ã€ŠA Broken Pactã€‹


 Chapter 1

    Crown Princess Josse was having a bad day. Or rather, the former Crown Princess, according to popular consensus, and in the end, wasn''t that all that mattered? She could claim to be the rightful heir all she liked, but if no-one believed her or acted as if she was, what difference did the truth make?

    No doubt someone somewhere would be filling out the paperwork to make it official. Of course, Josse couldn''t check, on account of the way she was thoroughly tied to a stake. Very thoroughly tied, apparently, given that the previous ten minutes of desperate struggling had failed to loosen her bonds even slightly.

    The soldier who had tied them was still visible, standing off to the side of the plateau atop the hill of the Pact. Josse could see him from where she was bound. He glared back with a mix of disgust and anger. She had no idea who he was, and he obviously didn''t know her personally, either. He''d never have believed the lies, if he did. That was the problem with positions of high authority; there was no way you could personally know or deal with all your subjects. If whoever the soldier reported to told him she''d committed high treason, then that''s what he''d believe, whatever she tried to claim. From his point of view, anything she said would merely be the rantings of a condemned murderer.

    Not that she had the opportunity to rant about anything with the rags stuffed into her mouth, bound there by more rope. Damn her brother.

    Josse spotted a speck in the distance, high in the air, and for the first time of the day, was actually glad of the gag. Her twisted brother wasn''t nearby, but she had no doubt he would be getting a full report later. She had no desire to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she spent her last moments screaming.

    As the speck grew larger, resolving into their kingdom''s official protector, her desire to not let her brother know that she died screaming morphed into a more urgent desire not to piss herself.

    She gave one last desperate struggle as the dragon swooped in for a landing, the few guards permitted to set foot on the hill of the Pact averting their eyes, as the Pact required. Then came the boom as the creature landed, the ground shuddering under his impressive bulk.

    Josse stared into a row of teeth, each as tall as she was, and felt quite proud that she did indeed manage not to wet herself.

    The anger helped. By the terms of the Pact, this dragon should be protecting her. And yet here she was, offered up as a sacrifice. As mere food.

    The dragon''s lips peeled back, revealing even more teeth as the monster grinned. "Well now, this is unexpected," came a voice loud enough to vibrate every bone in Josse''s body. "Not just a princess, but a virgin princess. Rare meat indeed, these days."

    "Mmpf," complained Josse, blushing despite herself.

    "And what does your king demand for this offering?" continued the dragon, running a claw up Josse''s torso and catching her under the chin, lifting up her face as he stared into her eyes.

    "Nothing, my lord," replied the unnamed guard, still staring intently at his own feet. "She is but a common criminal, offered up according to the Pact."

    "Is that so?" answered the dragon, his grin widening yet further. "Then you may tell your king that I am pleased he sticks to our terms with such fervour."

    "Our king is dead, my lord. She murdered him. But our first prince will succeed the throne and will continue to honour the Pact."

    "Mmpf!" exclaimed Josse, shaking her head in denial. Even in her situation, she had no intention of letting the slander pass uncontested.

    "Did she now?" laughed the dragon, each guffaw threatening to burst the eardrums of the present humans. "Well, who am I to complain about the way you conduct your politics if it results in me being granted food of such quality."

    The dragon spoke no more, and the only sound was that of snapping wood, the princess''s incomprehensible grunts abruptly cut off. Then came a great wing-beat, the wind causing the trio of guards to stagger backwards. Once they finally looked up, the dragon was a retreating outline in the sky and the princess was gone, the post she was tied to bitten off at the base.

    "Good riddance," spat one of the guards.

    <hr>

    Prince Doran watched the retreating shape from the window of the king''s office. The room had been deliberately positioned on an upper floor, on the side of the palace such that the hill of the Pact was clearly visible, albeit at a considerable distance. The distance didn''t matter much; it meant Josse had been little more than a speck, but dragons were obvious from quite a long way away, and it didn''t take a telescope to see what that particular one was doing. The whole setup was probably symbolic of something, but the architect was long dead and apparently hadn''t felt it important enough to record what.

    "And so ends your dear sister," commented an older, greying man, watching the scene play out next to him. He had a long, wiry moustache, curling upwards at both ends without the aid of any products. As if his position on the morality alignment chart wasn''t made obvious enough by his mere comfortable presence in the room, it was reinforced by the way he was twiddling it.

    "Good," snapped the prince. "Whatever was she thinking, usurping my rightful position like that?"

    "May I remind you that in Cruithia, the position of heir is traditionally bestowed based on merit, not age or gender. And yet you insist on describing it as your ''rightful'' position."

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    "Of course. Doesn''t the fact that she let herself fall for such a trap mean that she wouldn''t be a safe monarch? What if it had been one of our neighbours, rather than me?"

    "A valid point indeed, although I dare say that a foreign nation would have found it harder to gather so many high ranking, unimpeachable witnesses. But, now that the spectacle is over, shouldn''t you get back to work?"

    Doran glanced at the stacks of paper that covered most of the large desk in the room. "Don''t we have people for that?" he asked.

    "Of course. The amount of paperwork that the palace deals with each day would never fit on a single desk. That''s merely the important stuff that must be dealt with personally by the monarch. Suitably advised, of course; you really don''t have much more to do than sign."

    Doran sighed and sat down, picking up the first document.

    "A royal writ declaring all cotton farms to be exempt from any and all taxes?"

    "Indeed. Cotton is rapidly becoming one of the kingdom''s most vital industries, and any route to encouraging its further growth should be considered."

    Doran narrowed his eyes. "Minister Wilkin... I can''t help but observe that your lands are the largest producer of cotton in the kingdom, by a considerable margin."

    "As coincidence would have it, that is indeed true."

    "I also must observe that a better way of ''encouraging growth'' would be if your competitors stopped disappearing in mysterious circumstances."

    "That would indeed be nice," agreed Wilkin, giving his moustache another twiddle. "Alas, the guards still have no leads on the perpetrator, or even if there is a perpetrator. It may just be unfortunate coincidence."

    "I have no objection to some minor corruption, but please try to be a little less overt," sighed the prince, taking the writ in both hands and preparing to tear.

    "It''s done," came Doran''s voice again, except this time, it didn''t come from the prince. "The dagger has been concealed in her room. You need only enter the office and raise the alarm."

    Doran froze, the blood fleeing his face as speedily as if a dragon was chasing it.

    "Oh, excuse me," apologised Wilkin. "I appear to have inadvertently mixed up the recording crystals in my pocket. That wasn''t the one I was looking for at all. It incriminates me as much as you, after all. No, that one I''ve arranged to have released only upon my untimely death or disappearance. Ah, here we go."

    "I have no objection to some minor corruption," declared Wilkin''s pocket.

    "You... You recorded... everything?" stuttered Doran.

    "Of course. In this business, one must never operate without insurance."

    Doran carefully put the writ down upon the desk and signed it, before starting on the rest of the pile. The irony of his earlier comment about the flaws of his sister didn''t even occur to him.

    <hr>

    The dragon carefully flexed a claw in flight, splitting apart the rope that held Josse''s gag in place. "You look like you have something to say," he rumbled. "Best you let it out while you have the chance."

    Unsure why she was flying through the air in the grip of the dragon''s paw, rather than in the suffocating embrace of his stomach, she nevertheless wasted no time in spitting out the ball of rags that restricted her speech. "I''m innocent!" was the first thing she yelled. "By the terms of the Pact, you..."

    "I know," interrupted the dragon. "The stench of blood is as lacking on you as the stench of man. Never have you taken a life."

    "You... know? Then..." started Josse as the flame of hope ignited within her.

    "Then nothing," interrupted the dragon for a second time, extinguishing the flame once more. "I know, but that doesn''t mean I care."

    "What? But..."

    "But nothing. Did you not hear me? Why should I care what political games you fools play, as long as I benefit?"

    "But... the Pact!"

    "What about it? Your ''king'' has made you a sacrifice, as per its terms. Why should I care for his motivation?"

    "But... But..." spluttered Josse, before shaking her head. As the previous twenty-four hours had made more than apparent, common decency wasn''t something she should expect from humans, let alone a dragon that considered humans nothing more than food. "I was na?ve..." she muttered.

    "Good. I enjoy the taste of purity. It has been centuries since I''ve tasted a proper virgin princess. The surrounding kingdoms all deliberately despoil their princesses these days, to discourage my raids. Add in your naivety, and you may well be the finest meat I''ve ever got my claws on."

    "Damn you. Then answer me this: why am I still alive? If I taste so good, why haven''t you eaten me already?"

    "Oh? Would you pick up any old morsel you find on the floor and pop it in your mouth?" answered the dragon. "I have no idea where you''ve been. Speaking of, I suggest you hold your breath."

    "What? Why would I..." started Josse, before the dragon rudely interrupted her for a third time, this time by letting go. Thankfully, there were no longer any guards nearby to hear the resulting scream, now unimpeded by the dirty cloth.

    The scream was truncated by a loud splash as the princess impacted a beautifully clear mountain lake. Having more important things on her mind than the view, she hadn''t even noticed that they''d reached the peak on which the dragon made his lair. The Dragon''s Fang, the locals called it, on account of its shape and its owner. A place left to nature, since humans were not permitted to ascend its slopes.

    Josse gasped as she broke back through the surface, struggling desperately to hold her face above the water. With the stake broken, she finally had some movement back, but her legs were still lashed together and her hands were tied behind her back. Treading water was barely possible and required such effort that she could never keep it up for more than a few minutes. Swimming to the shore was out of the question.

    And on that lake shore, the dragon grinned again. "Every time," he commented. "Why do you all do it?"

    Josse didn''t answer, on account of desperately trying not to drown.

    "Why do you cling so hard to life, to live only a few moments more?"

    He reached out a claw, hooking Josse out of the lake and taking back to the air without giving her a chance to recover.

    "Not that I resent you for it, of course. Meat needs to be fresh, so it would be troublesome if you drowned. And now that you''re a little cleaner on the outside, we just need to wait for your body to clear out its disgusting waste from the inside."

    He deposited the still-gasping princess on a small outcrop of a cliff; a couple of square metres of land with nothing but vertical walls on every edge. A waterfall cascaded past it, but it was otherwise featureless, leaving its occupant completely stranded.

