Page 39 of Wickedly Ever After
Ida raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t you?”
Amber fell silent.
“You chose your destiny when you came to my castle to right a wrong. You didn’t have to. You had no desire to be princess yourself. You came because you saw wrongdoing in the world and you wanted to correct it. I call that fine and honorable, and it’s the truest measure of your worthiness for this role.” Ida rose. “The magic chose you. Now it’s time to find out if it was right—if you are the person who could make the biggest difference for the common people in an age of queens. Amber, will you be a little stone or a big one?”
Amber gazed unhappily at Ida, then at the tiara waiting for her on a blue velvet cushion. With a sigh, she jammed it on her head. “Fine. But I’m not wearing that dress.”
Ida smiled. “I quite agree—that thing is awful. Go as you are, but perhaps you could leave the poleax behind—”
A blast of searing air tore through the tent with a roar. The crowd shrieked in terror; a suddenwhishsuggested that about half the stands had just gone up in flames.
A rumbling voice like the earth opened up, belching frothy hot rage. “Well? I’m here. Let’s get this stupid farce over with so I can show you what a dragon really is!”
19
Hector
I consider it one of my most abject failures as a witch—I’ve utterly failed to impress upon the dragons the importance of a less combustible temper. On the whole, I find them an eminently reasonable folk, no more prone to impatience than any other people. In fact, they seem to excel at defusing arguments among themselves. But when a dragon loses their temper, the results are always explosive. Therefore, they can never be members of proper society.
I envy them. Proper society often enrages me.
A Thousand Years of Wickedness: A Memoir
Hector West
Alistair had always been impressive, even as a skinny dragonet with immature wings and a mouthful of deciduous teeth. Today, he looked every inch the future Flamelord. Wreathed in fire, eyes flashing, scales shining, he stood in the middle of the field, rampant, claws extended, while the stands burned and people ran for their lives.
All but one. A knight in shining armor raced across the field, long hair streaming. It took Hector all of three seconds to realizethe knight wasn’t a knight. Nor was it the crown prince, who joined his own knights, hastily evacuating over the fence.
It was the princess.
She was tall for a woman and exceptionally built in the upper body. She wore a mail shirt over what appeared to be a farrier’s apron and wielded a long poleax. “You can take yourself right off. I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, voice magically amplified as it would have been for the event. Everyone enjoyed a love confession after all. But this…this was so far from what should have happened, Hector felt paralyzed. He should put out the bleachers. Or at least summon a raven brigade to evacuate the injured. People might have been hurt when Alistair set them ablaze. But he could do nothing but watch in dazed embarrassment and horror at the melee unfolding in front of his eyes.
Alistair bit the poleax, yanking it out of her hand. He tossed it aside. “I’m not taking you anywhere. I came to make a statement. Now get out of my way.”
Hector gripped his staff until his knuckles blanched. Once the magic had been set in motion, trying to exert control in the middle of it could be disastrous. But he’d never seen a Happily-Ever-After go this wrong. Not only had Alistair behaved far worse than expected, something was dreadfully wrong with this princess. She should’ve run like all the rest. Instead, there she was, staring down an angry dragon with all the poise of an ancient knight, and she looked like one too as she yanked twin daggers from beneath her leather apron.
“If you think you can scare me by blowing smoke, you’re wrong. So you’d just better keep your forked tongue behind your teeth, and get ready. Ididn’tcome here to make a statement. I came to fight!”
Hector caught a glimpse of white as Ida stormed out of the tent, wand raised.
“Who are you?” Alistair said.
“Amber Smith, and you’re a dead worm.”
Alistair hissed and backed up. Hector raised his staff, ready to throw a shield between Alistair and the princess if worse came to worst, but Alistair’s form had already begun to shift.
No, no, no, no—Alistair!But there wasn’t a thing Hector could do about it. Alistair’s scales retracted inward, his wings folded against his back, the long snout changed, flattened, and he stood, a man—a completely naked man, wearing only the last vestige of flames about his penis, smoke trailing over his shoulders along with a river of black hair. He opened his arms, exposing his chest to the princess, along with everything else. “Well?” he said. “Get on with it. Weren’t you going to kill me? Go on. Show everyone here who the monsters really are.”
The princess gaped.
Thankfully, the stands were empty now. The only people left to see were the witches and two startled gnomes hiding beneath the bunting. Tinbit and Hari peeped out from between the folds of fabric, bright eyes glowing.
“You—you—are—you’re not a…you’re a—” Amber stepped back, dropping her knives and spluttering.
“A dragon,” Alistair said. “This is what I am. What we are.”
“Alistair!” Hector raised his staff. He had to stop this now, whatever the consequences.
