I BECAME THE PRINCESS AFTER I ATE THE LAST ONE

1 — The New Princess

“Now introducing the illustrious, ravenous beast of endless hunger—”

“Thank you, Herald,” I interrupt, my tone clipped. “You may skip the preamble.”

The Herald is dressed head to toe in a white robe, obscuring her from scrutiny, but beneath the thin veil that covers her face, the slightest hint of a smile appears.

“Whatever Your Highness wishes,” she says, soft enough for my ears only.

Like many recent developments, having a formal announcer is novel. Typically, the only thing announcing my presence is terrified screaming.

The Herald clears her throat before continuing. “Our new ruler, Morgan,” she booms, her voice echoing across the stone of the cavernous throne room. Aside from a solitary cough, the large gathering of knights, nobles, merchants, and peasants is totally silent. “The dragon who consumed our last Princess,” she adds with a little less enthusiasm.

As silence persists, the Herald throws a glance my way, and I roll my hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

“You may now treat with the new Princess.”

A smattering of soft mumbles rolls over the assembled group. They seem to be somewhat confused that the creature that has been burning their lands, devastating their towns, and devouring livestock for a millennium is now their benevolent ruler. Regardless of these strange circumstances, I have grown tired of my typical routine of tyranny, and a redemption arc sounds like an excellent way to fend off boredom.

2 — Fools Taste Funny

Several knights, who until recently were trying to slay me, escort a man dressed in motley and a belled cap. My heart drops as I spy a six-string lute slung over his shoulder. I am not a fan of performers.

“Your…” he hesitates, looking between the knights. “Scaliness?”

“The Black Eclipse,” I correct, my voice growing louder. “Devourer of the Heavens, Ruler of—”

“Your Highness is fine, Young Pious,” The Herald says, cutting me off. “Young Pious here is…” She hesitates. “Was. The Princess’s favourite court jester.”

“Oh no, he is worse than a minstrel,” I whisper to the Herald. “Fools always taste funny.”

While my words are intended for her ears alone, Young Pious adjusts his collar, gulping audibly. “Perhaps you should be a little more… discreet with my comments in future,” she whispers back.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Young Pious says, bowing low. “When I heard that a dragon had replaced our previous ruler, I expected…” he trails off. “Something a little more reptilian.”

I sigh. “This is my human form,” I say, setting off a hushed whispering amongst the crowd. “I would have had trouble getting through the entrance if I arrived as my true self.”

Young Pious glances over his shoulder at the massive double doors that could easily allow a procession of elephants through.

“Regardless, your beauty has been greatly understated,” he says, his feigned confidence betrayed by a slight tremor in his voice.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I reply.

“Yet there is no harm in trying,” the Herald teases.

I have never been one for vanity. However, I will admit that the royal tailor did an excellent job fitting me with a black silk gown, magnificently decorated with fire embroidery. The Princess’s crown was also hastily redesigned as a tiara to fit around my horns, and I decorated my clawed hands with a selection of my finest rings. Perhaps my beauty and finery shall help sway the masses.

“This does pose an interesting conundrum, Your Highness,” he says, turning his attention back to me. “You see, I am supposed to compose your first song that will be played across every tavern in the realm.”

“Please don’t,” I say, but he’s already reaching for his lute.

Most songs composed about me are less than flattering. I really hope he does not intend to play a rendition of The Foul-Tempered Sky Sirpent and Her Equally Disgusting Odour. Those tales are greatly exaggerated. After all, I bathe regularly.

“With skin as fair as milk, hair that flows like silver kelp,” he sings. “Eyes that burn like embers.” He swallows again, his eyes darting around as if looking for further inspiration. “A magnificent scale tail that shines like black gold.”

“Please stop,” I say, rubbing my temples.

“Let him continue,” the Herald says. “He’s getting to the best part.”

“A new Princess that gobbled up the last—”

“Enough!” I demand.

Young Pious goes still.

“It’s a work in progress, Your Highness,” he says, his voice shaking. “I will return with a revised version once it is ready.”

“Might need a few revisions before it’s submission ready,” the Herald says. “Next!”

3 ­— Usurper

“How many more of these do I have?” I ask the Herald as the court jester is led away.

“Many, many more, Your Highness,” she says coyly.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I need to be more selective with my career choices in future.”

“Perhaps a baker next time,” the Herald suggests. “Morgan’s Fiery Cakes.”

“I do like cooking,” I admit. “Well, burning anyway.”

