the despair that threatened to consume her. She lounged in her robe, drinking another glass wine at the window. In the courtyard the troops gathered in formation, so her father and brother could inspect them before leaving tomorrow morning.

Astrid entered, dressed in armor that was scandalous enough for being armor fit to a woman, and made even more scandalous by hugging her curves and displaying her fit figure. She approached for a hug, but hesitated at the last moment, posing a question instead. “Are you okay? Ellistair told me about this morning.”

Yes, just what she needed: a reminder of her brother’s happy marriage to salt her wounds. At least she could get away with being rude to Astrid, even if it wasn’t fair to her, and shook her head. “No. I can’t stay here with him. I can’t do this another night.”

Astrid nodded, and looked away, as if in thought. After a moment, she spoke, “Does Kamil have armor in here?”

“I… I think so,” Hilda said, holding her hope at bay. Hope sunk as the search of the room proved fruitless, and Hilda resigned herself to another glass of wine instead. Until Astrid opened the armoire, and found a shiny full body plate mail suit, with a helm.

“It’s perfect,” Astrid decided, pulling pieces down.

“It’s too big, surely?” Hilda asked, hefting the breastplate down from the display.

“You aren’t going to want to fight in it, surely, but it will hide your identity long enough for me to get you to Mount Fairtheora.” So Hilda dressed, in tight leather pants and a fitted top, and Astrid fit her into the armor. It was heavy, mostly because its weight wasn’t well distributed over her frame, but Astrid was right that it concealed her identity, and no one paid her a second glance even as they made their way to the stable to saddle Astrid’s horses from Fearfire. It was only as they approached the gates that a guard stopped them.

“Princess Astrid, aren’t you traveling with the army?”

“No, I am heading to the mountain, ahead of the main army. As a Drakul, I am expected to answer Lord Verrier’s call first.” Hilda stopped her horse a pace behind Astrid’s, hoping to evade the guard’s attention.

The guard nodded slowly, rubbing his beard with two fingers, “That makes sense, I suppose. But who is this?”

Inwardly, Hilda panicked, fearing that she could be forced back into that bedroom, back to her older husband and a life sentence bearing his lust and children. Astrid, however, was prepared, “Prince Ellistair insisted I travel with a personal guard, and I would dare not disobey my lord husband.”

The guard examined her for several heartbeats, heartbeats that stretched into eternity. “Have a safe trip, Princess Astrid. I will let Prince Ellistair know you have already left.” Hilda waited a moment, still frozen in the fear they were going to be caught in their ruse, before following Astrid out of the gates and onto the open road.

They were away, and finally, Hilda snickered, “I thought you were going to blow our cover there, with that, ‘I dare not disobey my lord husband.’” Hilda mimicked and mocked her tone, and both women laughed, and urged their steeds into a gallop.

“Nah, I am pretty sure that was what sold it.”
 
“The men look well turned out,” Prince Reynart observed, reigning in his horse next to his son. Tension lingered between them, but both knew the importance of the royal family maintaining a show of solidarity. Particularly under the unprecedented circumstances of the muster. “Are they prepared to travel.”

“They are, my lord,” Ellistar replied, nodding at the men. “I have just finished inspecting the quartermasters, and...”

“The quartermasters?” Reynart interrupted. “An interesting choice.”

“An army is dependent upon its supplies,” Ellistar answered. “And a skilled general ensures that they are seen to as well as the men that require them.” E paused, then offered his father a faint smile. “You taught me that.”

“So I did,” Reynart agreed, returning the faint smile. Then he looked about. “And where is your lady wife? I thought she was to ride with us?”

“She felt that, as one of the Drakul of Fearfire, it was her duty to ride ahead. The Dragon commanded them to gather as well.” He looked at the men. “Also, she felt it would cause less consternation among the ranks.”

“Ah.” Reynart sat silently for a moment. “Does she ride alone?”

“I offered her a company as guards, as befits her station.” Ellistar shook his head. “She frltspeed to be of the essence, though, and took a single trusted man mounted on the Dragon’s steeds.”

“Is that wise?” Reynart asked.

“No ordinary horse could catch them,” Ellistar laughed. “And speed will be a greater asset than...”. Suddenly he clutchedat his reins, swaying wildly. Horses screamed and men cried out as the ground shook beneath them. “What was that?”

“Trouble, I fear,” Reynart relied, pointing south and west. Far in the distance, a column of smoke and ash could be seen creating the horizon. “Grave trouble.”
 
