A Damsel and Her Dragon

Yasmine had made a mistake. A costly, dire mistake. She'd whispered a plea in the night to a passing knight -- save me from the dragon, and I will do anything you want -- but she'd never imagined this outcome.

It had been a shot in the dark, a final hurrah sort of thing, her last hope in escaping the tyrant clutches of the crimson drake who had kept her prisoner in a tall, inaccessible tower in the depths of a dark, mysterious forest. It was a tale as old as time, the Princess, held captive by some monstrous, ravenous beast that could only be bested by the greatest of heroes. The dragon's presence had always been the one thing keeping her trapped—his hunger was endless, and any time he saw her he slavered with a lust that frightened her to her core. She hid in the tower, where his size was too great to fit, and she hoped that someday she would be freed from his clutches.

Back then, Yas had believed that anything was preferable to the dragon and her captivity. Her daydreams had been of dashing heroes on beautiful white stallions come to sweep her off into the sunset, maybe claim her hand, and her kingdom, with a quick, romantic marriage. She'd been naïve.

The knight had not saved her, not that night. He'd seen the dragon waiting at the base of the tower, resting with his massive, armored body across the doorway. The knight had seen the corpses of the failed heroes, the ones who had less sense than he. So, he had fled, but he had spread her plea as he had gone. Save me from the dragon, and I'll do whatever you want.

Humans, at their core, are selfish and covetous, and she should have known that if she gave her word, someone would eventually come to collect. Not out of the goodness of their hearts, no, she had been in this tower far too long for it to be that. They came for the payment.

They came for her.

Word of the desperate, beautiful Princess spread quickly; how could it not? A lush, bountiful woman who needed a hero, one who had a kingdom and her love to offer? One who promised anything to her savior? It was a temptation that drew attention across the land, offering even the lowest man the chance to rise to fortune and if he could but best the beast.

Yasmine noticed the watchers first, even before the dragon. There was little to do in a castle that you had been a prisoner in for years upon years, and thus many of her days were spent daydreaming out the window, wondering what life lay beyond her captivity. The still, late summer day had been hot, and not even a breeze stirred to ease the humidity that lay across the land like a damp blanket.

A trembling bush, then, had seemed odd to the daydreamer in the window. Her pale blue gaze had only barely noticed the oddity at first glance, but the repetitious rustling drew her wandering eyes back, puzzled and intrigued.

A man watched the tower. Multiple men, actually. The more she looked, the more she noticed. One here, under the bush, another there, in a tree. A small group, wandering up the overgrown road that led to the castle and its strange inhabitants. Some were armored, some bore weapons, and all were men with hunger in their hearts.

The first were failures. The dragon devoured them with the same ravenous appetite that he had always possessed. But more had come, and more. Some multiple on the same day, some multiple in one group. The dragon was quick to notice that something was amiss, and more than once she caught his gaze lingering on her tower, his reptilian gaze curious and angry.

Yasmine shied away from the windows and that intelligent golden stare, and she listened as the adventurers came - and died.

After a few weeks, the adventurers slowed in their coming, and routine settled in at the castle once more. A straggler here or there, journeying from across the continent in search of hope, but the hordes of adventurers had finally been bested. Her last shot, her last hope - failed. And now the dragon's ire and suspicion were on her, creating more danger than ever before. He had taken to patrolling the battlements of the castle, watching over his domain from on high. She'd erred, magnificently.

The princess was in the rooftop garden when, again, she heard the beginnings of a challenge. It was the first that she'd heard in many weeks, and while once she had been excited to hear an adventurer's challenge to the drake, now she felt only dread. Another life soon to be lost due to her reckless plea to that knight. She regretted it daily, but the words were unable to be retracted now.

Shouts echoed from the courtyard below, and the roar of the dragon that was now so familiar. A sigh slipped from her, and she rose from where she knelt, brushing the soil from the knees of her thin cotton gown. The translucent white slip hung off her shoulders, exposing sun-tanned skin and the soft swell of her breasts. The Princess's decency was long forgotten in her years of isolation, and the cloying summer warmth had disinclined her from worrying about modesty.