    Josse shivered as she watched the dragon leave. The climate of the area was warm, but so high up the air was still chilly, and the fact she''d just been thrown into a lake didn''t help either.

    "I need to dry out before the sun goes down," she muttered as she tried to drag herself back into a seated position. "I don''t suppose there''s a handy vine anywhere to climb?" she continued, but of course, there wasn''t. The dragon would never leave her unsupervised if there was any possibility of escape. "I refuse to just sit here and starve for however long that thing wants me to, just to improve my taste. If it comes to that..."

    Josse wriggled forward and glanced over the edge of her ledge, feeling a burst of vertigo at the height.

    "I don''t suppose there''s a way of spiting that damn dragon that doesn''t involve going splat?" she wondered, as she once again started work on freeing herself from her bonds.

 Chapter 2

    The eyes of the dragon snapped open, the beast jerked into wakefulness by a distant, out-of-place noise.

    If dragons were such terrifying beings¡ªable to single-handedly ravage human armies, with flames that could melt through walls and magical barriers alike, and wings that could carry them to unassailable heights¡ªwhy did this one feel the need to make a deal with its food?

    The answer was simple: sleep. However powerful dragons were, they bled and died like any other being of flesh. However unassailable they were in the air, they needed to land to rest.

    Even caught unconscious and unaware, it was difficult for a mere human to slay a dragon, but it was not impossible. Dragons were solitary creatures, slow to mature and slower to breed, and it took only a single lucky attacker to slay them. Many a dragon had met their demise waking up in their own lair with a spear through their heart, with the result that their numbers had dwindled. Only a few had survived the spread of human civilization.

    And so this dragon had made the Pact. The mountain would be guarded by humans, and his lair left unmolested. They would guarantee him a certain level of sustenance, and in return, he wouldn''t do anything that might encourage the aforementioned spear-wielders to try their luck. At least, not within the kingdom. What he did outside it was his own business.

    That didn''t mean he let his guard down completely, of course. Trusting purely in humans to guard him as he slept was not something he could ever do. His lair was protected by magical wards and mundane traps alike, and, in his fear, he slept lightly, waking at any suspicious sound.

    And it was such a sound that had woken him. A human voice, but one lacking in words.

    It took him a few moments more to place the noise, but once he did, he burst from his cave in a fit of flaming fury, diving towards the outcropping on which he''d left his princess.

    "What in the hells are you doing?" he roared, the air pressure briefly blasting the waterfall into a fine mist.

    Josse¡ªwho had taken advantage of the broken stake and her unguarded prison to free herself of not only her bonds, but also her clothes¡ªignored him, moaning loudly as she caressed her own breast with one hand, the other teasing an even more intimate area.

    "I asked you a question!" he roared, reaching out, shoving Josse and pinning the princess to the cliff face.

    Her arms trapped and unable to continue her self-ministrations, the princess took a few laboured breaths before looking up at the dragon with eyes of defiance. "Pissing in your food," she spat.

    "You lost your political game, and so you take your frustration out on me?" laughed the dragon. "Too bad. The stench of man is still not on you, and you will not find one out here."

    "It''s still not a very ''pure'' thing to do, though," answered Josse, smirking. "And if it didn''t bother you, you wouldn''t have rushed out here so quickly."

    The dragon remained silent, still holding Josse up against the cliff.

    "So, now what? Are you going to eat me now, or hold me here until I''m clean enough for you? Or rip my arms off, I guess."

    The dragon still did not speak, but his facial expression radiated a distinct air of grumpiness.

    "But it''s nothing to do with cleanliness, is it?" asked Josse, who''d had time to think since being taken. "You could disembowel me easily enough if that''s all that bothered you. This delay is all about Emperor Raimbaud of Iwearis."

    At the mention of that name, the dragon''s grip tightened, crushing the air out of Josse''s chest. A claw tore into her shoulder, blood running down her arm. Nevertheless, Josse grinned, knowing she''d struck gold. Her guess was correct. However much the dragon desired to eat her, he wouldn''t consume her for days. For now, she was safe.

    Three centuries earlier, the empire of Iwearis had been the greatest power on the continent. They had been the first to make the Pact, and with their pseudo-tame dragon, they''d declared war upon and decimated the surrounding territories. By the end of the campaign, Iwearis had a national army that could easily match that of everyone else put together.

    That being the case, why did they still need the dragon? What if he ever decided that he no longer needed the Pact?

    And so the one whom history had granted the moniker of ''Last Emperor'' had ensured the next sacrifice carried a carefully prepared gift. An ingested, sealed pouch of magical poison, supposedly strong enough to slay even a dragon. The dragon had fed, and his internal fires had broken down the pouch and released its deadly payload.

    For three weeks, the dragon was not seen, and the fickle people praised their emperor for freeing them from the evil beast, uncaring that it was an earlier emperor that had deliberately brought him into their lands. Alas for the Last Emperor, he had underestimated the vitality of the dragon, and the wards of healing and protection that the distrustful beast had inscribed upon his home. He was not dead, only resting, and once he recovered, he sought his revenge.

    The emperor and his line ended that night, as did the capital and all who dwelt within. With such a crippling blow, the oversized empire failed to hold itself together, and splintered into the set of kingdoms that mostly remained today.

    The dragon had formed a new Pact with one of those splinters, but he had learnt from his mistake. His new Pact explicitly ruled out his aid for offensive wars. He also began taking a few additional precautions under the guise of cleanliness.

    Mastering his anger before he crushed his gourmet meal, the dragon withdrew from Josse, who fell to the ground, gasping, as she desperately tried to recover from her suffocation.

    "You are correct. I can just disembowel you," he growled, raising a claw.

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    "You wouldn''t... dare. You need me... to survive... for long enough... to be certain... I''m clear of poison," she panted, feeling her act of defiance would have more credibility if she wasn''t on all fours, too winded to stand. A small part of her mind was once again impressed she''d managed not to wet herself.

    The pair remained in silence for a few seconds more, at something of an impasse.

    "We have priests in Cruithia that are masters of healing," commented Josse, having used those few seconds to run her brain at full throttle, and come up with an idea that stood a chance of winning the dragon over. "Capable of regrowing limbs in a matter of minutes. Sulltheria''s high priest is even rumoured to be capable of resurrecting the recently dead. If you aid me in taking back the throne..."

    The dragon remained frozen for a few seconds more, the implied offer a deep temptation, before he took back off without another word.

    "Is that a yes?" shouted Josse after him, but there came no response.

    <hr>

    The new King Doran sat alone in his office, signing one corrupt writ after another as the anger festered inside him. Every one of his co-conspirators had kept meticulous records, evidence that they now held over his head in blackmail. He''d made himself their pawn, and couldn''t see a single thing he could do about it.

    And yet he still failed to comprehend why he had been passed over in favour of his sister.

    A knock came from outside. "Come in," sighed Doran, expecting another conspirator with yet another demand. He was thus rather surprised when the prime minister entered, an elderly man by the name of Steven, who hadn''t been involved in the conspiracy to frame his sister at all.

    "So, how is our new puppet king?" he asked. "I''ve heard on the grapevine that I''m about to be replaced by Minister Folcard. Did you agree that with him before you murdered your father, I wonder, or is it a request he only made recently?"

    Doran''s eyes widened in shock, the accusation catching him completely by surprise. No¡ªit wasn''t even an accusation. Just a simple statement, made with as little fanfare as a comment about the weather.

    "I... I have no idea what you''re talking about..." he stammered.

    "Oh, come now. Anyone personally acquainted with the royal family knows what really happened, and anyone who wasn''t doesn''t really care, as long as there''s someone on the throne keeping up appearances. Besides, if you really wanted to deny it, that wasn''t at all the way to go about it. Confusion and anger should have preceded your denial."

    "So I suppose now you''re going to blackmail me too?" sighed the resigned king.

    "Blackmail? Not at all. I actually came to tender my resignation. I know which way the wind is blowing. Best to leave on my own terms than to wait until the castle''s on fire with me still in it."

    "Why would the castle be on fire? The dragon won''t..."

    "I meant metaphorically," sighed the kingdom''s prime minister. "But if a spot of blackmail would make you feel any better, I wouldn''t say no to some travel expenses."

    The king tossed him a gold coin. "Resignation accepted," he muttered. "Good luck out there."

    "Hah. That almost sounded like you meant it. In that case, good luck with your coronation tomorrow, too," smirked the former prime minister, turning and leaving the room, carefully closing the door on the way out, where he politely nodded to the page boy waiting patiently outside.

    The page boy who, up until recently, had served the previous king.

    Those personally acquainted with the royal family were not limited to high ranked ministers, after all, even if Doran was the sort of person not to spare a thought for servants as long as their jobs kept being done. In this sort of coup, replacing the serving staff should have been one of his first acts, yet they''d been ignored. Doran and his clique struggled to see mere servants as real people, treating them as if they had as much will of their own as the paintings that decorated the palace hallways.

    The coronation of King Doran was due to end in a massive banquet at the palace, prepared by the royal chefs, served by the royal servants, and every one of his co-conspirators would be there.

    Steven had decided he''d rather not attend; he had a suspicion the food wouldn''t be to his taste. But servants weren''t great at seeing the big picture; he had little doubt they would seek to avenge Princess Josse, but he doubted very much if they''d thought about what would happen afterwards. Doran had no explicit heir. With him dead, along with the bulk of the government, the fight over the empty throne would be messy. Never mind the castle; the former prime minster expected the entire capital to be on fire by the weekend.

    Sure enough, in the bowels of the castle, a young maid was standing in a kitchen with fists clenched, her red face nothing to do with the nearby fire.

    "The gall to blame my lady. The sheer audacity!" she spat.

    "We know!" yelled a chef, bustling past her. "Will you please shut up already!"

    "No! I will not shut up! Not until that murderer gets what''s coming to him!"

    The chef spared a glance, where the young commoner girl was fingering a knife with a dangerous glint in her eye. In retrospect, he decided, when she''d demanded that the king himself be poisoned with a mere paralytic rather than anything fatal in exchange for her help in the plan, he probably should have made the effort to work around her absence, but he hadn''t known at the time about the guards who would flip to their side after the ministers pillaged the treasury. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for their new king.

    Almost.