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The ground shook, and both horses stopped and whinnied. “What was that? Lord Verrier?” Hilda asked, staring at the distant column of smoke on the horizon.

“Don’t know,” Astrid replied, looking for some sign in the rising ash. Was this what made Lord Verrier came up his people? “But we don’t have time to waste wondering. Not until we reach the Mount.”

It took two days to reach Fairtheora, where it would have taken others at least three. But Astrid knew these paths like the inside of her own eyelids, and the steeds she brought with her could run faster and for longer than any normal horse.

Not many of the called upon troops had arrived yet, which meant her plan to let Hilda blend into the crowds wasn’t going to work yet. But she could still blend in among the Drakul perhaps. But her father coming down from Verrier’s hoard presented a more pressing matter to attend to. “Go see my mother, she’d get you set up with properly fitted armor,” Astrid explained, pointing Hilda off in the general direction, “and even get you a job to do while we prepare for Verrier’s orders. I’ll catch up with you shortly.”

Her father’s furrowed features loosened, just a touch, as she approached, and half a smile curled on his lips as she fell in beside him, “You must have missed me something fierce, to make up such a grand excuse to call me back here?”

“Missed you? I hardly had a chance to care you weren’t around. Why, I’d still be enjoying some alone time with your mother if it weren’t for Lord Verrier’s command. But if you insist on hanging around here again, you can be useful and help me help butcher a few cattle,” he offered, motioning for her to follow. “Where is that husband of yours, anyways?”

“He should be here in a few days. He’ll be leading Landis’ army, at the dragon’s command.” They were quiet for a moment, save for the echo of footsteps on stone, until they exited the main hall of Radharc Realta. “What has Lord Verrier call upon us for?”

Her father shot her a firm gaze, before shaking his head. “He hasn’t told me, not yet at least. Your cousin was here though, just long enough to him in.” He picked out a couple choice steer, and pulled a knife from his pouch. Craning his neck, he motioned towards the left steer, “You get this one.”

The animal cried once as she slit its throat, collecting the blood in a barrel, and readying herself to carve up the carcass. As she worked, Astrid considered what he father had told her, and what it meant in connection to the declaration to gather all troops upon the mount. “Clara dragged him back here? Dragged Verrier back here?” The more details she worked out, the more worried she became.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re bringing food up to him.” Her father remained focused on his work, digging in his knife and slicing off another strip of raw, dripping meat. “Whatever got him, got him good.” Finally he looked up at her, and she couldn’t hide the quiet terror in her eyes. “Go on, get cart. Gonna need something that can carry a ton of meat up to the hoard.”
 
“And then what happened?” The voice was high and excited, barely audible as the cart inched down the ramp into the catacombs. Hrothgar grunted, trying to keep it from slipping. Weak or not, he doubted the Dragon would be pleased with having his meal scattered across the floor.

“I escaped,” echoed a deeper voice. “By transforming into a garter snake.”

“Why?”

“Because Verdan was a fool.”

“Why?”

They finally reached the bottom, and Hrothgar grunted and stretched. “Verrier demanded that the children turned loose on him,” he said, catching his daughter’s confusion. “He said he needed the agrivation to help keep him focused.” He cracjed his knuckles. “Brace yourself. He’s... not a pretty sight.”

The cart ground forward, axles creaking as the two pushed. In the middle distance, a human-like figure reclined on a mound of treasure, watching as a small mob of children - ranging from barely able to walk all the way to pre-pubescent - ran about. Some explored the racks and mounds of treasure and trophies, others scrambled and slid between them, and all of them peppered the figure with questions.

Slowly, that figure dragged himself to his feet and shuffled towards them. Great scabbed wounds covered his chest, still oozing dark blood in places where his movements had strained them. His jaw clenched and his inhuman crimson eyes focused on the cart as he stalked towards them, fists white-knuckling with tension with each step. “Hrothgar,” he growled. “Astrid.”

“My lord,” Hrothgar said, a note of reproof in his voice. “We could have...”

Verrier grabbed the side of the cart and sagged, hissing in agony as he did. “No!” His arm plunged into the heaps of raw meat, dragging out a fistfull. He crammed the strips into his mouth, throat bulging as he swallowed them whole. “And bring the cattle alive next time.”

“Are you certain, my lord?”

Verrier swallowed more meat, then licked the blood from his hands. “I need to kill, Hrothgar, not just eat.” Lifting a heart from the heap, he tore a chunk away with his teeth and swallowed. “I need to hunt, if I am to regain my strength.”

“Are you healed enough?” Hrothgar countered. “Your wounds...”