The dragon never bothered her up here, oddly, only if she attempted to leave on foot. This was where her life was—her garden, her coop full of chickens, her freshwater. If he ever decided to be cruel, he could simply starve her out.

He hadn't. Yet.

Yas's curiosity brought her to the battlements, to peer over the massive stone barriers that protected her tower. Her attention was turned towards the red-scaled monster who guarded her home and the small army of men that accosted him.

That was the only way she could describe the men: a small army, with exactly a dozen men standing in a hexagonal shape, their shields aimed towards the dragon to thwart the bursts of flame that he bellowed towards them. They all bore the same symbol on their shields: a black snarling boar on a crimson field, tusks turned outwards to gore and maim. A mercenary group, perhaps? But almost all wore the impressive silver armor of prestigious knights, and she was uncertain again who came to her aid. Noble knights, perhaps sent on a mission from a King or Prince? Or a mercenary army, acting of their own accords?

It was the first time she had ever seen someone present strategy towards the beast, and she found herself enraptured by the scene playing out below. The vegetables she'd pulled from her garden lay forgotten by her feet, and she stood on her tiptoes, breath held as she watched every move of the men and monster in the courtyard. It was like a dance, the dragon striking, then the men, then vice versa. No one seemed to gain ground, but she could tell that the tables would shift shortly.

The fight went on longer than any she had ever seen before. The sides were evenly matched, but the dragon tired, whereas the men would take breaks, allowing a small group to rest and then return to the battle so that their strength never waned for long. The tide began to turn, and the dragon began to fail. The signs were subtle, at first, a drooping of his tail and the slowed response as he whipped and turned, fighting off the mercenary knights who sought to flank or corner him.

She was surprised by how fearful she was for the beast. Years had passed since she had first arrived at the castle that was to be her prison - drugged and dragged into the tower in the dead of night by her father, a king who tired of his daughter's presence and wished for the time to sire a proper son, instead.

Abandoned.

Yasmine had woken to a beautiful dawn, discovering a fearsome golden eye staring at her from the tower window. She had never forgotten the intelligence in that gaze, the covetous hunger that the beast seemed to hold for her. From that moment on she had not left her cage, guarded by the red-scaled warden.

Her first days had been hungry and cold and frightfully lonely, but on a day when her crimson captor had been out and about, doing whatever it was that dragons did when they were hunting, she had stumbled across the lucky discovery of an abandoned cellar on the property that had been full of gardening equipment. She had wasted no time seeking to escape into the wilderness; instead, she had gathered the equipment and hauled it into her castle, setting up the base that had continued to sustain her throughout the years.

A blessing, those gardening tools had been, and the various gifts that she had discovered through the years since.

Goosebumps raised on her arms, and an uncomfortable heat rushed through her. With a start, she realized that the golden gaze of the dragon was on her now, his head turned upwards as he realized that his battle was being observed. Though the sun was behind him, the faceted amber gaze burned with light, kindled by some internal fire deep within his armored gullet. Fighting the urge to shrink back behind the wall, she met his gaze with pale-blue defiance.

The small army of fighters had backed off for a moment, granting the drake a brief reprieve, though it didn't take long for the keen-eyed observers to notice that his attention had wavered. The knights jeered, and she saw from the corner of her eye that they gestured towards her. The distance prevented Yasmin from seeing exactly what the gestures were, but unease crawled through her as her presence was given away.

With a shout from the mercenaries, the battle resumed, and the drake's golden gaze turned away, distracted by his adversaries once more. Yas pulled back, startled to realize that she had been holding her breath, her heart hammering heavily in her chest. Below, the dragon had ceased breathing fire, and she knew he neared complete exhaustion.

The dragon's eyes occasionally strayed to the battlements where Yasmine observed, keeping her in check. He had never spoken to her, not once in all of their years, but he didn't need to -- she read his message loudly in the citrine glare: do not move. But he was tiring. Slowly but surely the twelve-man army was pushing him back, forcing him into a corner of the courtyard where ornamental walls formed an ornamental open-topped cage. Perhaps it had once held dogs or decorative mountain cats, but soon it would hold the drake. Dark blood dripped from several slices on his limbs, and one large burgundy wing was held at an awkward angle, a long slash clear in the thin membrane between bony appendages.