    <hr>

    Back in his lair, an angry dragon pored over dense tomes. They''d been authored for human hands, not the claws of a dragon, and even turning the pages was a difficult task, but he persevered. After all, the desperate princess had given him an idea. Helping her regain the throne in exchange for periodic tastes of her flesh was an interesting offer, but not one he could trust. Even if she wanted to stick to any terms they agreed upon, which was doubtful in itself, a queen would be expected to leave heirs. The meat would soon become soured. Not to mention the risk that she''d end up assassinated with as little warning as her father.

    But what if he took matters into his own claws? Found his own way to regenerate her flesh here, on his mountain?

    The Pact would still be necessary; he needed a place to sleep in relative safety. But perhaps if he didn''t demand the full quantity of sacrifice the Pact entitled him to, the humans would become even more favourably disposed towards him. It seemed an all around win. The humans would be happy¡ªmaybe not the princess, but at least she''d be alive to be unhappy¡ªand he''d be more secure. And to top it all off, he''d have an unlimited supply of what he anticipated to be the best meat he''d ever tasted. The smell alone was enough to make him drool, and it had taken every ounce of self-control to not gobble her up each time he saw her.

    It was an outcome he''d be prepared to kill for. Or not kill for, as the case may be.

    Alas, the simple fact was that magic wasn''t great at healing. There were spells that could increase a body''s natural recovery speed, but they couldn''t make a body do something it normally wouldn''t. Cast on himself, he could regrow a limb within a few hours, but on a mere human with a severed arm, it would have no more effect than staunching the bleeding and sealing the wound.

    The sort of healing he needed was relegated to the realm of miracles, and dragons were not known for their religious fervour. The princess had mentioned priests capable of such feats, but ''borrowing'' a human without permission would be very much against the terms of the Pact, and the dragon intended to fulfil its word if not its spirit. To do otherwise risked his safe and stable existence.

    Still, the dragon knew the princess had been sacrificed under false pretences. He had no interest in human politics, but setting up the Pact had forced him to learn nonetheless, and he knew that the new king would find himself in a precarious situation as he solidified his grip on power. Having a dragon shout to the citizenry that he had usurped the throne and sacrificed the innocent wouldn''t help the stability of his rule. Perhaps the king could be persuaded to grant him the use of the high priest the princess had mentioned in exchange for the dragon keeping the information to himself? It wouldn''t even need to be for long; once he''d observed the effect, how hard could it be to copy?

 Chapter 3

    Josse pondered as she drank from the waterfall, splashing her face with the clear water. She had to admit the view from her new home was amazing. Normally, a home with that sort of view would fetch tens of platinum coins, yet here she was, not having paid a single iron.

    She would prefer not to die for the privilege, though.

    She looked over the edge once more as she considered the dragon. She hadn''t seen a single sign of him since he''d flown off, ignoring her offer. The logical part of her brain insisted he was leaving her dangling simply as a means to keep her under control. As long as she had hope, there was less chance she''d act vindictively to spoil his meal.

    The emotional part of her brain, meanwhile, was pulling in a hundred directions at once. There was the hope that the dragon would aid her. The fear he wouldn''t. The constant low-level vertigo from the fact she was stranded on a small ledge halfway up a vertical cliff, with an occasional cloud drifting past below. The uncertainty was grating on the few nerves she still had left.

    She tried to distract herself by thinking about the state of the kingdom. She''d been too trusting, and walked blindly around a castle full of snakes. How many people who worked there had been in on the plot? Who would have worked it out, but not interfered? Who did try to interfere, and what had become of them by now?

    There was a certain clique of ministers that her father was forever admonishing for small acts of corruption, all trying to turn their positions to personal gain. He tolerated their presence anyway; none were in senior roles, and the positioning was purely political, to curry favour with several influential houses. Would they go so far as to commit regicide to enhance their positions? She wouldn''t like to think so, but obviously someone had, and they seemed the most likely candidates.

    Who else? She had to remind herself that the castle wasn''t staffed only by nobles. The word of a mere servant would count for little when it came to levelling accusations at a princess, but they could have been involved in the plot in other ways. Few had the opportunities to assassinate a royal that their servants had: a chef slipping poison into the food, or a maid slipping a dagger into the back of someone she was helping to dress or wash. But her father had always encouraged loyalty amongst the servants, for precisely that reason.

    ... And that line of pondering ran straight into a brick wall as the image of Lindy¡ªher personal maid¡ªpopped up in her head.

    "Damn," muttered Josse, knowing full well the girl was utterly devoted to her, and would gladly throw her life away for revenge. The princess agreed with her father that loyalty was a good trait in a servant, especially one who worked so closely with her, but would it just result in her servant and friend getting killed? "Now I feel even worse..."

    <hr>

    Lindy grinned sadistically as she twisted her knife.

    Doran didn''t even twitch. No sound escaped his lips. He didn''t beg for mercy. He couldn''t. With the paralytic he''d been dosed with, even his heart struggled to beat. His lips were blue from lack of oxygen as his frozen lungs failed to draw in enough fresh air. His face whitened as the blood drained from dozens of small wounds. His fingers were bent at odd angles, the fingernails missing. A few tear streaks running down his face were the only sign he was aware of his predicament.

    With even a portion of the palace guards in on the plot¡ªabandoning their new king when he started ordering money taken out of the treasury to pay off his blackmailing conspirators¡ªwhat chances did the attendees of the coronation banquet have? Every one of the treasonous ministers was dead, and their puppet king would soon join them.

    "I wonder if I''d enjoy this more if you were screaming, or if it would make it harder to treat you like the inhuman thing you are?" she pondered out loud as she levered one eye out of its socket with her knife. "Guess I''ll never know. But I''ve been assured that this drug lets you feel everything, and that''s good enough for me. Make sure you regret your crimes wholeheartedly as you die."

    Elsewhere in the banquet hall, other servants did their best to ignore the enraged maid as they dragged out the other corpses for disposal.

    "Looks like you won''t last much longer," sighed Lindy as the blue of his lips intensified and the light of his eye turned glassy. "Fine. Go to hell and stay there. At least down there you''ll be well away from your sister."

    She gave one last stab, driving her knife straight through Doran''s heart. As ever, he failed to react, but his one remaining eye dulled and the flows of blood slowed. The wounds to his face and upper torso stopped bleeding completely.

    "Good riddance," muttered the killer maid, before spitting in the tortured prince''s empty eye socket.

    If, perhaps, the other servants were dragging corpses in quite wide arcs to avoid getting close to the pair, who could blame them?

    Alas, her celebration was cut short when the doors burst open, a pair of knights rushing in. Everyone froze¡ªthe servants realising they''d been caught poisoning an entire banquet, and the knights taking in the blatantly criminal scene before them. Much to the surprise of the servants, though, they didn''t react as expected, screaming about treason and waving their swords around. Rather, the one in front slouched, radiating a heavy defeated air from within his polished plate armour.

    "Well. We''re screwed, then," he sighed, staring straight at Lindy, or perhaps through her to the corpse that was tied to the pillar behind her.

    "Huh?" she asked, clutching her knife behind her back and trying to shuffle sideways to block the knight''s view of the dead king. Obviously, the act failed to achieve much, not least because of the amount of blood soaked into her uniform, splashed over her face, and pooling around her feet.

    "The dragon is in the courtyard," explained the knight. "He demands to see the king right now. Or else."

    "Oh," she said, before peering over at the chef that had acted as ringleader for their little rebellion. "Long live the king?"

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    "Bugger off," he replied.

    "Either of you two feel like a promotion, then?" she asked, looking back at the knights and trying her best not to look completely psychotic.

    "No way. We can''t just pretend."

    "Well, we need someone. Who''s next in line?"

    "You assassinated the king and his entire court without even knowing that?"

    "Just answer the question!"

    A few seconds of silence made it clear they didn''t know either.

    "I once heard the king mention that the high priest of Sulltheria could resurrect the dead?" suggested one of the other servants, who had aided the previous king with his paperwork, and who put a very careful inflection on ''the king''. Not that the clarification was needed: no-one in the room, the knights included, had yet reached the point of thinking of Doran as ''the king''.

    "What? Bring him back?!" shouted Lindy. "Don''t you dare!"

    "He''ll tell the dragon to eat us all!" shouted someone else, which was a valid concern, but not actually what Lindy cared about.

    "His support base is dead. His own guards hate his guts. He has had a very personal experience of our displeasure. We don''t want the destruction of the capital on our heads, and he won''t act out if he knows what''s good for him."

    "Who cares how many supporters he has left in the castle if he has a dragon?!"

    "Quiet," said the knight, and the group of revolutionaries sheepishly obeyed. "Go," he added to his companion, and the second knight shot off the way he''d came, to hunt down the rumoured priest.

    "Huh! Wait!" shouted Lindy.

    "And you," added the knight, staring straight at her. "Get out there and apologise for the delay. See how long you can distract the dragon and keep in mind that all the lives of the capital are in your rather bloodied hands."

    "What?! Why me?! And if there was a priest around who could resurrect the dead, what about the real king?"

    "Lindy?" asked the chef, his voice polite, but his face twisted into a smile that would give children nightmares.

    "Y... yes...?"

    "You just murdered the king in front of a lot of witnesses."

    Lindy opened her mouth. Lindy considered the statement. Lindy closed her mouth without voicing her complaint that even if she wasn''t there, they would have killed the king anyway. That had been the entire point.

    "Thank you," added the chef as she silently left the room.

    <hr>

    The dragon was growing impatient. It wasn''t like he turned up at the castle and demanded an audience often, so when he did, the least they could do was respond promptly.

    Also, the entire place stank of death. A lot of people had died in there recently. Very recently. Either the new king had just carried out a cull, or else his position had been even more precarious than the dragon had assumed. Either could easily explain his current absence.

    "Umm... Excuse me..." came a very small voice, practically a whisper. The owner obviously held hopes of not being heard. Alas for her, the dragon had very good hearing, so he bent his neck and stared straight at her, giving her his undivided attention.

    She flinched backward, which gave the dragon some amusement given the amount of blood she was covered with. Shouldn''t a killer be made of sterner stuff than that?

    He sniffed again.

    The amount of royal blood she was covered with, he corrected himself. Apparently, it had been the second option, and for some reason the culprit had come to speak to him. And was that a spark of hatred he could smell beneath her nervousness and fear?