“Are painful,” Verrier agreed, cramming the rest of the heart into his mouth. “But I must heal faster. There is no time.” He swallowed hard, then shoved more meat into his mouth and swallowed again. “And if Thanedes has his way, there will never be time.”

-*-

Hilda wandered the unearthly fortress city for longer than she expected, lost admission the architecture and oddly shy of the fierce, busy people that haunted the mostly empty streets. She had thought of herself as worldly, thought she had lived in the grandest city of the Ten Kingdoms. But this fortress made her home city of Landisford look like a collection of thatched huts.

Home city. The thought sent a wave of loss and rage and revulsion through her. Home. The home where her parents had decided to sell her for politics. Where they’d decided to let her be raped for an alliance. She felt her hands begin to shake, felt her eyes stinging and her breath grow short. Damn them. Damn them!

Struggling for breath, she leaned against a wall and wrapped her arms around herself. When she’d been riding with Astrid, it had been easy to pretend. Easy to lose herself in the excitement of riding like the wind. Easy not to think, to remember. But now, alone in this strange empty city...

The scream started as a low sob that was equal parts fury and sorrow and shame. It built uncontrollably, tearing from her throat as she kicked the white granite wall behind her. And then punched it, raging and howling as she pounded the unyielding surface in wilder and wilder blows.

Gentle hands caught her wrists in a grip of iron. “You’ll hurt yourself, dear.” Hilda spun, tearing her hands free and bringing up her fists, only to have them caught again. “You must be Hilda. Am I right?”

Blinking tears away, Hilda tried to focus. A slim red-haired woman stood before her, her middle years age looking old to the eyes of the distraught teenager. “Who... who are you?” she managed. “Have... do I know you?”

The older woman smiled. “I’m Helga, Astrid’s mother. My husband said you’d be looking for me.” Gently, she led Hilda from the wall. “Why don’t you come with me? You look like you need a friendly ear.”
 
“I always knew I would eventually get married, and I always knew it wouldn’t be up to me alone, but…” Hilda wrapped her arms around herself, and dug her nails into her skin. “I never thought I’d be traded away like I were a parcel of land or a stable of horses.”

Helga placed a cup of tea before her, and it warmed her hands. She brought it to her lips, and breathed deep, just to gag as the acrimonious aroma filled her nose. “What… what is that?”

“Moon tea,” Helga explained, “it can’t take back what happened to you but… well, it doesn’t have to rule your life.” Moon tea. Hilda thought back to celebratory breakfast after her brother’s wedding, and Astrid’s blasphemous pronouncements. Astrid loved her brother, as much as two people could love one another, Hilda suspected, and still she shied away from pregnancy. Could she really do the same?

“That’s…” she started, staring into the depths of the cup. That’s wrong, her mind filled in, against nature. It was her duty to bear her husband’s children. But that thought turned her stomach, and bitter tears streaked down her cheeks as she brought the bitter liquid to her lips.

“I can’t go back,” she said, realizing it for the first time, “I can’t ever go back, or I have to go back to… to… to him.” Her face twisted into a grotesque mask of disgust, unable to even say his name.

“You can stay here,” Helga offered, wiping a tear from her cheek with a calloused hand.

“Here?” she repeated.

“It’s not a castle. You’ll be expected to pull your own weight, and no one will wait on you, but…” Her expression softened, and for a brief, heartbreaking moment, she reminded Hilda of her mother, “You can stay here. No man can lay claim to you within Fairtheora.”

Hilda sniffled, a pathetic attempt to hold her emotions at bay. Instead she melted into Helga’s arms, and sobs erupted from her. She could never go home again, but she could stay here. And perhaps one day, it would be home.

~*~
It took all of Astrid’s composure not to wince or grimace as Verrier struggled out of bed and across the floor. This wasn’t the dragon of her youth, the one who proudly displayed trophies of the gods he’d slain. This Verrier seemed so… human.


“Who… who is Thanades?” Astrid asked, appraising the injures lord Verrier had sustained. It was difficult to discern where one ended and another began, “And how are we to fight against a being that can…” She struggled with the words, struggled with the very thought. Clearing her throat, Astrid tried again.

“How can we aid you, my lord?
 
“Who… who is Thanades?” Astrid asked.

Verrier ignored the question, stuffing great chunks of bloody meet into his mouth and distending his jaw, throat bulging as he swallowed them whole. “A god,” Hrothgar answered, shifting a few steps from his draconic lord and master, just in case. “A dead god, one of the skulls in his trophy case, somehow returned to life.”

