The Dragon King's Bride

I clean the Dragon King' bones each night, scrubbing the gristle from the wet whiteness, a maiden trapped in a castle of magick.

The Dragon King says he wants to see the ivory beneath the lamb meat, that it reminds Ethan Edgecromb, the Worm of Wedgewood, of flickering stars.

I crack the small bones open to let marrow drip onto the floor when I am bored. My hands rub raw from the work, and blood trickles from my palms onto the flagstones.

Ethan licks the redness clean and laps it from my hands, saliva clotting the flow.

My dragon lord picks the livestock raid bones clean each night – the same way his eyes devour my succulent form.

Pile upon pile of sheep plucked of meat, shins stacked like log cabins in the corner of the dining hall, waiting for me to transform them. It is a ritual for Ethan, watching me strip the bones, an erotic enticement for one more dinosaur than mammal.

Ethan could eat the marrow full well, but instead, he has me place the bones in the great hearth.

Then, with a grand puff of fire, the Dragon Lord incinerates them. The blue flames leave no smell, and in seconds they are reduced to ash, which I sweep up and pour out the window.

Ethan reminds me that I am made of bones too, so easy to snap, when he thinks I am being impulsive. He fears I will break beyond these castle walls.

There is a sadness in the Dragon King's great blue eyes. Pearly tears like the iridescent sheen on his green-blue scales flow when he recalls how fragile I was when he found me, chained to a rock at sea, a sacrifice to the great dragon that terrorizes my father, King Finbarr's, Wedgewood Kingdom.

I had been starved for days, drinking only the rainwater, left out as an offering to him.

"Humans are so cruel." Gently, Ethan bit through my chains.

I trembled, fearing for my life, imagining being swallowed into the great fiery gullet of the Worm of Wedgewood's mouth.

Ethan Edgecromb the Dragon King soothed me as best he could, his low smoky voice like mountains rumbling.

I was but eight summers old, the youngest princess of my kingdom, and had known only a life of luxury.

Still, with my scrappy knees and small hands, I fought him best I could, boxing him on the nose. He sneezed, with great force like a gale, and I screamed as fire laced through the air around me.

"Sorry," Ethan ha coughed, excusing himself. A tender look filled his eyes and his mouth curled into a smile, revealing rows of fangs. "Surely you crave a proper introduction. My name is Ethan Edgecromb, and I have come to take you home. I hope you find my fortress accommodating, and the journey there agreeable." Then, he bowed, as best a dragon could, neck curling downwards as he pressed one scaled arm to his breast.

"Ethan?" I was appalled. "What a foolish name for a dragon! How do you get respect from other dragons if you're not called something terrible?"

Ethan pondered that. "Well, I've never met another dragon. I suppose it is a silly name for a dragon to have. Can you think of something better?"

I smiled then, completely forgetting my fear. This fearsome Dragon King was valuing my opinion, something that had been very rare in my household, as I was the youngest of a veritable horde of children from my father's harem. "Terrible!" I proclaimed. "You're great and Terrible. I will call you Terry for short."

The dragon laughed, a deep sound that shook the cliff side. "I'd rather stick with Ethan. And what, dear princess, is your name?"

It was then I realized, that if a dragon could be named Ethan, I could be anything I wanted to. I jumped at the opportunity to reinvent myself. "Jack!" I declared.

The dragon arched his brow. "But isn't that a boy's name, dear princess?"

I scowled at him. "Everyone knows Jack is the name of all the heroes in stories, Jack the Beanstalk, Jack the Fool, Jack and Jill," I said pointedly.

In truth, I despised my real name, Annalisa Who wanted to be a wilting flower when they could be a dashing hero?

"You'll call me Jackie as a nickname," I instructed, "and you'll have to give me a sword, because all proper heroes have swords. I promise not to slay you if you promise not to eat me."

"Then I shall have the sword forged immediately. I see we've struck a deal, Jackie," the dragon declared. He extended a finger the size of my hand. "Shall we shake on it?"

I looked at the dragon dubiously. "That's a very large claw you have."

"The better to protect you with."

"I can fight my own battles, thank you."

The dragon acquiesced. "You're right, forgive me."

I took the claw anyway and pumped it vigorously, trying to display my strength. He grinned.

"I do hope you're not frightened by heights, Jackie."

I put my hands on my hips, puffing out my chest. "Heroes aren't frightened of anything, come hell or high water, dragons or the dead, nothing can scare me." I paused. "Only how will I get there?"

"On my back, of course, like a proper lady riding sidesaddle."

"Oh. Right then." I gathered my skirts and climbed onto his offered neck, holding on to the ridges that jutted out along his spine.

"Ready?" he asked.

"I suppose so."