To Marry a Dragon

3. The Ex-Princess-Bride

Over the roaring of the torrent, Elvira listened for Ferrante's intake of breaths. Light be praised, they came in a familiar pattern! In and out, in time with his strong heart, beating as evenly as on the nights when she kept watch and he slept.

She thought him merely a well-built man back then and marveled at his talent to fall asleep the moment his head touched the folded cloak and look so peaceful. After the worst days, it filled her with a certainty that she chose right, that she belonged in the Order of Verity.

Now that she knew he was a dragon-shifter, her admiration for his inner peace increased tenfold, despite his deception. Taking a dragon form did something to a human mind. Degenerates and egomaniacs cropped up like mushrooms after a rain in their midst. There were even whispers of a secret Dragon Codex that called upon the dragon-shifters to unite and subjugate the rest of humanity. It didn't work because of their arrogance and small number. Only werewolves were worse. That Ferrante chose the Order's goodness over his darkest instincts warmed her heart.

One more glance, she promised herself, one more glance. Finally, after three dozen glances, she tore herself away from Ferrante's heaving chest and turned her attention to the purple spy. "I want answers, Mistress Gnome."

The gnome's lips pinched in consternation. "O Human, can we do away with this archaic form of address? I don't own you, don't command you. You're a subject of the contract, not a customer."

Ferrante sat up and combed his black curls down with his fingers. "Elvira, my lo—"

"Nuh! Nuh! Nuh!" The gnome deftly climbed down the oak. "No L-word, unless you want to be zapped onto a plane of existence with low traffic and hellish smog. Similarly, no sweet talk, no bedroom eyes, no smouldering in her line of sight. Above all, no public displays of affection."

"But why?" Elvira pleaded. It felt patently unfair. Ferrante broke the strong-and-silent mold. She broke her unwavering commitment to a solitary existence and the knightly virtues. Blessed light, she was about to kiss a man for the first time! This man.

"The contract's clauses! They are now active," the gnome explained. Or muddied things up. Elvira felt a million follow-up questions bubbling up on her lips. For example: What blazing contract?

Back on the solid ground, the gnome shook off leaves and splinters from her vermillion-and-green striped chalvars and purple stockings. How they had missed the eye-blinding figure sitting in the tree escaped Elvira.

Ferrante gaped at the gnome with distaste, then let a profuse sigh escape his lips. "If I could murder this pest, I would. Alas, she seems to be merely doing her job not oppressing those without succor and defense."

"I'm grateful that you appreciate my diligence, even though I recognize that it causes you considerable inconveniences." The gnome made a neat bow and slanted her yellow eyes at Elvira. "As a woman I empathize with your predicament, Elvira, believe you me. Shrink him to less of an eye-sore proportion, and he'd be a looker."

"The Lady flatters me." Ferrante said as if he pulled every word out of his mouth with invisible tongs. Impeccable manners were blazingly inconvenient! But she was ready to kiss him. Ferrante, the paladin without a single blemish on his honour. Her beloved, when she'd always thought she'd give her heart to a handsome rogue. A paradox, but love was cruel, so... Ferrante and his manners it was.

Elvira crossed her arms under her breasts. "What is this contract you're talking about... ah... Gnome?"

"Allow me to introduce myself." The gnome straightened as much as her height would allow, three-and-a-half feet. Three and three quarters, if Elvira included the black egret's feather in her floppy beret.