A weedy man in spectacles and the long black robes of the legislative approaches. Accompanying him is a rotund, soft-looking man in expensive attire.

“May I introduce Sir Barnabas, cousin to the late Princess and his Pleader from the royal practitioners of law,” the Herald announces.

“My sympathies for your cousin’s recent—” I stifle a burp. “Departure from this world.”

Barnabas gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not here for your sympathies, pretender,” he says, his voice squeaky.

There’s a worried murmuring amongst the crowd.

“Do you forget how to address your new ruler, Barney?” The Herald asks, incredulous.

He points a pudgy finger at her. “No one calls me that and keeps their head.”

The Pleader coughs into his hand. “May I redirect our attention to the matter at hand?” he asks, pulling a scroll from his generous sleeve. “Your Highness, there are a few discrepancies that I have found regarding your recent ascendance to the throne.”

I lean on the armrest and place my chin on my fist. “Really? And what might they be?”

The Pleader throws a nervous glance at Sir Barnabas. “While the combination of laws and declarations leading to your crowning is complicated and seemingly legitimate…” he trails off. “I understand not why a clause exists that if an individual were to eat the last ruler, they would be obliged to take their place. There is still the matter of bloodline to consider.”

“Can you get to your point?” I ask, yawning.

“He means that I am to be king, beast!” Barnabas shouts. His declaration is followed by shocked gasps and even a few shouts of encouragement. “I am the Princess’s closest living relative! The throne should be given to me! Me!”

I am tired of hearing this pig squeal. I remove my tiara and extend it towards Barnabas.

“Here, take it.”

My offer is followed by stunned silence.

“Really?” Barnabas asks, bewildered. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I confirm.

Licking his thick lips, Barnabas takes a step forward, hand outstretched.

“Your claim comes just in the nick of time. I haven’t had lunch yet.”

He stops dead in his tracks. “What?” he asks, his voice trembling.

“Well, you see,” I say, twirling the tiara around my clawed fingers. “I have already grown accustomed to this throne.” I shift in the dreadfully uncomfortable iron chair. “If you inherit the crown, that means I have another royal to consume to take it back.” I extend it further. “Come on, take it.”

Sir Barnabas stumbles back. “There—” he swallows audibly. “There will be others who contest your rule.”

“Her Highness welcomes all who challenge, Barney,” the Herald says, her tone stern. “Morgan has an appetite for competition.”

“As your legal advisor,” the Pleader hisses at Barnabas, “I strongly suggest you yield your right to the throne.”

“Yes, of course,” he stammers, bowing low enough to brush the floor. “I am sorry.”

“Oh, if you’re absolutely sure,” I purr. “You can make it up to me by dedicating a significant portion of your bountiful land to the displaced refugees from the South.”

“Next!” the Herald cries.

4 — Tax Reform

I drum my fingers on the armrest. How many more of these could I possibly endure?

“My lady.”

I look down to find a dirty peasant inclining his head. Well, at least he’s started better than the others.

“Winter is coming soon, and most of my herds have been taken as part of a new tax.” He grips a hat tight between his fingers. “If I do not get them back, my whole village will starve.”

“You will have your sheep returned,” I say, twirling my hand. “Bring the next one forward.”

“Um, Your Highness, that cannot be done,” hisses a low voice.

I look behind me to find a tall, thin man skulking behind the throne. Aside from a cruel, yellow-toothed grin, most of the man is concealed by shadows. I subtly sniff the air and wrinkle my nose at the bitter smell of the lowest of the low—a bureaucrat.

“Who is this?” I ask the Herald.

“That is Sir Cottonmouth,” she says before lowering her voice. “The Adder of Coin.”

I have heard of this worm. The snake that guards the royal coffers more closely than any of my brethren. He would withhold aid during famines, reduce villages to rubble when they had served their purpose, and would most likely sell his mother for a bag of turnips if she were a going concern. At least there’s one person more hated here than me.

“Speak,” I order.

Unlike most mortals I address, he does not flinch. That will soon change.

“To create a tax reform, a formal proposal needs to be submitted, followed by an inquiry which is preceded by a preliminary affordability investigation, then by a royal council meeting to discuss the findings and finished by third-party litigation.”

“And how long does that take?” I ask, frowning.

“Depending on the size of the proposed reform, likely three years.” He flashes that grotesque smile of his.

“That is far too long,” I say. “The reform on sheep tax will be done immediately.”

