Chapter 96
THE ONE IN (ALMOST) TEN, A DRAGON VISITATION, AND THE FATE OF THE AMBERLIAN THRONE
Gobsmacked, the courtiers became as sheep before a wolf—bleating and panicking and smacking into each other so forcefully, the infirmary would be overflowing with the concussed for days after the ruined wedding.
The pirate ship dropped anchor, leaving a crater in the marble floor, and the crew of the Tula surged over the sides to the rousing beat of Madame Palferoi’s “The Bouncing Breasts of the Busty Barmaid” as performed by a battle-crazed frog in a gilded birdcage.
A slinky blue dragon whizzed through the air, the wake of his flight coupled with a lucky shimmer of his scales, and swept the glass shards away before they could fall on anyone.
Red, yellow, and blue, the stained glass chased after him like a flock of starlings.
Meanwhile, Sir Roger slid down the anchor chain and rushed to protect the Amberlian king and queen with Oathkeeper.
Festus the griffin winged low to drop off his passengers: Bradley to join Olabeus in a duel against the Leighton court sorcerer, Duchess to reassure a frightened Rosamund, and Fink to urinate upon anyone who tried to ruin Pocket’s gown.
Sir Eustace remained aboard the Tula, chronicling history with rapid strokes of his quill.
Amidst the utter collapse of proper decorum, Chandler tried to use the distraction to kidnap Rosamund.
He was immediately thwarted by a hairpin flung into his eye.
Or, more specifically, the decorative top of said hairpin clocked him just under the ridge of his brow bone where the skin was soft and sensitive.
One in Nine And A Half, Millie congratulated herself as she rushed forward. Still counts!
Chandler released the younger princess with a howl, clutching his bruised ego as much as his eye, so he was almost unprepared for Millie’s follow-up attack. He dropped his hand and swept back his dress cloak for the dagger at the small of his back.
Having thrown her only weapon, Millie did the only thing an unarmed combatant could do.
She grabbed that fluttering cloak and slung the prince just like the tiny pink octopus had the scallop in the Pierpont tide pool.
As Chandler staggered away, Millie retrieved her shiv hairpin. Then it was his blade against hers.
Chandler didn’t last long. Wearing his wealth, he was weighed down, slow, and Millie in her perfectly tailored dress and flat-heeled shoes could move.
She flitted about him like a luck dragon on the wind, poking him in all the softest places with her hairpin until he lost his temper.
A wild slice of his dagger did tear her dress, but it twisted him wildly off balance.
Millie yanked his cloak over his head, dodged another desperate slash of the dagger, and kicked her leg across the backs of his knees.
The prince fell like a pumpkin off the end of a wagon, with a hearty thud.
The pirate princess stomped him in the groin, just to be safe, then kicked the dagger away from his suddenly weak grip. As the prince wheezed, she hoisted Duchess one-handed into Rosamund’s arms. Her younger sister buried her face into the cat’s luscious white fur, inhaled deeply, and bawled.
Chandler finally wrestled the cloak free of his face, rising with a snarl.
Millie cracked him in the nose and sent him back to the floor bawling once more.
The man was clearly bred for cushions, not conflict.
Ordering someone to hire Dirk to kidnap her had probably been the only time his spine had been made of something more rigid than wax.
What a shame. She’d really been looking forward to testing her mettle against a worthy opponent.
With a sigh, Millie plucked her sister’s veil from her head, twisted it into a rope, and got to hog-tying the prince’s wrists to his ankles with constrictor knots.
With the Leightonian prince disabled and a wild-looking princess pirate guarding him with a shiv hairpin she wielded more skillfully than most men did their swords, order was restored to the throne room in a matter of minutes.
Lucerion, court sorcerer of Leighton, was as vicious as a weasel, but he proved no match against a grand master, and surrendered after an exceptionally controlled fulminus spell scorched off his eyebrows.
Festus sat on him while Bradley revived Olabeus from a vacuo spell, and the griffin occasionally ripped a tuft of hair out of Lucerion’s head whenever he squirmed too much.
The visiting dignitaries decided it was best to huddle quietly behind their guards instead of catching the attention of the deranged baby dragon, who busied himself whizzing about cackling and lashing folks across their backsides with whips made of water.
The Amberlian guards took their cue from their brave princess and subdued the Leightonian forces, in addition to any of the uppity courtiers whose egos and entitlement complexes impeded their common sense and ability to read the room.