Astrid’s eyes went wide at that, but Hrothgar felt his heart swell with pride at her next question. “And how are we to fight against a being that can…”

There was a loud snap. Verrier had broken a leg bone on half, and was rasping marrow from it with his tongue. Astrid cleared her throat. “How can we aid you, my lord?”

Verrier tossed the bone aside with a clatter, then turned an inhuman, predatory gaze on her. The gaze turned fierce, rage flashing in the crazed eyes of the Dragon as Hrothgar stepped between his daughter and his master. “Food,” the Dragon snarled, lifting the steer’s head and tearing flesh from its skull with his teeth. “I need meat, to heal.” He swallowed a strip of cheek whole, then tore at the snout. “And fury.”

Muscles in the Dragon’s arms bulged, and the skull broke open with a sharp cracking sound. “Fury,” he repeated, scooping a fistfull if Brain out and stuffing it into his mouth, “to demand that I heal. So that I can kill my enemies,”

-*-

“You know what must be done, when we arrive,” Reynard said, voice low and stern.

“There is no proof,” Ellistar responded, equally low and equally stern. It was the same conversation they’d had each night since the troop had set out for the Mountain. Since they’d received word that Hilda had fled.

“Your wife,” Reynard a profanity of the word, “encouraged her rebellion against the marriage. Encouraged her to defy the Royal will, to defy her duty. She...”

“She said nothing of the sort,” Ellistar snapped back. “She was opposed, yes. The ways of Fearfire are not our ways. But she...”

“Her very presence encouraged Hilda’s disobedience!” Reynard erupted, rising to his feet. “And I have no doubt she aided Hilda in abandoning her husband! And when we find her, I will...”

Ellistar was on his feet as well, now. “You will what?” he demanded, voice hard. “Drag her from the presence of the Dragon? Insult my wife before me?”

Reynard glanced down, then back up. “Do you think to challenge me, son?”

Deliberately, Ellistar relaxed the grip he hadn’t realized he’d taken on the hilt if his sword. He drew a deep breath, then released it slowly. “The law is very clear about accusations made against a noble lady of Landis.”

“She is...” Reynard began.

“My wife,” Ellistar said, flatly. “And I am her champion.”

The two men stared at each other. Finally, Reynard looked ever so slightly away. “Very well,” he said. “So be it. But we will find the truth of it.”

Ellistar watched his father stalk away, then sagged back onto the stone that served him as a seat. They couldn’t arrive at Fearfire soon enough.
 
Over the next few days, troops poured into Fairtheora. From Gulder and Sarnia and Saelle. Thousands of troops, more that Astrid ever believed possible, and yet their numbers fit within the confines of the mountain. It would hold much more before they ready to heed Verrier’s command.

Astrid waited for Ellistair. She missed him terribly, even if it hadn’t yet been a week since they parted. But he was her husband, and it was perfectly normal that she long for him, and his touch. She hadn’t realized hold cold the nights could by until she was once more spending them alone.

Hilda fell into routine. It was clear to Astrid that it was rough on her at first, her pampered upbringing rendering her unprepared for the rigors of this existence. But, while she might have needed some instruction on the best way to complete her chores, she did not shy away from hard work, and sweat alongside everyone else as they prepared to meet the coming forces.

On the third day, the troops from Landis arrived. With Reynard leading them. Shit, she thought –hoped– he would stay behind, as the heir to the throne. But perhaps that was too much to ask, with Hilda whisked away.

“Where is she?” he demanded. Astrid refused to waver.

“She’s pledged herself to Lord Verrier, and is no longer your concern. She’s not a Camden anymore, nor a Pilnova. She is Hilda Drakul”

It wasn’t common for a wayward noble to end up at the mountain, Astrid knew. Few stayed, unable or unwilling to put in the hard work that needed to be done to survive here. And while their kingdom might call upon them to return, none went so far as to drag them back, none willing to risk the ire of Verrier’s wrath. Whether or not Verrier would actually intervene was questionable, so far as Astrid knew the Dragon, but no kingdom had been willing to take that chance.

Reynard held her gaze for several more heartbeats, features twisted in rage and fists balled at his side. For a moment, Astrid was quite certain he would strike her, before he pushed past her, and into the fortress proper. “Hilda!” he demanded, his voice carrying even among the crowds that fill the mountain, “Hilda, you show your face this instant!”

Exhaling a long breath, Astrid allowed herself a smile when she caught Ellistair’s eyes.
 