Cottonmouth’s smile disappears. “But your Highness,” he splutters. “We need the gold, not to mention Your Highness requires a considerable amount of… sustenance.”

“We have plenty of coin to spare, especially since my own personal hoard has been added to the coffers,” I say dismissively. “Besides.” I pat my middle. “I need to watch my figure.”

Cottonmouth goes even paler. “Please, Your Highness, think of the poor clerks who must deal with this—”

“Next!” the Herald shouts, and the Serpent slithers back into the darkness, muttering about balancing the books.

“Just wait until he learns about the wealth tax we spoke about earlier,” I say, earning a snigger from the Herald.

5 — All Are Equally Worthless

Three brutish men barrel their way through the crowd, shoving people aside. All of them have a mixture of cudgels, knives, and short swords dangling from their belts. My knights rest their hands on their swords as they approach.

To call the man at the front stocky would be an understatement. He is wider than a wine barrel with a flat face and an unkempt beard.

“Introducing Robin Wildheart, reformed brigand…” Underneath the veil, the Herald wrinkles her nose. “And taker of few baths. He represents the Brotherhood of Man, a coalition of peasants who believe in the novel concept of collective bargaining.” She catches my confused expression. “They champion the rights of workers.”

“Right,” I say, leaning back. “I am in full support of their right to hygiene.”

Robin regards me with small eyes before turning his attention to the Herald. “Is there no man I can speak to?” he asks, his voice like gravel.

My mouth falls open. Has he temporarily taken leave of his senses?

“I do not wish to speak to a woman.”

I narrow my eyes. I have had the displeasure of meeting thousands of rats whose self-confidence borders on delusion. Perhaps he is not aware of how their stories typically end: as a smouldering skeleton, or in a pile of excrement.

“Excuse me, but I’m over here,” I say, waving at him.

He sneers up at me, showing off his few remaining teeth. Curse my heightened senses—I can smell his breath from here.

“They say that you swallowed the Princess whole. Is that true?”

The crowd shuffles uncomfortably as they wait for my response.

“I do not wish to go into the semantics of my rise,” I say, coughing politely into my hand. “What is it that you wish of me?”

“On behalf of all who toil in the dirt, fell the trees and shatter stone, I demand a new set of rights. Each man be given full reward of his own labour.”

I lean over. “What is he talking about?” I ask the Herald.

“He wants the serfs to be given equal rights to that of their masters,” she whispers to me.

“I thought that was already the case,” I whisper back.

The Herald adjusts herself to face me. “Most royals think the notion that all men are equal is ludicrous.”

“That is indeed ludicrous,” I confirm, nodding, my plethora of jewels jangling. “All men and women should be considered equally beneath me.”

“Address me,” the foul-smelling man demands.

Clenching my jaw, I return my attention to him.

“I’m still waiting for your response.”

Unfortunately, that appears to be the case.

“I have made my decision,” I declare, looking above Robin and at the crowd. “All humans are to be considered equal under my reign.

A mixture of outrage and confusion erupts from the masses.

“But you cannot give rights to our wives!” Robin shouts. “The Edict of the Brotherhood of Man declares that womankind is beneath us. We shall revolt and bring your reign to a swift end!” Robin’s companions bark their approval.

I take a steadying breath. Have humans become dimmer in these last few centuries?

“Tell me, do you know what else is beneath you?” I ask, interlocking my claws.

“I do not appreciate the riddles of beasts,” Robin says, addressing the Herald. “I wish to speak to someone more sensible than this rambling female.”

I hear the Herald suck in a breath.

“It is no riddle,” I say through gritted teeth. “I doubt you have the mental capacity for one.” I tap my foot against the hard stone. “The ground is beneath you. What is the furthest you’ve ever fallen?”

Robin frowns up at me, his face a mask of confusion.

“I…” he hesitates. “Do not understand.”

“Do you know why they call me the Black Eclipse?” My leathery wings begin to unfurl from my shoulders. Robin takes several steps back, as do his men and the assembled crowd. “Because when I take flight, I block out the sun.” I rise. Even in my human form, I tower head and shoulders above the largest of these mortals. “Instead of a riddle, how about a wager instead? I bet that a fall of three hundred feet onto the rocky teeth of the Western Wastes will reduce you to nothing more than a splatter of marmalade. If you survive, then you shall have whatever boon you see fit.” I grin, giving him a good look at my long, dagger-sharp teeth. “But if I win, all humans shall be equal in the eyes of whichever god they choose to worship.”