For the first time since she had arrived at the castle, the possibility of freedom seemed to loom. The dragon was losing.

Wait, not twelve men. Her eyes roamed over the figures below, a frown forming on her lips. Seven... eight... nine? Only nine? Yas'd been certain there'd been twelve at first, she'd counted the shields from above when they had been fending off the drake's flames. Where had the others gone?

A clatter from the lower battlements drew her attention, and her eyes widened as she saw the missing trio approaching, carrying a heavy metal net between themselves. They were armored, wearing thick metal plate, and had swords strapped to their hips, while on their back were the scorched shields they had used to divert the dragonfire. One noticed her staring and pointed her out to the others. Yasmine felt uneasy as they once more gestured towards her, mimicking the movements the group had made when they had seen her earlier. They spoke to each other, but they were too far for her to hear what they said, and they continued their mission before she was able to catch any snippets of conversation. Her eyes followed their path, and fear washed over her as she saw what lay below.

They were climbing over the dragon.

Realizing what they intended to do, she had to catch herself as a warning started to form on her lips. She choked it off, wondering at her sudden madness. They were coming to save her, finally! Wasn't this what she wanted? The offer she'd made to the knight rose to memory, sudden and unbidden: Save me from the dragon, and I'll do whatever you want.

She wondered if they, too, had come to claim the prize.

The gestures the knights had made suddenly seemed familiar, a memory jarring loose as she thought of it—their hands in the air in front of their hips, as if they held onto something that was squirming to be free. Before she had been exiled, there had been more than one occasion where she had seen the noble knights of her father's court return bloody from battle, only to hoist their own serving wenches onto the tables in the great halls, taking out their pent-up energy and adrenaline on the hapless women with brutal, violent public fucking. The King, her father, had cheered and jeered, supporting his knights and mocking the terrified women. At the time, she had not understood the display, but the men now regarded her with that same mad lust that they'd had while watching the serving women, their hands held in front of their waists as if they held a struggling woman in their grasp. Bile rose -- they were showing their friends what they intended to do to their prize once it was won.

"Drake! Look out!" The cry burst from her lips, no longer held back by her hope of what might come, but instead spurred by her fear of the future. At least she knew the monster that the drake was, these men were strangers, unknowns.

Yasmine did not know the name of the monster who guarded her, or even if he had a name at all, but her warning seemed to work, regardless. The crimson head jerked around, looking towards her with surprise, but only just in time to witness the massive metal net falling from the battlements towards him. He let out a screech of rage, but even he was helpless as the metal collapsed over him, heavy weights falling and pinning him to the courtyard's marble floors.

The nine remaining knights rushed in, certainly hoping to place a killing blow, but a wall of flames erupted from the maw of the trapped dragon, holding back his attackers with the last of his strength. Each time they tried to storm forward he would bellow out more fire, holding back his enemies for just long enough to keep his life. He wouldn't last long, but he didn't need to.

The knights were tired of waiting for their prize.

With the dragon held by the metal netting and his flame only capable of reaching so far, the knights disappeared from her view on top of the battlements, entering the unguarded castle. The drake's bellows of rage changed in tone, and for the first time, Yasmine thought he sounded afraid.

Her own fear clutched at her throat, choking her as effectively as any hands. She whirled on barefooted heel, blue eyes scanning the rooftops with a frenzy she had never felt before—she had to find somewhere to hide. Quickly. They had seen her already, so it would take only minutes for them to ascend the spiraling staircases that led to the castle's upper battlements and courtyard.

She took only two steps before the doors burst open, and the trio who had dropped the net appeared, clearly hunting her down.

Yasmine froze where she stood. In the late summer evening, suddenly feeling underdressed and exposed to the leering gazes of her supposed saviors, the thin cloth fluttering in the breeze and revealing the skin that had been bronzed by an unhindered sun. Her long, pale hair had been bleached to an unusual white-blonde, and her blue eyes were wide with shock and terror. She had once been described as a waif, but that had been years ago. That had been before her curves had filled in, granting her full, round breasts and wide hips, straining against the dress that was several years too small.