    "Interesting. So, there has been another change in leadership?" sighed the dragon. "Are you the new queen? You don''t appear dressed like one, but the blood is a nice touch. Very impactful."

    "No, I''m not... There''s... no change, as such..." whimpered the girl in the bloody maid''s uniform. "Our king is currently a little... under the weather... but he''ll be with you as soon as possible."

    The dragon paused a second to estimate the amount of blood. His senses all agreed on the simple answer.

    "I suspect he won''t be with anyone ever again. Very well; it''s not as if I ever met the fool. Stop messing around and just bring me his successor."

    "There... Uh... isn''t one. And he really will get better. Hopefully."

    The dragon snorted, torn between impatience and amusement. How could the dead ''get better''?

    And then he remembered the words of Josse.

    "Then the delay is taken by someone fetching the high priest of Sulltheria?" he hazarded, and he saw much in the series of expressions that slid across the face of the young killer in front of him. "Indeed, it seems that they are. It must anger you to have your hard work undone in such a way."

    The little human in front of him giggled nervously. "I... have no idea what you''re talking about..." she lied, sheepishly glancing around at the few guards and knights that were hanging around the area. It wasn''t like no-one among the guards were loyal to the new king, but thankfully, most of them didn''t seem keen on being in the same castle as a dragon.

    The dragon grinned a wide, toothy grin. "Consider yourself lucky that my visit here today was simply because I had business with that priest, and now I find someone has run to fetch him before I even gave voice to my request. Since I''m in such a good mood, I''ll forgive your poor attempt at a lie. I''ll even guarantee your safety if you answer a simple question: why?"

    The maid glanced around uncertainly again, before apparently finding her nerves. Her expression hardened.

    "I would never accept that murderer as my king," she spat, no longer stuttering.

    "You cannot forgive him for murdering his father?"

    "His sister! She was so much better than he ever was. A far more worthy queen."

    The grin expanded yet further as his suspicions were confirmed. He could see the passionate hate in her eyes all the more clearly now that he had offered a few empty words of reassurance, and her fear had ebbed. It was a look he''d seen often, before the Pact. It was a look shared by many who intruded into his lair. What reason could there be for such hate? He had done something personal to her?

    Apparently so.

    "You used to serve her?" he asked, and the look of surprise on the maid''s face was all the confirmation he needed. "Interesting... But is it not a little unprofessional to become so attached to your master? They can change at any moment, you know."

    "She wasn''t just my master. She was my friend," spat the maid, almost forgetting who she was talking to as her anger grew.

    "Oh? And would she consider you her friend, do you think? Or would she be above such things?"

    "I... yes. She was always respectful to those of lower status."

    Lindy frowned, wondering how the conversation had ended up going in such a direction. "Why do you care? You ate her!"

    "I do not eat the innocent," lied the dragon, the grin now splitting his muzzle nearly in two. "In fact, we are to be wed. It is why I came here seeking a priest."

    The courtyard fell into silence as a tide of shock spread from the dragon, everyone who heard the proclamation freezing up.

    "Listen well!" roared the dragon into the silence. "I proclaim this girl your new regent, until your queen returns. And should she meet the same fate as the previous pair of monarchs, I shall be angry. Now, regent, may I borrow the priest?"

    The silence resumed, no occupant of the courtyard moving a single muscle until the dragon nudged the world''s most rapidly promoted maid with a claw.

    "Uh... Yes... Yes, of course!" she exclaimed. "Can I come to the..."

    "There will not be a public wedding," snapped the dragon, interrupting her. "And it seems my new guest has arrived."

    Indeed, knight and priest chose that point to come running through the castle''s main gate, ignoring the dragon as they rushed through the courtyard towards the castle and its banquet hall.

    At least until the dragon slapped its tail down in front of the door.

    "Your new regent has seen fit to loan me your aid," he pointed out. "Let us depart."

    The unfortunate priest sighed as the dragon grabbed hold.

 Chapter 4

    Father Serrell, the high priest of Sulltheria, always welcomed the opportunity to expand his mind, taking any chance to learn something new. Today, he had found himself with a larger opportunity than most days, but most of what he was learning was that he had acrophobia.

    Or perhaps not. It wasn''t as if he ended up completely debilitated every time he ascended his cathedral''s bell-tower, and that was pretty darn high. Phobias were supposed to be irrational, and there was nothing irrational about being scared shitless when all that stood between him and the ground were the claws of a dragon.

    Well, the claws and a mile of air, but it was the air that was the problem in the first place, really, so Serrell didn''t think it counted.

    Either way, he somehow survived the trip without suffering even a single heart attack, and once he felt secure enough to open his eyes again, he found himself on his knees in a grassy field, with a crystal-clear lake to his left and a cliff on his right.

    And a dragon in front, of course. He probably shouldn''t ignore the dragon.

    "Well?" asked the aforementioned dragon, and it occurred to Serrell that he had probably missed a fair chunk of explanation at some point while he was busy not having a heart attack.

    "I''m sorry, my..." started Serrell, before pausing. In his old age, he''d developed the habit of referring to everyone as ''my child'', but that hardly seemed appropriate for a dragon. "... sir?" he corrected himself. "Though the spirit is willing, I fear the flesh is weak. What was it you wished to ask of me?"

    The dragon growled, causing the lake''s surface to shimmer and dance and a few pebbles to tumble off the cliff. "I asked if it is true that you can resurrect the dead," he demanded with his usual impatience.

    "It is true that Sulltheria, through me, can perform such a miracle, but I fear I will be unable to fulfil your request."

    "You haven''t even heard it, and you deny me already?"

    "What is known as resurrection is... misnamed. It is merely a miracle of powerful healing, able to completely restore a body from even a single drop of blood."

    "I fail to see your problem," grumpily snapped the dragon. "You would claim a single drop of blood to be ''alive''?"

    "The miracle does nothing to retrieve the soul, only to reattach what is already there to the reformed body."

    The dragon smirked, finally understanding what the old man was implying. With its container dead, a soul would soon depart to the afterlife, and what was the point in rebuilding a body if the result lacked a soul? The outcome would be no more than a corpse with a heartbeat. The result would be edible, for sure, but would lack the taste of purity and royalty the dragon sought.

    But ''soon'' was not instantaneous, and besides, with proper preparations, there were means of trapping souls. It would suffice for his purposes.

    "That is an acceptable limitation. I do not wish you to revive one who is already dead. I wish for you to teach me the skill."

    At that, the priest frowned. "There is no skill to teach. You ask, and Sulltheria either answers, or he does not."

    "He answers you, and I refuse to believe a human can possess a skill that I cannot."

    "As I said, skill is not involved. As to why Sulltheria deigns to acquiesce to my pleas, I could not say. Who can know the mind of a god? Perhaps faith is a factor, and should you desire to hear my teachings on the god of light and life, I would be more than happy to share my knowledge."

    "I refuse to believe that a god can possess a skill that I cannot, either," snapped back the arrogant dragon. "Very well, I will simply have you perform a resurrection a few times as I watch. I need only copy what I see."

    The elderly high priest smiled to himself as the dragon took off. He was far past the age where one either needed to accept their approaching mortality or else fall to despair, and as such, the dragon didn''t scare him. At least, now that they were both back at ground level. He looked forward to the dragon failing and the proselytising he would get to do as a result. He was fairly sure no-one had managed to convert a dragon before.

    He''d always questioned why Sulltheria had granted him such miracles. Perhaps this opportunity was the answer?

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    <hr>

    Josse sat impatiently on her ledge. She knew the dragon was up to something. She had no idea where he''d been, but he''d since returned to the lake and was hanging around down there. Was there another person, too? At the distance, it was hard to see, but the dragon certainly seemed to be facing a speck of some sort.

    Another sacrifice? It would be unusual to have two so close together, but maybe her brother had found another obstacle in need of removal.

    And then the dragon took off, leaving the speck behind, diving vertically up the cliff-face, contrary to how diving was usually supposed to work.

    "I don''t suppose you''ve put any further thought into my offer?" she asked, as the dragon spread its wings, coming to a sudden halt and hovering in front of her.

    "Indeed I have, and with a few adjustments, I believe it could prove acceptable."

    Another emotional outburst of hope threatened the princess, but she stamped down on it. Hard.

    "Adjustments?" she asked, frowning.

    "Nothing serious. In fact, your brother is already dead, and you are queen, just as you desired."

    Josse leapt to her feet. "What?" she exclaimed. "Then..."

    The dragon held up a claw to forestall her, and once again, Josse forced down her hope. The smirk the dragon was wearing was the opposite of reassuring. There was a catch somewhere, and it was obviously going to be a doozy.

    "Now, about those... adjustments," spoke the smirk. "You will not be reigning directly. Rather, I have appointed a regent in your name. A girl..."

    His sentence hung, the words ''by the name of'' dying in the dragon''s throat as it occurred to him that he had never actually asked her name. With humans as numerous and short-lived as they were, he typically didn''t bother, but in this case, it would have been useful. "Brown eyes and hair, about your age. Dressed like one of those servants you people have. Called you not just a master, but a friend."

    "... Lindy," breathed Josse, and the smirk widened.

    "Ah, was that her name? In any case, she will reign in your place, and I have made my position clear that should she suffer any unfortunate incidents, I shall let your entire kingdom know my displeasure. I wonder how long she would last should I revoke my protection? Not that I intend to do such a thing, of course."

    "... Damn you," whispered Josse, well aware the dragon intended to use her for blackmail. Or maybe both of them as leverage over each other. Not that she had any evidence the dragon was telling the truth. "I want to see her."

    "That would be advisable. It would do your kingdom some good for their queen to put in a public appearance. But first, I have need of a test subject."

    Without further explanation, the dragon grasped the princess and dropped back to the base of the cliff, depositing her before the priest.

    The priest, old as he was, was by no means senile, and the fact that the dragon had just dropped a living girl in front of him made it obvious what he was about to do. Likewise, the princess, seeing someone in the garb of a high priest, put two and two together with impressive speed. "Don''t..." they started in perfect synchronisation, but that was the only word they had time for before a claw pierced clean through the princess''s back.