Robin’s eyes have grown three times their size by this point.

“That is no wager,” he says, his voice trembling. “That is an execution.”

I pout, giving him my best look of mock sincerity. “But I am just a silly woman without any grasp of human physiology. Surely a superior specimen such as yourself can prove my assumption wrong.”

“No need to fret yourself,” Robin says, his tone shifting as if he is about to sell me something. “I shall concede this victory to you, Your Highness.” He bows low, his companions doing the same after a moment.

“Oh, if you insist,” I say, sitting back down.

“Next!” the Herald screams.

6 — Beasts of the East

“Please tell me that we are nearly done,” I beg the Herald.

“Do the plights of us mere mortals overwhelm thee, my scaliness?” she asks in a singsong voice. “Perhaps you wish to retire for the evening?”

“No, I have battled sea serpents the size of cities.” I drag my hand over my face. “Though this is only slightly less demanding of my patience.”

I straighten as a large, hooded figure trundles towards the throne.

“Introducing Shaga,” the Herald declares. “Representative of the Beastmen.”

Shaga pulls back his hood to reveal a goat-shaped face covered in thick fur and a large beard.

Beastmen? How curious. I have not seen their kind in a very long while. I believed their race had disappeared into the Eastern lands where the cold climate better suited them.

“There are many stories of you, Fire-Bringer,” Shaga says, inclining his broad head. “Nearly a millennium ago, you herded my ancestors into the bitter cold of the Eastern lands.” Did I do that? Perhaps my memory has been getting a little fuzzy of late. “Burner of crops, destroyer of many villages, and devourer of the matron saint of peace, Mother Many Horns.”

“Sorry about that,” I say, trying to give my most apologetic smile. I do have a faint recollection of horns scratching the inside of my throat and coughing up thick fur for a week. “My more enthusiastic years are long past. I have made some slight adjustments to my lifestyle. As you can see.”

Shaga scratches his bushy beard. “We believe in forgiveness over time, and our rivalry is not with you. We have been at war with the humans for more than three cycles.”

I look over at the Herald.

“Fifty years, your Highness.”

“That’s not very long,” I say. “It takes me longer to moult my tail.”

“Legions of lives lost, generations of my people destroyed—”

“Then let peace reign,” I declare.

Instead of the expected cheers, an unhappy grumble rumbles through the throne room.

The Herald clears her throat. “We were the ones who originally declared war.”

I look between her and Shaga. “Why?”

“Because the late king wanted the precious metals that were underneath their holy burial grounds.”

“You humans really have a knack for taking things that don’t belong to you,” I hiss at her.

The Herald shrugs. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“What is it that you want in exchange for peace?” I ask.

“We wish to spill blood!” Shaga booms, setting off an outcry of boos.

“I thought you said your kind believed in forgiveness.”

“Our king, the Grand Goat, has armies ready to sack your towns, your cities, your very kingdom.”

This is getting ridiculous. “Sorry to interrupt your heated speech, but how many dragons does your Grand Goat have?”

Shaga chews his lips. “None.”

“And is he immune to fire?”

Shaga examines his hooves. “No.”

“Then I declare peace. You shall have your burial grounds back, and we shall cease hostilities. Congratulations to all.”

The Herald gives a dainty clap, followed by a smattering of applause from the crowd.

7 — Only the Naughty Ones

“I have cultivated a legendary patience over the centuries,” I say as Shaga disappears. “But even I have my limits. I wish to retire now and have a bath.”

“Just one more, Your Highness,” the Herald promises.

“Very well, but that shall be it.”

A young girl, nowhere near her womanhood, is brought forward. She looks down at the ground, her hands laced.

“I thought I’d told you I’m not accepting sacrifices at present,” I whisper to the Herald.

“This is not supper, Your Highness.” She gestures at the child. “This is Layla Lannisbrook, the heir to the largest trading fleet in all the land.”

I regard the child. “And what might you want?” I ask.

The Herald shoots me a look. “Don’t frighten her. Go on,” she encourages.

“Can I pet your dragon?” Layla asks in a small voice.

“I am the dragon,” I say curtly.

Layla looks up. “But you couldn’t possibly be a dragon. You are too pretty.”

An unfamiliar heat rises in my chest.

“I did not know that a dragon could blush,” the Herald says, giggling.

“They do not,” I snap at her. “We flush crimson when it is cold.”

“Someone fetch Her Highness a blanket,” the Herald cries.

