Well, this is embarrassing.
There I was. Draped in white gauze like a honeymoon pastry. Anklets jangling, garlands wilting, wrists bound just tight enough for drama but loose enough for wiggling. Sitting high on a creaky ox cart like a divine courtesan about to be gift-wrapped for a fire-breathing god. Hair freshly oiled. Nipples tragically perky. And next to me? A big sacred clay urn absolutely brimming with silver. Spoils of fear and gullibility. The whole village behind us, solemn and sweating, chanting something about renewal and sacrifice. I didn't listen. I was too busy adjusting the chain on my hip so it didn't chafe.
Perfect setting, really. Scenic barren knoll. Some ancient cracked altar stone. Local legend said this hill was cursed by the Wailing Hag of the Vale, which probably just meant she was a pissed-off spinster with gout, but it still drew crowds.
Except.
As we crested the ridge, veils fluttering, coins clinking, ceremonial goat bleating—what do we see?
Another bloody procession.
Same altar. Same hill. Another ox cart. Another nearly-naked girl—bit bustier than me, I'll admit—and a very smug village elder holding a sack. A big sack. Judging by the way the ox was staggering, theirs was all gold.
We locked eyes across the sacred stone like two hens at a royal orgy: confused, overdressed, and dangerously close to a public scandal.
A beat of silence.
Then my elder leaned forward. "What in the sacred tits of Myrrha is this?"
The other elder answered, just as gruff. "Sanctuary's public. Our turn."
"Your turn? We booked this date three moons ago!"
"You can't book a holy altar. It's not a whorehouse."
I nearly choked on my veil. The other girl raised a perfectly arched brow. I raised both.
Behind us, the villagers began murmuring. Nothing spreads tension like shared embarrassment, religious confusion, and two overdressed faux-virgins glaring at each other with murder in their kohl-lined eyes.
The Dragon, naturally, was late.
I could already picture him in the clouds above us, peering down with that smug old-lizard look: Oh dear. Another double-booking. Whatever shall we do.
I considered jumping off the cart and declaring a sacred duel of chastity, but the ground looked rocky and my sandals were ornamental.
The village elders had moved from sniping to full-throated arguing. Something about border rights. Something about how the altar technically lay exactly between two hills, which were obviously sacred property of their own respective valleys. Legal theology, oxen, and virgins were not meant to share a sentence—but here we were.
I sighed. Loudly.
"I swear," I muttered under my breath, "if that scaly bastard doesn't show up soon, I'll sacrifice myself to bureaucracy."
And the other girl?
She smirked.
Bitch.
The compromise was classic peasant logic: stupid, hasty, and just good enough to avoid bloodshed.
They tied us both to the same stone.
Same altar, same chain, same ceremonial phallus. A cracked column probably dating back to whatever pre-civilization thought sacrificing busty virgins on hills was a good idea. Probably still accurate, if today was anything to go by.
I was on the left. Draped in sheer white gauze, gold chains, my usual full slutty sanctity ensemble. She was on the right. Younger. Crying. Wearing a gauze that was even sheerer than mine, which frankly felt like an attack.
Between us, they dumped the offerings: her village's sack of gold and my village's ceremonial urn of silver coins. It made a lovely clang as they shoved it down. Real spiritual. Then, they mumbled a few prayers under their breath, made a couple signs against evil, and buzzed off like they'd left stew on the fire.
And there we were.
Tied up. Half-nude. Sweating on sacred limestone.
She started sobbing almost immediately.
"I don't wanna die," she whispered.
I groaned. "Oh gods, please don't start that."
"But what if it comes?"
"It's supposed to come," I snapped. "That's the whole scam. Ceremony. Tribute. Rarrrgh. Everyone runs screaming. I get 'rescued,' he gets the treasure, we fly off, rinse and repeat."
She blinked at me, confused. "...what?"
I sighed. "Nothing. Look, no one's dying today. Trust me."
"But we saw it. Two nights ago. It flew right over our fields."