She was a stunning prize, and one they had worked hard to earn. The men had stripped off their helmets during their ascent up the stairs, and their beady, lecherous eyes lingered on her with a starved hunger that rivaled that of the ravenous slavering of the beast they had trapped below. His bellows had fallen silent, perhaps realizing that no one listened to him any longer.

Yas stepped back, but her calves found the battlement, halting her. The thick stone walls prevented her escape far better than they had protected her from the gaze of her draconic guard. She didn't dare turn around to see, but thrashing below indicated that she was directly above the trapped crimson drake.

"We've come to collect," one of the knights said, pulling her attention to him. He stepped forward in front of his brothers, commanding attention, though he was shorter and plumper than the other two soldiers. His voice was harsh and rasped from exertion, but it was oddly familiar. He wasn't an unattractive man—with blonde hair and dark brown eyes, he seemed almost warm.

Despite his nearly-handsome appearance, it was with dawning dread that Yasmine realized it was the knight she had spoken to months prior, the one she had initially begged for aid. That night he had ridden away, spreading the word of her plea, and now he returned. The hero. He sneered, his attractiveness marred by the cruel look on his face. His brown eyes roamed over her in a way that made it clear what it was he expected from her.

Disgust coiled in her gut. "You," she said softly, and he grinned as he heard the word, gladdened to realize she recognized him.

"Me," he confirmed, his lips twisting with pride. "The dragon is conquered, and you are free, Princess. Free to pay us, as you gave your word."

She shook her head, denying what she'd set up for herself. "No," she whispered, the word caught in the wind and carried away. The men didn't hear her, but they didn't care, either. Whether she said yes or no, they intended on "collecting" their reward.

Could she run? A glance over the wall said not that way, not unless she grew wings. But towards the stairs? There were two entrances to the rooftop, and her heroes-turned-assailants had only blocked one. She turned, running, and she heard a curse as the knights realized her intent. Their armor slowed them, though, and their exhaustion from their fight. She made it to their stairs and barricaded it behind her, grateful for the precautions she had made when it came to the dragon. The slam of fists on the door behind her informed her she had granted herself a moment of freedom, but only a moment.

Footsteps thundered below—the other nine men? She didn't know how many came and she didn't dare find out. On the third floor, she slipped out of the stairwell, slamming the door shut behind her.

A massive hallway sprawled out before her, door after door leading to various bedrooms. Guest rooms, servants' quarters, her own bedroom. She didn't think, merely sprinted down the hallway, not bothering to stop and try any. They were all dead ends. Terror clawed at her throat, her heart hammering loudly, the blood rushing through her ears with enough force that all she heard was her own pulse, thundering. The dragon had always been trapped outside of her home, granting her privacy and safety within the castle, but these men had no such limitations. They pursued her with a dexterity that the drake lacked. She heard the door slam open behind her and the sound of many feet following. They had found her.

Desperation took hold, and she stopped in front of the laundry chute. Hesitation only held her for a moment -- she had no other options. It was the shouts as she was spotted that finally drove her to action, trembling fingers pulling the doors open before Yasmine threw herself in. No time to think.

The tilted chute pulled her downwards, and a shriek slipped from her as she pressed her arms and legs outwards, bracing herself against the walls to slow her descent. She heard the shout as a knight reached the chute, but his armor and size prevented him from following her. She looked up and saw that he stared down the tunnel at her, a snarl twisting his lips. She glanced down, terrified of the face and the men who hunted her. She didn't have much time.

It took longer than she'd hoped, but at last, the basement opened below her, the clothes she had tossed down the narrow tunnel throughout the week providing a small mound for her to drop down onto. She froze in the pile, holding her breath to see if she could overhear any clinks or thuds indicating someone was attempting to follow her down. In the distance, something dripped, not unusual for the damp, dark cellar that the chute dropped into. The smell of sulfur was somewhat prevalent here, no doubt a result of the small, bubbling spring that the castle naturally tapped into. It was only about the size of a small tub, but that was exactly what she often used it for.