In matters such as these, it was easier to beg forgiveness instead of ask permission, especially when minimal force was involved.
Except for the snotty Lady Belinda, the emasculated Lord Corydon, and that unfortunate chap Baron Demir who was still having difficulty breathing instead of hacking, no one truly was the worse for wear.
And since there was a juggernaut barbarian randomly throwing his weight against the castle’s front door, everyone was much more interested in not causing the guards in charge of their defense against this greater threat undue consternation.
A deeper hush befell the throne room when the moon rose big and bright in the sky absent the dome and two dragons appeared.
“Crew of the Tula,” Millie cried. “What of the Skybreaker?”
Dirk didn’t hesitate. He shot out of the throne room like a blue dart to warn his kin.
And put himself right in the sights of the dragon-killer crossbow.
A crack split the air, and Millie screamed.
But it was only the front door, and Ivar the Bane strolled into the castle with a massive crossbolt slung across his shoulders.
Duncan followed a few paces behind, worrying a gear between his hands.
He brightened when he saw Pocket, gave her a little wave with the gear.
She hiked up her skirt to flash him her ankles, and the gnome’s cheeks pinked.
“Princess,” the barbarian announced, “I am keeping this for my collection. Oh”—he snatched the large diamond necklace from Lady Belinda’s bosom and wiped the snot off on his fur kilt—“and this for my ice flower. It would look infinitely better around her neck than strung on this ugly sow.”
Lady Belinda burst into fresh tears that her swollen eyes could not easily shed and dissolved into a blubbering mess upon the floor. Blind, she searched for a cloth to mop her face that wasn’t her own gown—she still had standards, you know—and found Lord Corydon’s toupee.
The crew of the Tula used the stunned silence following the barbarian’s appearance to converge around their captain and form a protective circle around her younger sister.
Then the dragons arrived.
Dirk was a spit of color against the greatness of the two accompanying him. The ground shivered with their landing, and the great beasts carefully tucked their wings and tails against their bodies to prevent further damage to the throne room.
Millie stepped forward and performed the formal bow any decent-mannered individual executed when greeting dragons. The elder green dragon accepted her salutation with a touch of his muzzle against her outstretched palm, followed by the younger gold.
“Verdalis, Aurelia, lovely to see you both again!”
“This little one told of us of a crossbow designed to tear us from the sky and steal our hearts,” Aurelia snarled.
Verdalis snapped at the air beside her ear. “Calm yourself. She is not to blame, Aurelia.”
“Apologies, Millie,” the gold grumbled. “Then tell me who is!”
The dragons’ combined gaze instinctively swiveled to the trussed heap on the floor by the princess’s feet.
The crew of the Tula took turns telling each facet of the story, with Sir Eustace confirming the validity of their tales with his unimpeachable chronicle, and soon the whole of Prince Chandler Stonevein’s dastardly plan to use a wedding to an Amberlian princess to get his hands on a dragon heart was laid bare.
As well as the involvement of a particular Merlish baron.
Baron Demir seized Sir Roger’s arm. “Get me out of here,” he wheezed. “I’m not suffering the same fate as that crap stain. You’re my sworn sword, so get that blade out and—”
Sir Roger unsheathed the blade in question and ran its edge along his palm. When he balled that hand into a fist, blood leaked out between the seams in his fingers. It left a wet red imprint on Baron Demir’s jaw when Sir Roger Ferris resigned his position with a savage right hook.
“I see,” Verdalis rumbled. He swung a look at his golden companion. “And you thought this wedding would just be tea and sugared cakes, didn’t you?”
“Most human weddings are,” Aurelia groused, “and I like mine with a little spice.” Then she smiled, a truly unsettling sight to those who didn’t know her, which was the majority of those present. “I think the dragonlords are going to have fun with this one.”
She snatched up a squealing Chandler by his gauzy ropes and lifted into the sky.
Verdalis gave Millie an affectionate nudge with the very tip of his snout so as not to bowl her over. “Glad you weren’t kidnapped by a true Rogue Red, Princess. Sunday teas just haven’t been the same without you.”
All warmth left his gaze when it swung to Baron Demir, still recovering from where Sir Roger had knocked him to the floor. “Your participation in this scheme will not be overlooked. You will be hearing from the dragon council in short order. Now remove yourself from this peaceful place.”
Whimpering and wheezing, the baron scuttled off.