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I hate him, hate hate hate.
I shift over in the nest until I’m on the opposite side from him, and I lie down at the very edge, right where the grasses are banked and woven to form the rim. Dragons are like big birds with their nesting habits, but they also resemble lizards, and sometimes the way the prince moves is downright catlike in its fluid grace.
He’s watching me with golden eyes. “Are you cold?”
“No.” But I am chilly. Despite the spring warmth we enjoyed today, we’re high up, on an island, in a cave that’s breezy more often than not. I’m wearing a scrap of cloth tied over my breasts and another wrapped around my waist. Not much protection against the elements. I can’t help longing for the soft, downy depths of my royal bed back home.
“You are cold,” says the dragon firmly. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“You can lie against my belly and feel my warmth.”
Oh, fuck no. That is not happening.
“I don’t think so.” My voice sounds high and fake, even to me. “I’m very comfortable right here.”
“Princess.” His tone deepens, rumbling with command. “Come to me.”
“I don’t want to lie against you, or be near you at all. At least grant me that choice. You’ve taken everything else.”
Silence. The fire gives a final glimmer and a spark before the last stick crumbles into ash.
The dragon speaks, low and weary. “Do you want me to let you all go? You want me to find women who would agree to become dragons?”
“Yes.”
“And how many humans do you think would be willing to go through that transformation, to save our species?”
I grimace in the dark. “I’m sure there are some.”
“Precious few, I’d wager. We don’t have time to seek out the willing ones, or to persuade the unwilling.”
“Can’t you wait to mate until the next season?”
“The mating frenzy is a powerful compulsion. We have some control over it, but dragons who do not mate during their heat lose some of their power. Their magic abates, and they become more vulnerable to sickness.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is. We are civilized in many ways, yet we remain trapped by the impulse to breed. Even pairings of the same gender mate during the heat, though they do not produce eggs.”
I lie still, pondering. “What of those who prefer not to choose a gender? I had a friend in the palace who did not like to limit themself to a single gender expression.”
“Those cases are rare among dragons,” he replies. “Dragons choose the gender they prefer while inside the eggs, and they hatch once their preference is established.”
“And if they change their minds later?”
“Then we refer to them in whatever way they choose, regardless of their biological appearance. It is no business of mine what parts reside in a dragon’s pouch.”
“And none of you have sex except during the mating season, every twenty-five years?” I ask.
“Correct.”
“That would be difficult for humans. Most of us enjoy having sex often, or at least pleasuring ourselves frequently, even if we don’t have a partner.”
His yellow eyes blink. “How is it possible to achieve pleasure without a partner?”
He has some kind of night vision—can he see how deeply I’m blushing? I got myself into this, so I suppose I had better explain. “Men stroke their cocks with their hands to achieve a pleasurable release. And women have areas that are sensitive as well. The parts I showed you today… those are sensitive, both on the outside and the inside. Right at the front we have a tiny nub, like a very small berry, or a peaked bit of flesh. It looks different on every woman, but when manipulated, it feels wonderful.”