“It is not necessary,” I say quickly. I lean forward, addressing the child. “I am in fact far larger than this form.”

“Can you show me?”

“No.”

“Then how will I pet you?”

“You won’t.”

“Do you eat children?”

“Only the naughty ones.”

Layla scrunches up her face, possibly trying to formulate more questions. Then her eyes light up with wonder.

“Can I touch it?”

I follow her gaze to my tail. I look back to find Layla with an expression of such awe that my denial dies on my lips.

“Very well,” I say, beckoning her forward. “Come cloSir.”

Layla hesitates but, driven by her curiosity, takes a step forward, then another and another. She is visibly vibrating with excitement by the time she stands before me. My tail slithers forward, elegant and lazy like a long Sirpent. There’s a collective inhale as it gently coils around her in a loose embrace.

“Wow!” the girl exclaims with reverence. She runs her small hand over its surface, her touch cool. “It’s so smooth.”

“Anything else?” I ask, hoping Layla has run out of questions.

“You said you eat children,” she says, looking up at me.

“Only the naughty ones,” I correct.

“Can you eat Jimmy?” she asks

“Who’s Jimmy?”

Her expression turns sour. “He is the same age as me, and he’s going to inherit the second-largest trading fleet.”

I narrow my eyes. “You wish for me to get rid of your rival?”

It seems humans are all the same at any age.

She looks away. “He also doesn’t share his toy boats when I go over to play.”

I sigh and gently pull her forward with my tail. “You two must simply learn to get along,” I say, lifting my clawed hand. Her eyes grow even wider as I pat her on the head. “Now run along before my preference changes.” I release her.

“You’re so much better than the last Princess,” the girl whispers, leaning closer. “She didn’t even have a tail.”

Giggling with delight, she runs away. I feel the Herald’s hidden eyes staring straight at me.

“It looks like you already have a fan,” she says. “If only the Princess knew that having a tail would make her a more popular ruler, she might still be in power.”

8 — Beloved

I lean back. I really need to get a cushion for this thing.

“That was the last, correct?”

“It is, indeed, Your Highness,” The Herald confirms.

“Then it is time for me to re—”

A tremendous bang cuts me off as the doors to the throne room swing open. Swaggering through them and towards me is a garish man in all purple, carrying an unsheathed sword.

“Oh, what now?” I say with a sigh. “I was just about to have my bath.”

“I am here to slay you for killing my betrothed, monster,” he declares, pointing a gleaming blade at me.

I look at the Herald, puzzled.

“That is Prince Latimer.” Veiled as she is, she still hides her face with one hand. “He was to wed the Princess.”

I turn back to Latimer. This is certainly an unexpected development.

“I am here to slay the beast!” he shouts at the crowd, who, to his evident disappointment, barely mumble in response.

Perhaps they are warming to the idea of a fire-breathing serpent ruling over them. Several of my guards close in on him, their own steel drawn.

“Let him pass,” I order, and my guards step aside.

Striding past them, he points an accusing finger at me. “You doomed the future of this kingdom when you selfishly ate my beloved. Now, instead of us ruling it together, a pretentious reptile sits on the throne.”

I sneer down at this squawking peacock. “Your beloved?” I ask. “If she truly was, what was her favourite colour?”

Latimer furrows his brow. “It matters not.”

“It matters not?” I repeat his words, scratching the back of my neck. “You humans certainly think very little of courtship. How about, which side of the bed did she prefer?”

“I do not know,” he says, the crowd muttering their disapproval.

“An easy one then, what was the colour of her eyes?”

“Enough!” he screams. “I am here to slay you.”

“How shall you do that?” I ask, admiring my claws. “No blade can pierce my scales.”

“Except for Heartforge Steel!” he shouts triumphantly.

I squint at the blade. Oh dear, it does appear to have that telltale sheen. I once got an arrow tipped with Heartforge Steel through my wing and couldn’t fly for months. How did he get his hands on such a rare metal? Before I can react, Latimer lunges forward.

“For the Princess!”

My guards and the Herald all spring into action, but despite his pomp, Latimer is fast and closes the distance quickly. There is a collective gasp as he thrusts his sword straight at my gut. The blade slides off my middle with a grating sound.

“That tickles,” I say, slowly getting to my feet. “I hope you didn’t pay too much for such a flimsy fake.”

He drops his sword and stumbles backward as I tower over him. All the braziers in the room ignite as if oil has been thrown on them. My shadow stretches across the room, giving all who witness it a glimpse of my true form.

