The Prince checked his sword and bow again, but did it covertly, to keep his men’s confidence. They were twenty, five self-proclaimed dragon-hunters and fifteen of his best warriors. Twenty-one men, and as many fine horses, braving the Burned Wastelands.

The King had been somber but proud when the Prince had told him of his chosen quest. The King had taught him that Princes ought to prove their mettle and their valor, and the young Prince had decided to rescue the Prisoner from the Dragon.

The Prisoner was said to be of astonishing beauty, and when the Dragon had laid eyes on her had recognized her as the most precious treasure of the world. Its hoard forgotten, the Dragon had turned that kingdom into the Burned Wastelands, sparing only the border villages that submitted to the Dragon and sent food for the Prisoner.

The Prince kept still like stone when he saw two titanic wings unfurl in the distance.

* * *

The Prince at last opened his hand, letting his sword rest in the Dragon’s stilled heart. The dragon-hunters, that had only lost one of their numbers, were laying their flensing equipment on the ground and harvesting the Dragon’s blood in twisted inscribed receptacles. The Prince let his warriors, of which only six were still standing, tend to the wounded and bury the dead, and strode to the tower’s entrance. Tired as he was, the Prince ended up running up the stairs. He slammed open the door at the end of the steps, and finally saw her.

The Prisoner’s beauty was stunning, as they said. Her hair flowed in regal auburn locks; her skin alabaster, her visage harmonious beyond an artist’s dream. She looked young, almost as young as the Prince himself. This troubled the Prince’s heart, as the story about the Dragon’s rampage was at least ten years old. Had the vile Dragon kidnapped a mere child?

The Prince’s doubts melted when the Prisoner turned her face to regard him. Her emerald eyes were still beautiful beyond belief, even with the signs of tears still in them; those gorgeous eyes met the Prince’s gaze, and his heart was hers.

* * *

Years later the Prince, now well in his adulthood, climbed another set of steps. The Prisoner – now a Lady – refused to sleep but on the top bedchamber of a tower, and the Prince could refuse nothing to her. He had gone to spoke to the King about it. The King had reminded him that there were many Princesses from other kingdoms that would happily marry a gallant man like him, but the Prince had refused. The King then reminded the Prince that whatever his Lady thought she was, he was the Prince, heir to a great kingdom, and his desires would someday be the law, and the Prince left him. He would only marry her, and would only do so with her joyous consent. This was not the first time the King his father had talked like that.

So the Prince opened the door at the end of the stairs, slowly not to disturb his Lady. She was sitting on the bed, her curves a beatific vision in silk. Her eyes were buried in a book, as she was an avid reader. The Prince took a moment to appreciate the beauty of his Lady’s blissful focus, before speaking up.

“Good morning, my sweet Lady.”

“Good morning, sweet Prince,” she replied, raising her head to meet his gaze with the sad longing she always wore in his presence. Silent as he could be, he had never managed to catch her by surprise. “Good morning, and good Name Day. I wish you a very merry day.”

“There’s no use wishing, my Lady,” the Prince replied. “Not when you have the means to make it so very merry with the smallest effort.”

“What do you mean?” The fond smile on her lips became hesitant.

“The only gift I want of you is what you always denied me, my dearest,” the Prince explained, “a simple answer. Why won’t you marry me?”

His Lady hung his head, her smile bitter. “When I say I cannot, my hopeful Prince, I am not lying.”

“Then tell me something that helps me understand.” The Prince walked to the high gold-framed mirror in the room, a mirror he had caught her staring at like it could share precious secrets. “Tell me a story that can mirror the truth.”

The Lady closed her book, but looked in the Prince’s reflected eyes with a glimmer of hope. “Once upon a time, there was a woman. The woman worn out her eyes looking at all the many valiant, gentle and handsome princes of this world, but only did that from afar. She couldn’t approach any of them, because it took only a quick gaze for them to hate her.”

The Prince gasped in disbelief. “How could someone hate you?”

“I… The woman looked very differently back then,” she replied sadly. “She worn out her eyes and her heart longing for those gilded princes. Until… until a man came.”

The Prince saw his Lady’s reflection holding the book on her thighs so hard her knuckles became white as a ghost, her nails sinking in the volume’s hard cover, and for a moment the Prince saw in her perfect eyes a bestial fury. But it was just a moment.

“The man promised he could make her beautiful, so beautiful every prince would fall in love with her as soon as...” She raised a hand to cover her mouth, anguished dread in her gorgeous visage, as she regarded the Prince’s reflection. “As soon as they met her gaze.”

Those words made the Prince take a pause, but he couldn’t let his Lady simmer in such pain. With few long strides he was at her side, holding her hands in his. “But my love goes beyond your looks, my precious Lady. I love your passion for books, the look in your eyes when you walk in the garden. I love your every gesture, your every mood. That wouldn’t change, regardless of how beautiful or ugly your visage might be.”

“Those are easy words when you have to regard beauty, and not death’s fiery glare,” his Lady commented, but the Prince felt her clinging to him not just with her fingers. “The woman accepted, blinded by hope, forgetting to ask about the price of such a boon.”

“It was the Dragon, wasn’t it? But it’s dead, my love, and I’ll slay any creature who dares come between us.”

His Lady cringed at those words, but when she tried to reply, only a chocked sound came out. “I… I can’t. I can’t tell my… the woman’s story,” she croaked, her hands to her straining throat.

The Prince frowned. “The curse went well beyond that Dragon, did it?”

His Lady nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

“You fear for me?”

His Lady nodded again.

“You should not, my sweet Lady,” the Prince reassured her, “Because I’ll live through any curse to stay with you.”

The Prince caught her cheeks between his hands and kissed her before she could react, and felt his heart burn and swell like a bonfire. The Lady stared in his eyes in disbelief and horror for a moment, then returned the kiss with desperate passion. They kissed forever, time incinerated by the inebriating pleasure. The Prince felt himself grow beyond the boy the King still saw in him.

He grew until he felt the wall behind him crumble outwards. He slipped backwards in the gaping hole, but his new wings caught him before he could fall to the courtyard below. He had never felt better. He felt immense, powerful, glorious, more regal than the King his father could dream to be. He couldn’t understand why his Lady was crying, kneeling and hiding her face behind her hands. She was saying something, but he couldn’t hear her over the screams raising from below.

“Dragon! Dragon!”