    The pair of humans stared into each other''s eyes, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of Josse''s mouth, but a vast tide of the stuff flooding from her pierced torso. She had just enough time to mouth something silently at the priest, unable to make a sound with her heart and lungs destroyed, before the dragon flicked her dying body into the air, catching it in his mouth.

    The crunch was audible even to the priest.

    Given his abilities as a healer, he''d seen a lot in his long life. Oozing sores, mangled limbs, terrible monster-inflicted wounds. Poisons and diseases. Curses. Any decent healer eventually found themselves in a situation that left them up to the elbows in pus, surrounded by the stench of decay. The good ones always got used to it, out of pure necessity.

    None of that was the reason he held on to his lunch. The only reason he didn''t lose it there and then was because he''d already lost it during his earlier flight.

    The dragon shuddered, his face falling into a lax expression of bliss as his tongue almost unconsciously licked the remains from his teeth. "Everything I hoped it would be..." he whispered, lowering his head to lick up the pool of blood.

    Unfortunately¡ªat least from the point of view of the princess¡ªhe caught himself in time, remembering what the purpose of the blood was supposed to be. "Heal her," he demanded.

    "W... What?!" stammered Serrell, all thoughts of successfully converting a dragon to his god forgotten. "You murdered someone simply to provide material for resurrection? How could you be so callous?!"

    "Where did you think I was going to get a sufficiently fresh drop of blood from, you old fool? Now hurry up; if the time limit is the departure of the soul, you have mere minutes."

    "I thought you would use livestock! A cow or something!"

    "You humans are livestock," snapped back the dragon. "And if you value your life and hers, I suggest you stop wasting time and get on with it."

    Grumbling, the priest held his arms outstretched, devoting a prayer to his god, chanting sacred messages of power and healing. It culminated in a great cry of, "Resurrection," and, for reasons known only to Himself, Sulltheria answered. The pool of blood erupted upwards, flesh and bones knitting themselves together out of thin air. The naked body of Josse gasped for air, her eyes opening wide in shock as she began screaming, her final memory being a tooth of the dragon crunching through her skull.

    And for the first time the session, the grin of the dragon faltered, for he had seen nothing. Air had become flesh without the slightest movement of mana. Miracles were not magic, and the display had failed to give the dragon even a single hint on how to replicate the feat.

    He grunted with concentration as he cast his own spells of perception and divination. "Again," he demanded, raising a claw.

    "Sulltheria will smite you for abusing His power like this. Mark my words," growled the high priest.

    "Why me? It''s you calling to him," snorted the dragon, not halting his swing.

    Josse''s helpless screams were abruptly cut off as the dragon bisected her at the waist.

 Chapter 5

    Josse sat huddled on her ledge, arms wrapped tightly around her knees and her back up against the cliff. She was shaking, but after what she''d been through, who could blame her?

    "I... I can''t..." she mumbled to herself as she climbed unsteadily to her feet. "Sorry Lindy..."

    The broken princess didn''t even stop to look down, diving straight off the ledge. Or she tried to, anyway. She actually rebounded off an invisible barrier at the edge.

    Runes inscribed into the rock flickered into life briefly, glowing for a second or two before fading back to invisibility.

    As if the dragon would let his food escape that easily; the barrier had been there since the beginning. Besides, even if she did manage to kill herself, he''d added another layer of runes the previous night, while the princess had been unconscious. The body may die, but there would be no escape for her soul.

    <hr>

    The dragon lay in a stupor in his lair. After it had become clear he could never replicate the miracle of healing, he had switched plans. To keep the priest on the mountain would be against the terms of the Pact, and he still intended to fulfil its letter, if not its spirit. Besides, the thought of a bunch of religious fanatics charging up his mountain was rather horrifying. That being the case, he''d simply stockpiled.

    The priest hadn''t been particularly willing, but the dragon was nothing if not reasonable. Who would ever dare accuse him of being unwilling to compromise? Once it became clear the mind of the princess was at risk of breaking, he''d simply cast a spell of sleep over her, intending to leave her unaware of just how many times she''d died and been healed. It wasn''t his fault that the healing had reversed his draconic magic. At least he''d tried, and everyone had to give him credit for that.

    The priest, for some reason, hadn''t given him credit for that. So he''d followed up by threatening to burn down everything related to Sulltheria that he could find, from grandest cathedral to smallest cairn.

    It had been enough to build up more meat than he normally ate in a year before the priest had collapsed from exhaustion. The freshness would suffer, but beggars couldn''t be choosers, and there was a lot that could be done with time-stopped storage. It would suffice until he found a better solution.

    Or, it should have.

    Given the way the news of ''resurrection'' had raised his hopes of an unlimited princess supply, only to have them dashed when it turned out it could only be done at the whim of some god, he could be excused dipping into the stash for a bit of comfort food. And humans were so small, particularly since the princess wasn''t yet fully grown, so who could blame him if he took a second? Or a third?

    By midnight, he''d emptied his entire supply, and he''d been in a food coma ever since.

    That left a number of problems. He really needed to pay a visit to the new regent before someone talked to the high priest and she discovered the wedding story had been complete bunkum. Of course, it would have made sense to do that while dropping the damn priest off, but he''d wanted to rush back to his comfort food. It was easy to justify to himself by saying he needed to bring the princess¡ªno, queen now¡ªover to meet her regent, and that he''d needed to create the soul trap. At least he''d managed to complete that final part before gorging himself into a stupor.

    Cursing his lack of self control, the dragon made an attempt to lift himself onto his feet, but his legs buckled beneath him and sent his bulk crashing back to the cavern floor.

    "I''m sure it won''t hurt if I sleep for a few days..." he muttered to himself, the draconic snoring starting up mere seconds later.

    <hr>

    Father Serrell stared out of the window of a carriage as it trundled through the streets of the capital. Having been unceremoniously deposited in the front plaza of his cathedral by the dragon, he''d wanted to rush immediately to the palace, but as ever, the spirit was more willing than the flesh. Still utterly exhausted from the repeated miracles, and then subjected once more to dragon-flight, he was in no condition to stand, let alone travel.

    Despite his insistence he be brought back to the palace, his attendants had carried him to his chambers, wasting precious time.

    They had, at least, prepared a carriage, and the moment he was capable, he''d stumbled into it. His old bones cried out for rest, for sleep, but in this the spirit won out. There was no way he could sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the face of the poor girl, as clearly as if she was still there in front of him. The horror in her eyes as she realised what the dragon intended. The last, desperate words she''d mouthed as a claw punctured her torso. ''Help me.''

    He didn''t know how he could, but he was damn well going to try. A part of him wished he''d called down the wrath of his god there and then, but gods were inscrutable almost by definition. Sulltheria wasn''t as quick to anger as some other members of his pantheon, tending more towards grace and mercy than blood and fury, and he didn''t know if Sulltheria would actually be enraged sufficiently by the dragon''s actions to kill him outright. If not, the dragon would assuredly punish the attempt. Alone, on the dragon''s territory, was not the place to roll the dice.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    And so, after his tired bones had been rattled around by a carriage built in a society that hadn''t quite got around to inventing suspension, he unsteadily climbed out, where he found himself staring into the completely inappropriately beaming face of the kingdom''s new regent.

    "So? How did it go? Tell me everything!" she demanded before he''d even finished climbing the two steps down from the carriage.

    He froze at the incongruity. Was this regent happy about the situation of her ''queen''? But as he stared at her¡ªwearing an ill-fitting dress that obviously didn''t belong to her, flanked by uncertain-looking knights and one rather weary official¡ªit became obvious that wasn''t the case. He remembered the brief glimpse he''d had of a confused maid on his last palace visit and put two and two together.

    "I don''t know what the dragon has told you, but I suspect you''ve been deceived," he sighed.

    The beaming expression of the ex-maid froze. "What?" she asked. "Weren''t the dragon and the mistress getting married?"

    The official¡ªSteven, who''d rushed back after the previous day''s events in the hopes of avoiding the kingdom falling into chaos¡ªfacepalmed. "I told you there was no way that was true," he muttered under his breath. Lindy had been all too happy to give him his old job back, being all too aware that she lacked any sort of ability to act as regent, but when it came to her mistress, her self-awareness fell apart.

    "But the dragon can''t lie! It''s in the Pact!"

    "To the ruler. Which isn''t you."

    "Then why did he want a priest?"

    Everyone present turned to the priest in question, who had finally managed to climb back to ground level, but was finding the task of remaining upright somewhat taxing.

    "To resurrect her after eating her, so that he could eat her again," he answered, then he fell over.

    The minister paled. The knights stared. Lindy looked sick.

    "He can''t do that!" she exclaimed, ignoring the fallen priest. "It''s... in the Pact?" she added, sounding uncertain.

    "By the terms of the Pact, he must defend the monarch, yes," answered Steven. "And indeed, I suspect that right now, Josse will be the best defended person in the kingdom. There''s nothing in the Pact about not eating her. Someone please carry Father Serrell to a guest room. We need to hear the full story, but the day has obviously taken its toll on him, too."

    "No, we need to rescue Princess Josse at once!" exclaimed Lindy.

    The knights looked at her like she''d gone mad.

    "The chances of success would be... slim," pointed out Steven, doing his best to remain calm and collected.

    "But the dragon has blatantly betrayed us!"

    "Umm... Forgive me for speaking out of turn," interrupted one of the knights, while the other lifted Serrell, "but... technically, the dragon hasn''t done anything to break the Pact. He even returned Father Serrell. And... we need him. Should we raid his lair, even should we emerge victorious with insignificant casualties, our neighbours would take the opportunity to invade. The kingdom''s military is organised with the Pact in mind, and the Pact has made us many enemies."

    "So, what, we should just abandon her?" shouted Lindy.

    "I know this isn''t what you want to hear, but pragmatically, it''s not a bad option," affirmed Steven. "After your spot of regicide, the kingdom should have fallen into chaos. There would have been a civil war for certain, probably with five or six sides, as various powers tried to seize the throne. The declaration of the dragon that you''re in charge is the only reason we have any sort of semblance of stability right now. What''s one life compared to the lives that would be lost in a war?"

    Lindy considered that, but really, out of all the points her advisors had made, there was only one that really mattered.

    "Right. As you said, I''m in charge, and I say we can''t leave Josse in that condition."

    Steven sighed.

