#liho is now a dragon

[faustiana]

Sharon Carter is the only heir to the throne, known to have bested the dreaded dragon that guards the ruins of a castle hidden deep into the forests, south of her kingdom.

Lady Romanoff, a member of her court had been stolen away by the dragon in the depths of the night. The princess herself, had personally seen to the rescue.

Tales of her bravery at the siege were whispered among soldiers to keep up morale. Portraits were painted of the determination writ large on her face as she searched the ruins for its captive. The mercy she’d granted the beast were spun into grandiose verses of bards’ songs, keeping the legend alive well through several generations.

The stories do not speak of how storming the ruins loses it’s shine quickly, especially when it’s done every other fourth moon.

Her advisor, Sam pokes his head through the door of her study. “Lady Romanoff has been seized again.”

Sharon sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and checks the calendar. Right on schedule. While the kingdom isn’t in despair or anything, she still has state matters to attend to.

“Ready my horse,” she says, rolling up the scroll of an unfinished proclamation and popping it into a drawer. “And have the kitchens provide me the largest slab of their best meat.”

It takes nearly half of the day to reach the ruins, galloping at top speed. Leaving her horse to rest under canopy with a basket of apples, she approaches the sleek, black dragon who cracks a half drowsy eye open at her.

“Hey Liho,” she says, holding up the sack of meat. “I brought a snack.”

The dragon, Liho and herself had reached a wary truce by the third time she returned for Lady Romanoff - meat for passage. Dragons, it turned out, loved to be bribed.

Liho simply grunts and latches her teeth onto the sack, lifting it gently from Sharon’s grip. “Is she in there?” she asks, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the entrance. Liho nods distractedly, her attention absorbed by the meat.

Natasha sits in an abandoned room, a quilt spread out under her, reading a book. Filtered through the trellises on the window, the late afternoon light sets fire to Natasha’s hair. The red-gold of it is the first thing Sharon sees of her. She looks radiant.

“We must really stop meeting like this,” Sharon says, settling down beside her. “It’s too drastic of a measure.”

Natasha folds her book shut and looks skyward. “How ever will I get you to meet me otherwise?”

“I’m sure a simple invitation on a scroll would suffice.”

Natasha smirks, “That’s not as fun. Now would you like some cheese?”

They feast on the bread, cheese and wine, Natasha procures from a basket she’d brought with her to the ruins. It tastes better than anything rich the kitchens whip up at banquets.

Later, when the first star of the night blinks in the sky and Natasha braids her girlfriend’s hair by candlelight, Sharon asks the question. “What if you didn’t have to trick me into rescuing you the next time?”

Natasha snorts, layering a braid on the crown of Sharon’s head. “I’ve never tricked you into anything. You could have easily sent Lord Rogers or Lord Barnes in your stead.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sharon suddenly sits up. “What if you were there with me the whole time?”

Natasha quirks a brow. “I don’t follow.”

“If you were my consort, you wouldn’t have the need to devise frankly, what is an ingenious plan. You’d just be with me. Also I’m definitely in love with you.”

Natasha smiles, soft and shimmering. “I’d like that. On one condition, I choose the rings. I love you but you have terrible taste in jewellery. I’ve seen your collection.”

(Eight months later, the princess and her bride exchange their vows in the castle, their rings attended to by a black, grumpy dragon.)