“You seem to misunderstand my intent, mortal.” I reach down, grab him by his absurd collar, and effortlessly lift him off his feet. “I may prefer peace, but I am no pacifist. I’m a dragon!” I roar, my inhuman voice shaking the rafters. “The most fearsome creature in all the kingdom!” A furnace burns in my core, and I open my throat so he can see the fire raging within me. “I will turn you into ash with as much effort as it would take you to blow out a candle.”

“Please don’t!” he screeches. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

I let him drop to the ground with a hard thud.

“Good,” I say, taking a seat on my throne. “I do not wish to sully my taste buds with another feckless royal.”

Latimer scoots away on his backside, nodding vigorously. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Some time in the dungeons should teach him some manners,” the Herald says.

“No,” I say, peering down my nose at him. “Some actual work will be more rehabilitating than a cramped cell. Send him to the Royal Wash House.”

“Please, not there!” he screeches as my guards drag him off. “I’m too rich for manual labour.”

“That may not be the case for much longer with that new wealth tax Her Highness wishes to introduce,” the Herald quips.

Somewhere in the darkness, Cottonmouth’s satisfying cry of anguish is drowned out by the chorus of dismay from the gathered nobles.

“All in a day’s work,” I say, addressing the Herald. “If that is all, I shall retire for the evening.”

9 — Bedchambers

I let out a satisfied sigh as I fall onto the plump bed. I would never have guessed that sleeping on feathers is comfier than sleeping on gold. My surroundings are also exquisite, bordering on opulent. The beautifully decorated room is large even for me. Woven tapestries of faraway lands hang on the walls, crimson velvet curtains cover stained-glass windows, and a large custom soaking tub stands in the centre.

“I suppose being crowned Princess has its perks.”

I sit up to find the Herald standing in the doorway.

“Creature comforts are of little consequence to a being such as myself,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

The Herald swans toward the four-poster bed and runs a dainty hand over the woodwork. “I see,” she says, her voice sultry. “Did you prefer the cold cave, sleeping alone on a mountain of gold?”

“I happen to miss my treasure,” I reply, flatly.

“I think that it will probably be better spent on those orphanage renovations we discussed.”

The Herald goes over to the full-length mirror and, in a swift motion, removes her veil, revealing a cascade of blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a pleasant face dusted with freckles.

“Well, hello, Princess,” I say, a sly smile spreading across my face.

“Illisa is fine, Morgan,” she says, admiring herself. “I do look quite fetching in all white.”

“I dare say you would look fetching in any outfit,” I reply.

Illisa grins at herself in the mirror. “Do dragons typically have such varied taste?” She turns to face me. “Aside from delectable Princesses, of course.”

“To think,” I muse, tapping a claw against the bed frame. “When you willingly came into my lair to sacrifice yourself for the good of your people, that we would come to such an…” I look her up and down with hungry eyes. “Amicable agreement.”

She steps over to me, the soft click of her heels reverberating in the bedchambers.

“A cunning plan for the ages. A tired Princess meets a lonely dragon seeking redemption.”

“I was not lonely!” I challenge, straightening as she approaches. “I had my gold.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, her tone mocking.

“Besides, I dare say that your presumption nearly sent you on a one-way trip into the belly of the beast.”

“I think my gambit paid off,” Illisa says, draping her arms over my shoulders.

I grin, showing off my sharp teeth. “You’re lucky that you found me in a moment of self-reflection.”

“Do you mean that you were still too full after devouring an entire armada of pirates?”

“That’s not fair,” I say, incredulously. “For my kind, selectively eating wrongdoers is essentially becoming a vegetarian.”

“I tease,” she says, gently kissing my forehead. At the soft press of her lips against my skin, the day’s difficulties melt away.

“There is still time to gobble me up if you so wish it, Your Highness.”

“You do look delectable,” I say, running my forked tongue over my lips. “But the hour is late.” With a yawn, I fall onto the bed, stretching myself across the soft surface. “I would like to get some rest before another day of those incessant requests.”

“Another night then,” Illisa says, sighing. “I must say that you have accomplished far more in a single day than any ruler in their lifetime. What shall you do tomorrow? End starvation? Ensure everlasting peace? Cure syphilis?”

I tap my chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but first a bath.”

“Of course, your Highness.” She bows low. “Who knew that a benevolent ruler whom everyone was too afraid to challenge would be what this kingdom needed.”