“Hilda!” Reynard called in a voice accustomed to issuing commands in the battlefield, “Hilda, you show your face this instant!”

Ellistar smiled back at Astrid, longing to take her into his arms. But then, with a realization that sent a chill down his spine, he saw the way the residents of the Mountain were reacting. All of them - men, women, children - all were slowly stepping away from his father. All save one, the grey-moustached figure of his father-in-law, who strode close. “Prince Reynard,” he said, not bowing. “You would do well to watch your tone of voice in Radharc Realta.”

Reynard regarded him with a sneer. “I do not know bey the demands of peasants.”

For a moment, Ellistar thought Hrothgar would strike him. But, instead, the Senechal ignored him. Instead, he seemed to be listening to something. Finally, he turned his attention back to the Crown Prince. “Very well, then. Come with me.” He glanced around. “Ellistar. Astrid. Come as well.”

Reynard smirked, unrestrained arrogance in his stride as he followed Hrothgar. Ellistar was less certain, anxiety welling in his stomach as the four of them made their way through the streets of the uncanny city, and growing stronger as they approached the yawning doors of orichalc set into the side of the mountain.

“Where are we going?” Reynard demanded.

“You wanted to see your daughter, did you not?” Hrothgar asked, not breaking stride as they crossed the threshold. Cool air wafted from the cavernous hallway worked into the stone, bearing a mingled scent of stone and metal and chemicals and serpents.

“She’s hiding in here?” Reynard asked.

Hrothgar didn’t respond. He just kept walking, following a path that spiraled downwards in a gentle, left-handed spiral. Passages branched off from time to time but the Senescent ignored them, walking further and deeper into the core of the mountain. “What... is this?” Reynard asked.

Ellistar didn’t respond. He was busy, remembering the last time he’d made this journey into the mountain. Busy, trying to control the growing terror that gnawed his guts. Did his father not realize..?

“Your daughter waits in here,” Hrothgar finally said, as the sloping spiral finally leveled out and opened into a series of arched chambers lit by flames burning in the rib cages and skulls of articulated skeletons. Ruddy light glittered and danced on the polished stones, and in racks of weapons and armor.

Although unsure of his father was ignorant or foolish, Ellistar had to credit him for bravery. He didn’t break stride, choosing to march straight down the center of the chamber without looking around. “Hilda!” he thundered. “Hilda! Where are you?”

“She is here,” replied an inhuman voice, so deep it seemed part of the stones. “With me.”

Reynard slowed, and then stopped. Before him Hilda sat, calm save for her wide eyes and pale face. Behind her rose a hill of glossy polished black that moved impossibly, uncoiling to reveal a serpentine head as large as a house. Blood dropped from great rents in the shape’s crimson belly plates, steaming and hissing on the stones and on the mounds of treasure that served him as a bed. A few of the coins, touched by his blood, shifted and twitched in an obscene display of life.

“You speak boldly, Crown Prince Reynard Camden of Landis,” the Dragon said, extending his head to examine the human before him. Ellistar has spoken to Verrier before, but he’d been alone and the true scale of the Dragon has been lost on him. But now, he saw that his father could have easily stepped into one of the Dragon’s eyes, had it a door.

“Do you dare,” the Dragon continued, eying the tiny man before him, “to issue demands within my home? Do you pretend to authority over that which is mine?”
 
One of Hilda’s jobs, since taking with the people of Fearfire, was to bring livestock down to the dragon while he recovered from his injuries. It was often a challenging task, because the animals could smell their impending death within the depths of the mountain, and resisted with every fiber of the being, but Hilda persisted. Once she was successful, and exhausted with the effort, Verrier invited her to sit and join him, to talk and keep him distracted from his wounds.

At first, she’d been terrified of the dragon, and that had shaken her resolve to remain in Fearfire. In time, terror had been replaced with a healthy respect of his strength. He could kill her, in an instant, but not unless she gave him reason.

That morning, her terror returned as her father’s voice echoed through the cavern. Of course, he’d come to collect her. What a fool she’d been, to think she could escape her fate or marriage. Within the week she’d be back in Kamil’s bed, back to a life were she only served his pleasures, existed merely to carry his children. Sorrow and anger rose in her, stirring her blood to argue and resist her father the way she knew Astrid would have. They way any Drakul would, if their freedom were threatened.

Instead, Verrier came to her defense, claiming her among his. Perhaps this should have bothered her, but Verrier would never force her to marry, much less a man twice her age.

