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“This one is for sex, and for birthing babies. You must understand now that the holes I have are too small to accommodate a dragon’s cock. You’ll kill me. You’ll kill all of us. Besides which, it’s wicked to penetrate or breed someone without their consent.”
“I never planned to mate with you in this form!” he exclaims. “That’s why the enchantress is being brought here—to change you and the other human women into dragons. And even then, no one will force you to breed. The males will court you and perform mating dances for you. Then you may select the male you prefer.”
Oh.
I’m relieved there won’t be any forced breeding of human women by dragons, and yet—being permanently transformed into a dragon is not necessarily a better prospect.
“You can’t do this,” I tell him. “You can’t transform us into a different species against our will.”
“It’s an unfortunate necessity.”
“There’s no enchantress who can perform such magic.”
“Yes, there is. Thelise, daughter of your mother’s Supreme Sorcerer.”
“But she was banished from court years ago, for magical malpractice,” I protest. “She’s talented, but she’s careless. Sometimes her spells go very, very wrong.”
“We have no other choice,” the dragon replies calmly. “She is the most powerful wielder of magic in this region, and I don’t have time to find anyone else. Mating season is nearly upon us.”
“Every woman you transform will hate you,” I say vehemently. “None of us will want to mate.”
“Ah, but you will. As dragons, you’ll experience the mating frenzy like the rest of us. You won’t be able to resist. And if you do resist, we will have twenty-five years to court you and charm you before the next mating season.” He glances down between my legs again, and I realize that I’ve been sitting splayed open during the entire conversation. I pull my thighs together, my thoughts racing.
So he doesn’t want to eat me or rape me. He wants to transform all of us into dragons and either couple with us during the mating season or court us for twenty-five years. Unacceptable. Which means I need to go back to my original plan of making myself so unpleasant that the thought of having me around for twenty-five years will make him vomit.
I pick up another fruit and snap my fingers imperiously at him. “Go ahead, keep breathing on me. I need more heat, dragon.”
9
I’ve been reduced to the role of a fireplace for this smooth-skinned little creature with the abundant yellow hair. The longer I crouch here, breathing on her, watching her skin grow pink with warmth, the more I desire to lick her again. I can’t be sure if it’s a primal desire for prey, or some other urge with which I’m unfamiliar. Either way, I must not indulge the impulse. I might come too close to gobbling her up.
I imagine it for a second. Not tearing her flesh, but swallowing her down whole, feeling the flutter of her limbs thrashing in my stomach. Her, still alive, inside me. Part of me. It’s a dark, hideous thought, born from the deepest chasms of my nature, from some ancient, less civilized aspect of my being.
For generations, dragons have striven to rise above our bestial roots. From the egg we are taught both Dragonish and the Eventongue. We are trained to recite oral histories, poetry, and essays. We write long passages in Dragonish on the walls of caves, and translate them aloud into the Eventongue.
I suppose that is why I thought I knew enough about humans to carry out my plan. I’ve studied their language and their politics for my entire quarter-century. But my studies did not encompass the small details of their everyday lives, things like tea and soap, their eating habits and their hygiene preferences. A significant oversight, it would seem.
My gaze travels the Princess’s body, noting each bruise I caused. Their presence disturbs me. I wish I could heal those damaged places immediately.
“I want more of these.” The Princess turns to me and holds up a half-eaten berry. “Fetch me more.”
I’m momentarily distracted by the triangle of rosy flesh between her legs—two plump lips with a groove between them. She showed me her genitals earlier, out of sheer panic, and I’m interested in seeing them again. They look far more complex than the mating slit a female dragon possesses.
Now that she knows I would never breed her in this form, she seems shy about her parts again. When she notices me staring, she covers that area with her free hand. “Go fetch me what I want,” she snaps.
I prowl away, seething at how she commands me—me, a prince of dragons. When I return with another berry, she is rinsing out one of her garments in the lake. She puts the garment on, soaking wet. It mostly conceals her rump and her genitals from me.
“Where are the clothes you promised?” she asks.
“They will be here soon. Tomorrow.”
“That’s not soon enough. I need something now.”
“Perhaps one of the other captives has something you can wear,” I say. “Or there may be a remnant of a tapestry somewhere, a bit of sailcloth—”
“You expect me, a princess, to wear a bit of sailcloth?” Her blue eyes are wide, her manner haughty and furious. “Go and fetch me a gown, dragon. I demand it. I want a gown, right now. Go find one.”
“As Your Highness wishes,” I snarl. “I will strip one off the back of another captive if I must.”