That made me pause.
My stomach tightened. "Describe it."
She wiped her nose with her shoulder. "It was huge. Blue. Wings like sails. Horns like sickles. And its breath was all crackly. Lightning. It screamed and burned the east barn."
I stared at her.
Then I stared at the sky.
"Blue?"
She nodded.
"Lightning?"
Nod.
"Oh shit."
Because my dragon is bronze. Elegant. Fire-breathing. Sarcastic. Smells like incense and ointment. Wouldn't waste a burn unless insulted or bribed. Theatrical, yes. Murderous, only on Sundays.
This wasn't him.
This was someone else.
Another dragon.
Which meant someone else was running a gig in our territory. Unlicensed. Unsanctioned. Potentially psychotic.
I tugged the chain experimentally. No give. Great.
My eyes darted across the horizon. Nothing. No wings. No roar. Just hot wind and the gentle jangle of a scared girl's bangles.
"Look," I said. "If my dragon doesn't get here first, we are so screwed."
"What?!"
"Shh."
"What?!"
"Shut up!"
She started crying again.
I muttered to the sky, "Come on, you lazy ancient bastard. Get your scaly ass down here now... or we're both getting poached by a fucking amateur."
I squinted at the girl again. "Wait. Are you sure you're not running some sort of scam with that blue dragon?"
She blinked, stunned. "What?"
"You know. Fake virgin, tribute grab, big lizard pal flies in, spooky fire show, you split the loot and ride off into the sunset?"
She just stared at me like I'd slapped her with a dead fish.
"I—I've never even left my village," she whispered. "I'm eighteen. I've never been on a cart before yesterday. And now I'm gonna die."
And she started sobbing again. Loudly. Snottily.
Great. Fantastic. Weeping virgins attract attention. And smells.
I closed my eyes and took a breath.
Ok. Positive thoughts only, Saya.
Focus.
Her dragon will arrive soon.
He always does.
Sure, he's old. Slow. Possibly asleep in a cave with a stolen cheese wheel on his belly. But he's punctual when gold is involved. Mostly.
Positive thoughts. Everything's gonna be fine.
Any minute now…
The sky darkened—not with clouds, but with wings.
A massive shape swooped in low, the air crackling, charged with that telltale scent of ozone and arrogance.
Oh no.
Not him.
Blue. Sleek. Showy. Horns like gilded hooks. Wings glittering like stormglass. He flared them wide before landing in a full theatrical crouch, talons digging into sacred rock as lightning danced down his scaled forearms like it had nowhere better to be.
The girl next to me shrieked. Full-body panic.
"He's going to rape us, grill us, and eat us! Possibly not in that order!"
"Shh!" I hissed. "Don't offer ideas!"
The dragon licked his teeth. He looked young. Cocky. Definitely the same flashy bastard I'd seen once before. And gay—very, very gay, judging by the shimmering blue piercings along his neck ridges and the way he cocked his head at me like I was a mildly amusing cocktail garnish.
"Well, well," he purred. "What do we have here?"
I gave him my brightest smile. "There's been a scheduling mishap."
He blinked. Then grinned. "No mishap. Just good fortune. One sack of gold…" He gestured with his snout at the loot. "One pot of silver…" Then his eyes slid to us. "And two virgins."
The girl whimpered.
Then said—barely audible—"…well, technically…"
I froze. Blinked. Turned slowly to stare at her.
"You're not a—?"
She sniffled. "There was a shepherd."
I groaned. "Of course there was."
She blinked at me. "You're not?"
"Oh, gods, no."
We both turned back to the dragon.
He looked absolutely delighted.
I said, quickly, "Okay, so! Minor adjustment. Not virgins exactly. More like… seasoned offerings. Cured. Aged to perfection."
The blue bastard laughed.
My chains rattled as I stood straighter, glaring at the horizon.
"Where is he?" I muttered through clenched teeth. "Old, grumpy, bronze, smells like aloe and disdain. Where the hell is he—"
I straightened my spine, pushed my breasts forward for leverage—figuratively and otherwise—and put on my best negotiation voice.