    "I''m not sure that using authority granted to you by the dragon to attack the dragon makes sense," muttered the knight, but Lindy ignored him.

    "Let me gather up some people and see if we can think up a way to get our queen back that doesn''t result in the kingdom ending up a thin layer of ash," conceded Steven.

    <hr>

    Josse clenched her teeth in her effort to not make a sound as another orgasm rolled over her body. After failing to kill herself, she could at least do as much as possible to spoil her taste.

    She sure as hell didn''t consider herself pure or na?ve any more, and while there was little she could do about her royalty, at least one aspect of her virginity could go. Anything was better than waiting for old age to toughen up her meat.

    Yes, the dragon had made a not-so-veiled threat about what he would do to Lindy, but on reflection, Josse had decided that since he was still giving lip service to the Pact, it was an acceptable risk. Not only had she not had any evidence the dragon was telling the truth, but even if he was, taking an action that would seriously damage the kingdom would be against the agreement, and after forcibly installing Lindy as regent, taking action against her would be sure to plunge the kingdom into chaos.

    Thankfully, her efforts to keep quiet as she soured her taste seemed to be bearing fruit. Little did she know that the dragon¡ªstomach stuffed and mind dulled¡ªwould have slept through cymbals clanging inches from his ears. She could have moaned all that she liked.

    Nevertheless, the vindictive act was unlikely to actually achieve anything. It was hardly a means of escape. She''d still be stuck here, waiting until the dragon needed to restock his larder. What were the chances of him finding a tastier meal elsewhere? It wasn''t as if there were any men around for her to do the deed with.

    The imprisoned queen wished she''d never mentioned the miracles of healing and resurrection. It had been done in an act of desperation, to preserve her life and to get back at her brother, but it had only made her situation worse. Death would be preferable to whatever this was.

    And she believed death was still an option; she knew nothing of the soul trap. She could bite her tongue. Find a jagged piece of rock on the cliff-face and slice open her veins. But unlike jumping off the cliff, they were... uncertain. She wasn''t sure she would die. Even the attempt at jumping off the cliff had been an emotional act, not something planned. Now that she''d calmed down a little, it wasn''t an attempt she was sure she''d be able to repeat.

    "Sulltheria... Why did you let Serrell bring me back?" she muttered. "For what reason do you want me stuck here?"

 Chapter 6

    "Can we collapse his lair?" suggested someone. "Surely even a dragon couldn''t survive a mountain being brought down on their head."

    "No," replied someone else, thumbing through a thick and dusty tome. "Dragons always inscribe their lairs with protective runes. Among other effects, they always reinforce the structural stability. Sufficiently powerful magic could bring it down, but not quickly or quietly enough to not give him a chance to escape."

    "Besides, we want this to end with the dragon both alive and not in a mood to torch Cruithia," pointed out Steven. "Otherwise, from what Father Serrell said, performing a miracle of holy smiting would have a good chance of killing the dragon outright."

    "Pity it''s only a ''chance''. Aren''t staying on the dragon''s good side and rescuing Queen Josse contradictory goals, anyway?" sighed the first speaker rhetorically.

    "Not necessarily. Burning down Cruithia would harm the dragon, too. If we retrieved our queen without harming him, it''s likely he wouldn''t be willing to go so far to avenge the slight."

    "Couldn''t he just make the Pact with someone else?"

    "Eventually, yes. But it''s not like he has a new lair and kingdom ready prepared, and every other kingdom on the continent despises him. More than a few glory-seekers would jump at the opportunity to slay one of the last dragons. It would cause him a period of unacceptable risk."

    "As far as I can see, we have two options," declared the second speaker, looking up from the tome of dragon-lore. "One. We send infiltrators up the mountain, rescue Queen Josse, and bring her back here unnoticed by the dragon. Once she''s here, the Pact would prevent the dragon retaking her."

    "The pact also forbids anyone setting foot on the mountain," pointed out Steven.

    "Yes, which is why we''ll need to try really hard not to get caught. The second option is negotiation. Trade something better to get our queen back."

    "And what exactly are we supposed to trade?"

    "According to this, dragons prefer the taste of high-class foods, but it''s based on blood, not actual ranking. It takes four or five generations of a new royal family to peak. Beyond that, they prefer females, which is obvious enough. They also value ''purity'', but that is very nebulously defined."

    "Then we have no chance of producing something sweeter to him than Josse."

    "Not unless you fancy kidnapping a princess from a neighbouring kingdom and raising her here, specifically to turn into food. And we all know what they do to their princesses; we''d have to kidnap one young and raise them for years. It''s not practical."

    "What about threats? If you''re so sure he''s as dependent on the Pact as we are, why don''t we tell him we''ll no longer provide sacrifices or prevent foreigners climbing the mountain until such a time as our queen is returned?"

    The group shared an uncomfortable look. "It might work," said Steven, "but if it doesn''t... If we openly abandon the Pact like that..."

    "That just leaves infiltration, then. Are we really certain he doesn''t have a backup lair somewhere?"

    "As certain as we can be. We do our best to keep track of his movements, and haven''t noticed him spending excessive amounts of time anywhere in particular. Besides, given his personality, I doubt he''d leave a lair unattended, and he doesn''t trust anyone other than himself."

    "I think there could be another class of solutions we''re overlooking," spoke up a fourth member of the discussion for the first time.

    "Oh? Such as?"

    "Please treat this as merely clarifying our options, but one possibility is that we tell Lindy we''re making the attempt, and then we just... don''t."

    "As tempting as it is to ignore the situation, I think it would be ill-advised," sighed Steven. "Not because of Lindy, but rather, if we let the dragon get away with this, I worry he''ll take greater and greater liberties in the future. We need to do something to maintain the equality of the Pact and discourage him from acting unilaterally."

    "Then the next thing to point out is that retrieving Josse would be significantly harder than merely reaching her. Royalty have been dropping like flies recently. What would be one more? And such an unfortunate event, while she was under the protection of the dragon, would certainly constitute a breach of the terms on his part."

    The group fell into silence as they considered the option, looking for any downsides.

    "She''s the last surviving member of the royal family. Without her, I don''t see how we avoid civil war."

    "... Given the treatment Father Serrell described, she''s unlikely to be in any fit state to rule, anyway," carefully opined someone. "A regent would be necessary even were she rescued."

    "We could tell Lindy she was convalescing?"

    "No, she''d insist on tending to her personally. We can tell everyone else she''s convalescing, while telling Lindy suicide?"

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    "Maybe Lindy would accept that, but it still leaves the problem of reaching the dragon''s lair. Easier is not the same thing as easy."

    "About that... Didn''t the dragon promise to bring her here to meet with Lindy?"

    "Why would he? Wasn''t that likely to be another deception?"

    "He probably means to use them as blackmail over each other. For that, they need to know the other is alive. Queen Josse won''t currently have any hard evidence of Lindy''s condition, since Father Serrell didn''t get the chance to talk to her, and that could lead to... Well, suicide, most likely."

    "Queen Josse would care that much for a mere maid?"

    "The pair are close, but it''s the kingdom as much as Lindy herself."

    "Isn''t that exactly what we want, then? What if the dragon brings Queen Josse to visit, and the information she takes back isn''t that Lindy is alive and well? She commits suicide, the dragon learns an important lesson, Lindy gets closure even if not the result she wants, and we maintain the convalescing lie to the rest of the kingdom as an explanation for why Lindy is continuing to act as regent."

    "What stops the dragon revoking his protection of Lindy? And what do we do about the question of heirs? Or when people start asking how long their queen is going to be convalescing for? It may work in the short term, but I don''t see how this would be any better for our future than letting the dragon have his way."

    "We have no good options, do we?"

    Steven snorted with derision. "Depends how you define ''good''. There are no perfect options, for sure, but were I to ask you if you would rather be here, having this discussion, or in the palace of one of our neighbours discussing the latest dragon raid and what steps could be taken to prevent the next, which would you answer?"

    "You''re not wrong. For all the benefits the Pact brings us... What''s one princess? Why shouldn''t we let the dragon take an occasional liberty? It wasn''t as if he kidnapped a princess from the palace; she was sacrificed, as per the terms. If he''d just eaten her there and then, what right would we have had to complain?"

    "Except that the question of the future is a good one. Even if we let the dragon have his way, we still have no available heir."

    "Here''s another unpopular option, that I feel I should put out there for the record," said the fourth speaker. "He returns Queen Josse, purely to solve our lineage problem, and in return we make a few changes to the Pact. Greater protections to stop him pulling a stunt like this again, and... we promise him the first-born girl of each queen."

    "That would require Josse''s cooperation."

    "That''s fine. She''s welcome to refuse. For now. She can always change her mind later, when she can''t face living with the dragon any longer."

    "That''s... horrible."

    "Again, she''s one person, who by rights should already be dead."

    "At least the other kingdoms haven''t sold themselves out to a devil..."

    "If it wasn''t us, it would have been another kingdom, and we''d be in an even worse state."

    "A deal with a devil, huh..." mumbled someone. "I have another idea. No idea if it will work, but if it does, Queen Josse gets to live happily ever after, the question of an heir ceases to be an issue, and we solve our dragon problem for good."

    "As if such a convenient option exists," snorted the fourth speaker. "Well, go on then. Hit us with it."

    The thinker hit them with it.

    "You have an odd definition of ''happily ever after''," mumbled Steven thoughtfully. "Let''s call it ''happier than the alternatives'' instead. Now, would someone please fetch Father Serrell?"

    <hr>

    On the mountain, days passed uneventfully as the dragon slumbered. Josse lay still on her ledge, her stomach aching painfully as it demanded food. Stranded as she was, she had nothing with which to fill it. The waterfall ensured plentiful water, but water did little to reduce the hunger pangs.

    In the castle, after an initial burst of preparation, things had equally settled down. People questioned the disappearance of the dragon, but it wasn''t unusual for him to remain in his lair for days or weeks at a time, so such questioning had more to do with impatience than any thoughts something had happened.

    And so the dragon awoke, still feeling somewhat bloated, but at least able to move around. It took a few seconds more for him to come to his senses and remember why he was so bloated, at which point he burst from his lair, happy to find his pet queen still alive, if not completely well.

    Nor completely pure.

    "I''ll be taking one of Lindy''s arms for that," he growled.

