The brave Prince Egbert of Glass Lake had scaled the heights of Sharpe Mountain, fought the undead horde at Selcie’s Downs, and restored no less than four princesses to their rightful titles before setting out to defeat the Dragon.
“It will be the capstone of my nobility,” he told his brothers, each an adventurer in their own rite. And even they, brave and dark-skinned all, covered with scars, balked at his folly.
“You will see,” he said, and smiled, and wasted no time departing.
And so the prince, black hair twisted into tight kinks and armed with glossy mail, entered the Dragon’s den with a sword radiating Truth to light his path. He found the Dragon awaiting him and instead of striking it dead, he lowered his blade.
“You’re the Dragon?” he asked, his voice rising to an unprincely falsetto.
“I am,” said the Dragon, who was not a fell lizard, but a man with tanned skin, a laconic stare, and only a forked tongue to other him. “And you must be confused.”
“I won’t say that I’m not,” said the prince. He also would not say that he was aroused, for it’s bad form to confess desire to strangers, much less Dragons. This Dragon was dressed most provocatively, which is to say not at all. Egbert worked valiantly to keep his eyes on the Dragon’s face, but found little shelter there: the Dragon’s eyes were slate-gray and beguiling.
“Dragons aren’t beasts who fly around, those are Drakes, our cousins. We’re more like you. Mostly,” the Dragon flicked a teasing tongue.
“Oh,” said Egbert.
“Anyway, you’ve come far and showed such bravery. You may claim some reward. If it is in my power, I shall grant it.”
“That’s not necessary, truly—”
The Dragon smiled. “I think I can give you what you want.”
“But I haven’t said anything!”
“Haven’t you? Surely? Not even in your heart? Not even in the pit of your stomach? We Dragons can hear the heart’s song loudly as words.” The Dragon stepped forward with grace and speed, clearing the distance between them. He whispered, “sometimes even louder.”
Egbert was brave and strong, he had fought the undead and triumphed, but he was not so temperate. His hands climbed the Dragon’s side and marveled at the heat beneath his fingers. Soft skin, but so warm. Human, mostly. The Dragon’s kiss was even hotter.
The two of them laid in the patchwork of fabric that was the Dragon’s bed and Egbert sighed as the Dragon worked a finger into him. He had never thought to allow someone to do such a thing, but once it had been done, he relished it. They kissed and the Dragon’s free hand played in Egbert’s hair as they made twins of their erections.
A great and tumultuous heat exploded from these far away mountains and Egbert’s brothers mourned their foolish kin, likely killed in the eruption. If only men knew the nature of Dragons, they would have cheered instead.