“My lord, I just…” Her father struggled between respectful and indignant, motioning with his hands as words failed him. “She is my daughter, and it is my responsibility to safeguard her. I come to you as a father, to allow me to perform this most essential duty.” Verrier did not waver, his contempt palpable in the air.

For a moment, Reynard’s mask of unquestionable authoritarian slipped, and Hilda saw the fear and concern in his eyes. In that moment, he wasn’t the crown prince, or future king of Landis. He was just her father, worried over his little girl. Now her fear, and even her relief, was replaced with remorse. He’d been wrong, but he’d really thought he was doing what was best for her, the only way he knew how.

Finally, Reynard released a defeated sigh. “You are correct, of course my lord. I do not possess authority here. Only in Landis.” He turned, holding Ellistair’s gaze with icy resolve. “When all this is said and done, you return with your sister, or don’t bother returning at all.” He directed one last contemptuous glare at Astrid before striding off, his ire echoing with each footstep.
 
Ellistar watched his father leave, shocked and enraged and horrified by his words. Behind him, Hilda gasped softly. “He wouldn’t...” she began.

“He would,” Ellistar contradicted. “He would, and he did.”

“What...”. Hilda hesitated. “What are you going to do?”

Slowly, Ellistar turned. The look he gave his sister was bleak. “I, I don’t know. I mean, I’m duty bound to try and return you to your husband.” He held up a hand, forestalling her protest. “You are his property, legally. You’re guilty of oath-breaking and desertion, and Astrid committed a number of crimes by helping you.”

The Dragon chuckled. “Property ? Not if he is unable to retain possession.”

“The laws of Landis, my lord, do not agree.” He forced himself to meet the Dragon’s gaze. “Although we would never presume to hold you subject to them.”

The Dragon’s head lowered into the heaps of treasure with a grinding crunch. “Wisdom.”

“I’m not going...” Hilda began.

“Hilda,” Ellistar sighed, “I’m not going to drag you back by force. But you’ve put our whole family at risk. The Duke your father-in-law could charge our father with oath-breaking. If he does, the case would be heard by the House of Lords, who will almost certainly convict him.” He bit his lip. “And that puts the king in the position of choosing to oermit the Lords to discipline the Royal Heir, or pardoning him and risking war.”

His sister seemed to crumple at that, and suddenly he remembered that she was barely sixteen. It hadn’t been that long since she’d been a child, playing with dolls and toy swords as she slew imaginary demons. “I...” she sniffed, struggling not to cry. “I didn’t... I... I just wanted... wanted...”

Kneeling, he wrapped her in an embrace. “I know,” he said miserably as she began sobbing into his chest. “I... we’ll figure this out, Hil. I promise.”
 
Astrid stood usually beside her husband and sister-in-law, wanting to offer comfort but not sure what to say. She only wanted to help Hilda, and hadn’t given a second thought to the greater politics of the situation. It was too much to put on a young woman, too much pressure for Hilda to shoulder all on her own, that she should have to submit to a miserable marriage just to keep the peace.

Astrid had promised herself that they would change things, once they were in power, but now there was a very real chance they would never hold power. And while she hadn’t married Ellistair to become Queen, the thought that Landis would continue in it’s ways enraged her.

Eventually Hilda had calmed down, returning to her tasks, and Astrid helped her husband back to her room. But his father’s outburst had put a damper on things. So, since they weren’t feeling amorous anyways, she filled him on what she knew. On What she’d seen, since returning.

“I’ve never seen him like that, love. All my life, Lord Verrier’s been like… well, like the mountain. Impenetrable, and unassailable. But, on the day I arrived?” She couldn’t even speak, just hugged herself and shuddered. “A god, a dead god, reborn again.” She swallowed hard, forcing her fear deep inside. “Whatever we’ve been called upon to do it… it will not be easy.”
 
Ellistair threw himself into a plain wooden chair, and groaned aloud. “I almost think that dead gods and angry dragons are the easy part of all this,” he replied, resting his face in his hands. “There’s not much I can do about either of those problems. But...”

The chair toppled over as he rose again and started pacing. “I don’t know what to do, Astrid. All my life, I’ve been taught my first duty is my duty to Landis. And I thought that Hilda, that Hilda would see that as well. That she’d make her peace with her marriage, and...”

Angrily, he kicked the toppled chair. “Maybe I should just saddle up and go fight that dead god. It’s probably simpler than the rest of it.” Then he sighed and seemed to collapse in on himself. “I mean, I’m not going to force my sister to go back. It’s bad enough I didn’t help her the first time.”
 
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