    "You haven''t even shown me any evidence she''s still alive," answered Josse, not bothering to move. "Don''t expect me to take your word on anything, you evil fiend."

    The dragon smiled a smile with far too many teeth. "Then you equally will also need evidence that I follow through on my threats, and there is no time like the present."

    Seconds later, the pair were flying through the air back towards the capital, and at its heart, the royal palace. Josse, somewhat despairing, didn''t even make comments about her lacking food or clothing. Perhaps the dragon would continue to forget, and she''d starve to death? She spent her flight pondering what a resurrection miracle would do in that case. Would it nourish her, or would she immediately die again?

    And so the dragon and ragged queen landed in the palace courtyard, which had been swarming with activity from the moment the watchmen had spotted the dragon in the distance. Knights lined the walls, both top and bottom. There were more than the usual amount of bows on display. Squads of mages tried to look inconspicuous in their flashy robes.

    More importantly, Lindy wasn''t anywhere to be seen. Steven and his group had all agreed that they couldn''t trust her not to do something stupid, and so she had been spending all her time the past few days taking governance lessons in the palace library, carefully insulated from the activity outside.

    "What sort of greeting is this?" asked the dragon, grinning again. "Why don''t you fetch your little regent and forget whatever foolish plot you''ve cooked up."

    "I would rather she not be present for this discussion. She would... disagree."

    "Oh?"

    Steven sighed. "Each resurrection miracle counts as one sacrifice per the terms of the Pact."

    Josse made an incoherent squeak, while the dragon radiated surprise.

    "I have no objection to that. In fact..."

    He flashed a toothy smirk that lasted mere milliseconds before his neck whipped around, magical light flashing in front of him as he reacted to the quiet twang of a crossbow firing by deploying a protective barrier. It almost certainly wasn''t required; even a ballista wouldn''t penetrate his scales without the aid of powerful enchantments, so what chance did a mere crossbow have? But he hadn''t lived so long by taking risks, and whoever had fired had presumably done so for a reason.

    And then the smirk failed as he realised it wasn''t aimed at him. The bolt shot past the edge of his shield, thudding into the back of Josse. Her inferior human ears hadn''t picked up the launch, nor had she processed the dragon''s actions in her hunger-weakened state. Thus, the bolt suddenly sprouting out of her chest came as a complete surprise.

    She looked down in confusion, only having time to say, "Oh," before she collapsed, the bolt having scored a perfect hit on her heart.

    "Death to the kingslayer!" came a yell from the wall, and then all hell broke loose. And in the chaos, if Steven didn''t react with quite as much surprise as he probably should have done, not even the dragon noticed.

 Chapter 7

    The dragon gave a slow blink as the little humans rushed around. While he''d learnt some amount of human politics out of necessity, that didn''t mean all their actions were suddenly comprehensible. He doubted whether their actions were even comprehensible to themselves at times.

    "Did the fool not get the message that she was innocent?" he grumbled rhetorically as the fleeing knight was restrained by a dozen others. Clicking his enormous tongue, he fixed Steven with his angry gaze.

    "As luck would have it, Father Serrell is already on the premises," said Steven, answering the gaze with exactly what he knew the dragon wanted to hear. "I''ve already dispatched a runner to fetch him."

    "Oh? How convenient," replied the suspicious dragon, eyes narrowing.

    "Obviously, we needed him to agree to the plan. As you might expect, he was rather reluctant, but he will not refuse to help those in front of him."

    Father Serrell was indeed rather reluctant, but not for the reasons Steven implied. "This is madness," he muttered to himself as he made his way from the waiting room to the courtyard. Meanwhile, the dragon was being very careful not to look at the corpse. The quality had lessened somewhat since his previous engorgement, and he was still feeling somewhat bloated, but it was still better meat than his usual fodder.

    "We won''t count that one. No point wasting it. Consider it an apology," said Steven encouragingly, and the dragon''s eye twitched.

    He held out for a full five further seconds before hooking the corpse with a claw and expertly flicking it into his mouth. He swallowed as inconspicuously as he could manage, which wasn''t very, given the fact that he was a dragon.

    "Still no remorse, I see," sighed Father Serrell, picking that moment to enter the courtyard.

    "On the contrary," answered the dragon. "I regret my lack of self control immensely. But you aren''t here to preach to me, and you will be pleased to know it wasn''t me that killed her that time."

    Serrell was not pleased to know it, and the fact the plan involved their side killing the princess again was the main reason for his reluctance. Nevertheless, he accepted that the dragon needed to be dealt with, and his refusal to cooperate would just make matters worse for everyone.

    Except for the dragon, of course. If he had any say in the matter, the dragon was about to have a very bad time.

    "Divine Wrath!" he declared, and the dragon screamed as white light erupted from every orifice. The seam between every scale lit up as the dragon glowed from within. A second later, the stench of burnt flesh rolled over the assembled forces as the dragon suffered the wrath of a god.

    But it wasn''t enough. Sulltheria was a gentle god, and as Father Serrell had feared, his wrath was weak, despite the dragon''s abuse of his gifts. The dragon swung his head around, bleeding eyes staring at the high priest with unbridled fury. The mouth opened, the flickers of flame adding to the holy light within.

    Every knight and mage opened fire at once. Bolts of lightning slammed into the dragon from all sides, and he thrashed around as his muscles went into spasm, his flaming breath dead in his throat. A barrage of crossbow bolts pierced into his eyes, blinding him, and into his wings, cutting off his chances of escape.

    A dragon in the air was unassailable. One on the ground, caught by surprise... Yes, they were still a threat, but they were not invincible. This dragon had allowed himself to be surrounded, and had driven a god to fury. His stomach was still bloated, dulling his movements. He lashed out with claw and fang, slicing through the armour of knights as if it were paper, but Father Serrell was there, praying to his god with rather more enthusiasm than his stint on the mountain. No matter how thoroughly the dragon crushed the knights, they rejoined the fight within seconds. Yes, they ended up missing parts of their armour, or in some cases found themselves completely naked, but it wasn''t as if the armour helped.

    The weakened dragon was pierced by both magic and spear, collapsing onto his side as his lifeblood pooled around him.

    "Fools... Your kingdom... will fall..." he gasped, his blinded eyes nonetheless seeking out Steven. "You have... many enemies... For one girl... You have... doomed yourselves..."

    And with his last prophetic words, the dragon perished.

    "How much it pains me to admit you are correct..." agreed Steven, before turning to Father Serrell.

    The priest gave a heavy sigh. "You''re certain, then?" he asked.

    "We''ve spent the past three days debating this. There''s no time for another session."

    "I suppose you''re right," admitted Father Serrell, before fixing the gigantic corpse with his gaze. "May Sulltheria have mercy upon us all. Resurrection!"

    Blood erupted in a reverse fountain, launching itself out of the soil and into the air, where it circled around the draconic corpse before pouring in. Broken scales reforged themselves and cooked flesh healed. Eyes larger than a man reformed and groggily opened.

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    And alongside the dragon, a skeleton sprouted from a smaller whirlpool, and in turn grew layers of flesh, finally coating itself in skin. The reformed body of Queen Josse opened its eyes, then promptly fell over, twitching uncontrollably on the floor as it made incomprehensible noises.

    The dragon was doing no better. Limbs flailed seemingly at random, and claws cut great scores into the ground.

    "Calm yourself!" shouted Steven, and both bodies stilled as they tried to turn their heads to face him. He looked at human and dragon in turn, noting the obvious confusion and panic each shared, then smiled the smile of someone who knew his gamble had paid off. "You''re right, unfortunately. You''ve ensured we''re dependent on you, riling up our neighbours to the point that we''ll be invaded from half a dozen directions the moment they learn you''re gone. And we let it happen. So now we must pay the price."

    He walked up to the body of Queen Josse, looking into the eyes staring up from where she lay on the ground, and laughing at the fear he saw in them. The sheer incomprehension of what had just happened. "Your highness," he declared, giving a mock bow. "Please allow these knights to escort you to your room. Given what you''ve recently been through, I imagine you''ll want to rest and recuperate."

    A pair of knights grabbed her, one by the arms and one by the legs, not at all showing the respect that should be due to a member of royalty, before carrying her off in silence. Not towards the castle, though, but rather towards the dungeons, where the new room of the ''queen'' was likely to be rather less well furnished than the old.

    Meanwhile, the dragon resumed its flailing, stuck on its side, making incomprehensible noises.

    "Hmm... I didn''t consider this problem," said Steven.

    Father Serrell scoffed. "It''s not at all surprising. Stuffed into an alien body like that, it stands to reason she would be left somewhat uncoordinated."

    "Queen Josse?" called Steven, finally putting words around the plot. As Father Serrel had previously explained to the dragon, the miracle of resurrection was a two-part process: one to heal the body, and the second to insert the soul. Yes, the soul needed to belong to the body, but by this point, Josse''s flesh and blood was already a part of the dragon. The dragon had unwittingly given his food the means with which to supplant him. Never had the phrase ''you are what you eat'' been so apt.

    The dragon, or rather, Queen Josse in the dragon''s body, stopped writhing and made an odd strangled whine.

    "Sorry about this. It just seemed to be the best option we had. I''m sure you''ll be back up and about in no time."

    Queen Josse''s only reply was a staccato growl as she made another attempt at climbing to her feet, not at all used to being quadrupedal.

    <hr>

    "Are you sure everything is alright out there?" asked Lindy, a little earlier when the fight first broke out. "It''s very noisy."

    "I believe the royal guard had a training session scheduled."

    "Their training sessions don''t normally..." started Lindy before pausing to wait for the rolling echoes of thunder to die down. "Well, that," she finished.

    "They''re likely taking things up a notch, given the possibility of imminent conflict with the dragon," replied the governess, who was drilling into Lindy the etiquette required of royalty. She was taking her job seriously, despite being in on the plot. After all, if they pulled it off, Queen Josse was definitely going to need a regent.

    "If you say so," said Lindy, who had certainly never heard magic like that cast in the palace courtyard in all her years working there. Not that it had been that many years, and it wasn''t every day their dragon kidnapped a princess. At least, not one of theirs. Nor had she ever heard the dragon roar before, so she couldn''t place the noises he was making, attenuated as they were by many layers of palace wall. As a result, she gave the claim the benefit of the doubt, and tried to concentrate on her studies.

