Page 238 of The Discount Damsel

With the Leightonian prince disabled and a wild-looking princess pirate guarding him with a shiv hairpin she wielded more skillfully than most men did their swords, order was restored to the throne room in a matter of minutes.

Lucerion, court sorcerer of Leighton, was as vicious as a weasel, but he proved no match against a grand master, and surrendered after an exceptionally controlled fulminus spell scorched off his eyebrows. Festus sat on him while Bradley revived Olabeus from a vacuo spell, and the griffin occasionally ripped a tuft of hair out of Lucerion’s head whenever he squirmed too much.

The visiting dignitaries decided it was best to huddle quietly behind their guards instead of catching the attention of the deranged baby dragon, who busied himself whizzing about cackling and lashing folks across their backsides with whips made of water.

The Amberlian guards took their cue from their brave princess and subdued the Leightonian forces, in addition to any of the uppity courtiers whose egos and entitlement complexes impeded their common sense and ability to read the room. In matters such as these, it was easier to beg forgiveness instead of ask permission, especially when minimal force was involved. Except for the snotty Lady Belinda, the emasculated Lord Corydon, and that unfortunate chap Baron Demir who was still having difficulty breathing instead of hacking, no one truly was the worse for wear.

And since there was a juggernaut barbarian randomly throwing his weight against the castle’s front door, everyone was much more interested in not causing the guards in charge of their defense against this greater threat undue consternation.

A deeper hush befell the throne room when the moon rose big and bright in the sky absent the dome and two dragons appeared.

“Crew of the Tula,” Millie cried. “What of the Skybreaker?”

Dirk didn’t hesitate. He shot out of the throne room like a blue dart to warn his kin.

And put himself right in the sights of the dragon-killer crossbow.

A crack split the air, and Millie screamed.

But it was only the front door, and Ivar the Bane strolled into the castle with a massive crossbolt slung across his shoulders. Duncan followed a few paces behind, worrying a gear between his hands. He brightened when he saw Pocket, gave her a little wave with the gear. She hiked up her skirt to flash him her ankles, and the gnome’s cheeks pinked.

“Princess,” the barbarian announced, “I am keeping this for my collection. Oh”—he snatched the large diamond necklace from Lady Belinda’s bosom and wiped the snot off on his fur kilt—“and this for my ice flower. It would look infinitely better around her neck than strung on this ugly sow.”

Lady Belinda burst into fresh tears that her swollen eyes could not easily shed and dissolved into a blubbering mess upon the floor. Blind, she searched for a cloth to mop her face that wasn’t her own gown—she still had standards, you know—and found Lord Corydon’s toupee.

The crew of the Tula used the stunned silence following the barbarian’s appearance to converge around their captain and form a protective circle around her younger sister.

Then the dragons arrived.

Dirk was a spit of color against the greatness of the two accompanying him. The ground shivered with their landing, and the great beasts carefully tucked their wings and tails against their bodies to prevent further damage to the throne room.

Millie stepped forward and performed the formal bow any decent-mannered individual executed when greeting dragons. The elder green dragon accepted her salutation with a touch of his muzzle against her outstretched palm, followed by the younger gold.

“Verdalis, Aurelia, lovely to see you both again!”

“This little one told of us of a crossbow designed to tear us from the sky and steal our hearts,” Aurelia snarled.

Verdalis snapped at the air beside her ear. “Calm yourself. She is not to blame, Aurelia.”

“Apologies, Millie,” the gold grumbled. “Then tell me who is!”

The dragons’ combined gaze instinctively swiveled to the trussed heap on the floor by the princess’s feet.

The crew of the Tula took turns telling each facet of the story, with Sir Eustace confirming the validity of their tales with his unimpeachable chronicle, and soon the whole of Prince Chandler Stonevein’s dastardly plan to use a wedding to an Amberlian princess to get his hands on a dragon heart was laid bare. As well as the involvement of a particular Merlish baron.

Baron Demir seized Sir Roger’s arm. “Get me out of here,” he wheezed. “I’m not suffering the same fate as that crap stain. You’re my sworn sword, so get that blade out and⁠—”

Sir Roger unsheathed the blade in question and ran its edge along his palm. When he balled that hand into a fist, blood leaked out between the seams in his fingers. It left a wet red imprint on Baron Demir’s jaw when Sir Roger Ferris resigned his position with a savage right hook.

“I see,” Verdalis rumbled. He swung a look at his golden companion. “And you thought this wedding would just be tea and sugared cakes, didn’t you?”

“Most human weddings are,” Aurelia groused, “and I like mine with a little spice.” Then she smiled, a truly unsettling sight to those who didn’t know her, which was the majority of those present. “I think the dragonlords are going to have fun with this one.”

She snatched up a squealing Chandler by his gauzy ropes and lifted into the sky.

Verdalis gave Millie an affectionate nudge with the very tip of his snout so as not to bowl her over. “Glad you weren’t kidnapped by a true Rogue Red, Princess. Sunday teas just haven’t been the same without you.”

All warmth left his gaze when it swung to Baron Demir, still recovering from where Sir Roger had knocked him to the floor. “Your participation in this scheme will not be overlooked. You will be hearing from the dragon council in short order. Now remove yourself from this peaceful place.”