"You don't understand," I said, trying to channel divine purpose through sheer panic. "I am spoken for. Promised. Betrothed, even. To another dragon."
The blue one blinked, slow and condescending. "Oh?" he drawled, like a cat who just caught two birds mid-conversation. "And where is this suitor of yours?"
I glanced skyward. Nothing but sun, dust, and betrayal.
"He's… coming."
"Mmm." The dragon's grin widened. "Well. First come, first served. Finders keepers. Sacred rites of the hoard and all that."
He reared up, claws flexing. One smooth snap and our chains fell free like ribbon from a gift box. The girl yelped. I barely kept from swearing out loud.
"Wait—wait! Let's be rational about this!"
He tilted his head. "Oh, I'm very rational. Look at this haul. Gold, silver, two tasty morsels. It's been a great day."
"No, I mean—why do you even need two human girls?"
He shrugged, wings fluttering. "One can do the dishes. The other can sweep the floors."
The girl sobbed.
I blinked. "You want maids?"
"Well, yes. And maybe something to look at while I soak in my lava bath."
"You don't even eat humans?"
"Too stringy. And emotionally complicated."
I stared.
He was serious.
He was going to kidnap us as interior decor.
"Sweet flaming fuck," I muttered. "Where is that ancient bronze bastard when I actually need him…"
A shadow blotted out the sun.
Finally.
With a scream of air and the shriek of angry wind, he arrived—my dragon, my partner, my miserly, arthritic, long-suffering scaly bastard. He landed like an avalanche wrapped in disdain, claws carving into the altar stone, wings flared wide, nostrils flaring like a bull in heat and very bad mood.
The blue one groaned. "Oh gods. You."
The bronze dragon's eyes narrowed. "Axiarthanax."
Even the name came out like a curse spat through old teeth.
The blue one—Axiarthanax, apparently—rolled his eyes and huffed lightning from his nostrils. "Still alive, I see. Barely."
"You're trespassing," Bronze snapped, tail lashing. "This is my con. My altar. My harlot."
"Please don't call me that while I'm unchained and conscious," I muttered.
The blue bastard grinned. "I didn't see your name on her. Or on the silver. Or the gold."
"It's implied!" the Dragon roared.
"Oh please. You haven't flown a proper raid in a decade. I thought you were hibernating."
"And I thought you were banished from civilized airspace!"
"We all make mistakes."
Claws flexed. Wings twitched. The air between them cracked like a thunderhead.
"Wait," I said, holding up my hands. "Maybe we can all just sit down and—"
The blue one lunged first. Bronze met him halfway.
It was a mess.
Claws on scales. Fire on lightning. Roars that shook the hills and sent sacred sheep scattering into the valleys. The altar stone shattered. The sack of gold exploded like a piñata. The pot of silver rolled off the knoll and disappeared into a ditch.
The other girl screamed and bolted.
I stayed crouched and cursed.
"Fantastic," I muttered, ducking a stray lightning bolt. "Just what I needed. My ex and my current situation throwing fireballs over who gets to own me like a bloody houseplant."
The other girl was crouched beside me now, trembling like a plucked lute string, eyes wide and glued to the chaos overhead. Scales clashed. Thunder cracked. My dragon's roar shook the altar ruins again as he slammed Axiarthanax into a half-dead olive tree, which promptly exploded.
She leaned toward me, voice a breathless squeak.
"Is he… is he really your dragon?"
I sighed.
Like, from my soul.
"Theoretically," I said. "In a purely transactional, loot-sharing, emotionally repressed sort of way."
Another fireball lit the sky. Axiarthanax shrieked something obscene and flung a broken cart wheel like a discus of doom.
I shielded my head with both hands. "Gods. This is why we don't do joint custody of virgins."
The girl looked at me like I was mad.
She wasn't wrong.
