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“But you fought with the armies of Vohrain. Surely you perceived some of their habits.”
“We did not camp with them. We had our own roosts, and only met with their leaders outside the camp, when it was necessary.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t eat this.”
“It’s a young goat, fresh and tender.” With my claw I slice open the goat’s haunch, splitting the hide and revealing the rich, red flesh. My mouth waters at the sight. “Good meat. Take some. We must learn to share meals if you are to live here.”
“Live here? Share meals? What the hell are you talking about?” Her voice is strained, her blue eyes wide.
“Our females are dead,” I explain. “We need new ones for breeding.”
“Fuck,” she says faintly. “Then you… you’re going to… No, that won’t work. I’ll die.”
Somehow she must have guessed my plan. She’s afraid of the transformation into dragon form. “You will not die. It will be over quickly, I promise. Any pain will be minimal.”
“So you’ll just…” She presses a shaking hand to her forehead. “It won’t fit.”
What is she talking about? Perhaps she is speaking of the time it will take for the newly-made female dragons to fit in here at Ouroskelle. “It may not be a good fit at first, but we will give you time to adjust.”
“How kind of you,” says the Princess hoarsely. She rises and walks calmly past me, straight toward the edge of the cliff. “Don’t catch me this time.”
I understand her meaning an instant before she leaps off the ledge. My wing whips out, curling around her body, herding her back into the cave.
“Is the prospect so abhorrent to you that you would kill yourself?” I exclaim.
“Let me think… um… yes,” she snaps.
“You’ll be one of us, with all the privileges of any dragon,” I tell her. “Of course you fear this new future, because you don’t understand our ways, but you will learn. You will adapt. Consider this—that your race owes mine reparation for destroying so many of our beloved warriors, mates, daughters, and sisters. We can never replace those we lost, but if we do nothing, there will be no new hatchlings, and dragons will cease to exist.”
The Princess is salt-white. She presses both palms over her lower belly. “I’m not carrying your hatchlings.”
By the bones, she is obtuse. “Not the hatchlings,” I explain patiently. “You will birth our eggs, from which the hatchlings will be born.”
Her lack of dragon knowledge is excusable, I suppose. After all, I know precious little about humans. But she should begin educating herself about dragon anatomy, life cycles, and lore prior to her transformation. And since she seems liable to jump off the cliff at the slightest provocation, I suppose I shall have to keep her with me and teach her myself.
“Let this be your first lesson in our ways.” I carve a chunk of thick red meat from the goat carcass and hold it out to her on the tip of my claw. “Accept what is given to you with goodwill.”
The Princess stares at the meat, then at me.
And then she vomits, on herself and on the floor of my cave.
Dragons occasionally vomit when they’re ill. It’s a disgusting occurrence, and there’s usually far more of it than the tiny puddle the Princess made. Her vomit is mostly bile, since there’s nothing in her stomach.
Why is she so difficult to deal with? I’ve been anxious about the proper care of my first hatchling, but from what I remember of my own upbringing, hatchlings are easy to care for compared to this human. Perhaps I should take Fortunix up on his offer of advice when he returns.
For now, I think it’s best that we both leave the cave until the smell abates. I’ll ask Rothkuri to remove the soiled parts of the nest and use his water magic to rinse the floor. Half the goat will sate my hunger for now, and I’ll give him the remaining half as payment.
And perhaps, while we’re out, I can find something that the Princess will deign to eat.
8
I wanted to appear disgusting to the dragon, and my wish has certainly been granted. I’ve peed on his nest and vomited all over myself. I’m not sure I can bring myself to be any more disgusting than that.
After I threw up, he hastily devoured part of the goat, the sight of which nearly made me vomit again. I’m not sure why he’s so precious about piss and vomit in his living space when he digs into bloody raw flesh with such gusto. Though to be fair, he eats rather neatly for a dragon, and licks every bit of blood off his claws and muzzle afterward.
Following his meal, he picks me up and flies out of the cave, clasping me firmly but gently in his claws. Again, his actions don’t match what I expect. It’s contradictory that he would be so cautious about bruising me when he plans to breed me by force.
During our conversation, he didn’t seem to understand why I was so upset. All his talk of giving me time to adjust to his cock—that it will be over quickly and that the pain will be minimal—it’s as if he doesn’t see any issues with a giant dragon fucking a tiny woman. He must not grasp the fact that our anatomy is fundamentally incompatible.