    That was rather hard when the desk kept shaking.

    <hr>

    The dragon fumed. He''d been robbed of his flaming breath, his impenetrable scales, his monstrous strength, and even his wings. Trapped in a prison of frail flesh. Turned into livestock.

    "You will pay for this," he tried to roar, but unused to human vocal cords, all that left his mouth was meaningless noise and spittle. "I will break the bones in your body one by one. Flay the skin from your flesh. Even when you die, I will not permit your souls to find rest."

    "I think he''s angry," said one of the knights, who had no idea what he was trying to say, and wouldn''t much have cared if he did.

    "''She''s'', surely?" asked the other knight.

    "Uhh... I don''t think it works like that. Remember our old vice captain, when he pissed off Morgana?"

    "Cease this meaningless babble lest I rip out your tongues!" incomprehensibly screeched the newly humanoid dragon of questionable gender.

    "Well, yes, but that''s because we respected him. We took his opinion into account."

    "... A valid point."

    The dragon, giving up on mastering fine motor control of his new bipedal body, instead concentrated on what he did have. His mind was still clear. It was simply trapped. But, if his mind was working, so would his magic. Yes, his meal had never shown any magical talent, but all living things had some mana. He just needed to spend the time to gather it.

    He reached out with a muscle that was not at all grounded in flesh, disappointed to discover that his new shell was indeed lacking in inherent magical abilities, but that didn''t matter. It simply meant that his revenge would take a few days. He concentrated, feeling the trickle of mana flowing through his soul.

    And then it all cut out.

    "... and that should take care of that," finished off one of the knights, the dragon having missed whatever it was he was talking about while he was concentrating. In fact, his entire surroundings had changed. He was no longer being carried, but was lying on a wooden pallet in a stone room. The feel of cold metal was tight around his neck, wicking away his mana.

    Finally, the anger gave way to fear as the dragon realised just how impotent he had been left. Alas, his lack of control over his new tongue meant that he couldn''t even beg.

    Not that he was silent. A low growl echoed through the dungeon cell, causing both knights to peer at the immobile dragon in confusion.

    "Was that..." started one.

    "... Her stomach?" finished the other.

    And with that, it finally occurred to the dragon that he''d neglected to feed the queen during his stupor, along with just how hungry his new body was. Not to mention that he was in no condition to feed himself. And so his fear grew.

    "Do you think Lindy would be interested in nursing her ''queen'' back to health?" asked one knight, grinning sadistically.

    Despite his near paralysis, the dragon managed a perfectly articulate shudder.

 Epilogue

    The Dragon Queen of Cruithia glided through the air, landing on the redesigned palace roof with a thud. She stumbled, but managed to remain standing.

    Lindy¡ªwho had swapped out her ornate noble robe of office with her old maid uniform, and looked very happy about the fact¡ªrushed in with a beaming smile. "You''re getting much better at those landings!"

    "Still almost fell over," grumbled Josse, her voice comprehensible, if a little distorted. The multitude of puncture wounds decorating her tongue where she''d accidentally bitten it didn''t help.

    "But you didn''t," agreed Steven, walking over at a more sedate pace. He was now the one wearing the insignia of regent, being somewhat more suitable for the role than Lindy. Also, Josse felt he deserved the punishment. "You''re still standing, and you didn''t crack a single tile."

    "Only because you had them all reinforced again a couple of days ago. I could hear the mages."

    "Anyway," deflected Steven, dropping that subject like a hot potato, "how was Slargina?"

    "Prepared. Far too well prepared. They were well aware our dragon was active but weakened. Thankfully, they weren''t expecting me to be working in tandem with our army, and we routed them without significant losses."

    "Good. Every spy in the capital would have noticed the fight between us and the dragon, as well as the fact you ended up grounded for weeks, but we did well to keep the knowledge that you and the dragon switched bodies under wraps. We were fortunate no-one managed to raise an invasion force quickly enough to take advantage, and that by the time they did, that missing bit of information caused them to miscalculate their strategy. Given that you''re living here, in the palace, I expect the more careful thinkers will put two and two together soon enough, but at the rate you''re improving, I''d wager they''ve already missed their opportunity."

    "I have no idea how you think like that," said Lindy, who, as mentioned, was very happy to have been reduced back to a mere maid. Not that she didn''t have problems of her own to deal with. The question of how to dress a dragon was trivially solved by the way dragons didn''t generally wear clothes, but Josse had refused to give up her baths, and bathing a dragon required dealing with some serious logistical difficulties. The palace roof wasn''t the only area that had needed to be hurriedly remodelled, and Lindy now had a squad of a dozen helpers working under her. Even so, the task still took them an entire afternoon.

    Thankfully, dragons didn''t need to eat much, even if they were physically capable of doing so. An occasional cow kept Josse''s belly full, and it didn''t even need cooking first. They tasted like garbage to her, but having never eaten a human, she didn''t exactly have a point of reference. Nor did she intend to find one.

    ... However appetising Lindy smelled. And she was right there.

    "It''s not something that''s taught," said Steven, breaking Josse''s train of thought before any drool could leak out. "You just take a few dozen people and toss them into the palace for a few decades. The ones with the correct mindset are the ones that survive."

    Josse snorted, almost setting Steven''s toupee on fire in the process. If asked, she would certainly have claimed it to be an accident, not having quite mastered control of her flame breath.

    Steven wouldn''t believe her, so to save the mild l¨¨se-majest¨¦, he didn''t ask.

    "Well, after all that fighting, you deserve a nice, long rest," declared Lindy. "Let''s get you back to your chambers."

    "I wish I could, but I have another magic lesson later," complained Josse. "Blasted tutors aren''t going to cancel simply because of a small war."

    Lindy thought back to the brief period in which the team of sour-faced governesses had been trying to mould her into a fit regent, and didn''t feel she could disagree.

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    Josse plodded heavily through an archway into the palace''s new, spacious top floor, grumbling all the while. Magic was cool, and suddenly having the mana capacity of a dragon was awesome, however much she complained. Needing to learn to walk again was less awesome, but she was getting the hang of it. The bigger problem was that she wasn''t sure she''d ever learn to completely ignore the appetising scents that surrounded her. Maybe Morgana¡ªonce she finished figuring out how to apply her favourite curse to a dragon¡ªcould find some way of switching off her sense of smell?

    <hr>

    In a particular cell, deep in the dungeons built under the knights'' barracks, there was nothing but silence. There was nothing in there to make noise. After all, why would they have kept the dragon around? A few days with the interrogators to extract what information they could about his lair and any traps that may have been set around the mountain, and they had no further use for him. Keeping him any longer would be nothing more than a pointless risk. Had it been an option, they would never have resurrected him alongside Josse at all.

    And so the dragon had met an ignoble end, not at the edge of an executioner''s axe or a hangman''s noose, but at the point of a knight''s spear, with no spectators other than Steven, a mage and another few knights. After all, they could hardly execute the body of their queen in public, and the fewer people who knew about the switch, the better. He had been struck down in his cell, then the corpse carefully incinerated by magic. All that had left the dungeon was unidentifiable ash.

    The public needed to be told something, of course. The dragon arriving in the castle and the subsequent fight couldn''t have been kept secret, and needed some sort of explanation. They''d gone with a tale about how the dragon had issued a challenge after witnessing the continued growth of the kingdom but being disturbed by the recent regicide. That after the knights'' victory, he''d been impressed by their might and had decided on a new Pact. One that acknowledged humans as equals rather than food, even to the extent of moving his lair to the palace to help out with the power vacuum left by the death of the royal family.

    Anyone who personally knew the dragon¡ªor who knew dragons at all¡ªwould have had a fit of hysterics at the mere suggestion, but this time, the effect that previously hampered Josse worked in her favour. The general public didn''t personally know any dragons. Their information came from only hearsay, and so those who controlled the rumours controlled public perception.

    Children would stop in the street as Josse flew overhead and wave happily at her, believing but uncaring that they were waving at something that, only a month earlier, would have sooner disembowelled them than asked their name. Propaganda was in the middle of remodelling the dragon into a hero, and the fickle people allowed it to happen.

    That only left the problem of the royal family, which was oddly proving more problematic than rehabilitating the reputation of a few dozen tons of dragon. Since everyone already believed that Josse was a treasonous murderer, they simply rolled with it, much to Lindy''s disgust. The story was that Josse killed her father, then a group of nefarious officials took advantage of the inexperienced Prince Doran, and then... they killed him for not going along with their plans? Or he killed them, at the cost of his own life, to protect the kingdom from corruption? The rumours were deliberately woolly, but the end result was clear; the new king and corrupt officials were all dead.

    And then the dragon had declared itself queen in order to, in her own words, ''prevent a civil war''. That seemed wrong on at least two levels, but again, no-one knew the dragon. When they stopped to consider it, just where had the information the dragon was male come from? Had everyone just made an assumption? Despite the size and nakedness, and the several occasions on which ''he'' had flown over the castle in recent weeks, had anyone ever seen positive evidence of manhood on display? Very few people had sufficient understanding of dragon biology to know that any manhood, if it did exist, would be tucked away into a pocket, well protected by overlapped scales and hence invisible from the ground.

    The various branches of the royal family took offence at the dragon declaring herself monarch, but no-one wanted to fight each other to stake a claim on the throne, let alone fight a dragon, and so things fell into a stalemate as the various candidates jostled each other to ''advise'' the new regent instead. After all, the dragon wouldn''t want to stay in the palace forever, would she? She''d want to go back to her own lair, and then a new king or queen would be needed. And when that time came, if she''d had the chance to see their ability, surely the dragon would understand that they were the best choice.

    Josse found their antics amusing. Even if she never intended to, the fact that she could simply eat them if they got too annoying went a long way towards making them seem less irritating.

    And so the kingdom of Cruithia overcame its crisis. Not a crisis caused by the dragon; had Doran been a capable ruler, and not fallen into his co-conspirators traps, the general population of the kingdom would barely have even noticed the regicide. Josse''s fate would have been utterly horrific, but wouldn''t have caused trouble to the kingdom as a whole. The crisis was purely one of Doran''s manufacture.

    Josse was therefore understandably quite glad her brother had been as incompetent as he was.