"Look," I said, "just stay down, don't touch anything shiny, and if either of them lands near us panting and bleeding, scream my name first, okay? I get loot priority."
New Scene
I was in a ditch.
A literal ditch.
On hands and knees, dress torn, hair full of altar dust, fingers raking through mud and crushed weeds to dig out scattered silver coins like a very pretty badger with poor life choices.
Clink. Another one. Into the pouch.
Clink. Another. Slightly dented, smelled like goat. Still counted.
Behind me, my dragon limped down the slope, each step accompanied by a hiss of pain and muttered curses about "blue-blooded upstarts" and "degenerate tail-biters." One wing hung a little crooked. His left hindleg was streaked with ash and claw marks. But he was breathing. Moving. Victorious.
And deeply, profoundly pissed off.
I brushed moss off a coin. "So," I said, not looking up. "You gonna tell me what the history is between you and Mister Sparkle-Breath?"
He growled. Like, actual growl. Deep, old, and offended.
"Because," I continued, calm as ever, "I don't know if you noticed, but there was definitely some ex-lovers energy in that sky."
His head snapped toward me. "There was no such—!"
I raised a hand. "Strong ex-lovers energy. Like, dramatic gestures. Grudges. Possibly shared poetry at some point."
"I did not share poetry."
"Ohhh," I said, sitting back on my heels, grinning now. "But he did, didn't he?"
Silence.
I grinned wider.
He huffed, smoke curling from his nostrils. "He had… pretensions."
"Oh gods, it's worse. He was the sensitive one."
He snapped his teeth. I yelped and ducked reflexively, even though he was at least twenty feet away.
"Alright, alright! No more prodding," I said, holding up both hands. "We can file that under 'unspeakable ancient shame' and move on."
He muttered something draconic under his breath. Probably a curse involving goats.
I shook mud off my pouch. "Well, embarrassing from the get-go, sure. But it's not a total loss."
He looked at me with narrowed eyes. "We lost the altar. The gold. And I sprained a wing."
I stood up, jingling the pouch. "But we got most of the silver."
He gave me a long, exhausted look.
I smiled. "And I didn't get kidnapped, eaten, or forced into indentured domestic servitude in a lava cave. So. Win?"
He grumbled something about perspective and dignity and limped past me toward the trees.
I skipped after him, pouch swinging on my hip. "Oh come on. Admit it. You still got it."
"Got what?"
"Jealous rage, bone-snapping fury, mid-air dominance wrestling. You were practically glowing."
"I was bleeding."
"Gloriously."
He hissed through his teeth.
I patted his flank, careful to avoid the scorched bits.
"Next time," I said cheerfully, "we ask for a reservation."
As we made our way down the slope—him limping, me jingling with every step—he suddenly grunted, "What happened to the other girl?"
I blinked. "Who?"
He gave me a look.
"Oh. Her." I shrugged. "Slipped off into the forest mid-fight. Quiet as a rabbit with secrets."
"She ran?"
"I mean, wouldn't you? Two dragons fighting over your theoretical maidenhood like it's a premium goat at market? I almost ran."
He snorted. "You stayed for the silver."
"Exactly. She didn't have a coin stake in this."
He made a noise halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. "Did she even say thank you?"
I thought for a second. "Nope. But she screamed less when I told her to run, so… progress?"
We walked in silence for a few paces.
Then I added, "Probably halfway to her village by now. Or running in the complete wrong direction and getting adopted by dryads. Either way, not our problem."
He sighed. "She'll tell everyone."
I grinned. "Let her. If we're lucky, this place becomes a shrine for confused horny pilgrims. We'll be back next season with incense and rate cards."
He grumbled something dark and ancient.
I kept walking.
Another coin gleamed in the dirt. I snatched it without breaking stride.
"Seriously," I said, pocketing it, "you were kind of hot up there."
He groaned.
"Not like that, you preening fossil. I mean scary. Dominant. Theatrically wrathful. Like an old wine that suddenly slaps."
"Stop talking."
"You're welcome."