Georgie and Her Dragon (6 page)

Georgie comes home...

Four long years later, at the ripe old age
of twenty-two, Georgie finally rested her gaze on the ancient stone
walls of her home. The flags were flying gaily, welcoming back the
current crop of graduating princesses and celebrating their various
accomplishments.

They all knew that in fact it was their
father’s way of saying “
Good, now I can marry some of you off
and get more land. Or cash. Or a minor titled noble to be announced
later
.”

It was the accepted custom for princesses to
be assigned husbands who would enrich the Kingdom from which they
hailed. In exchange, said husbands received the privilege of
fucking some aristocratic cunt and siring offspring about whom they
could boast “
well, of course, my wife’s family, you know - those
royal genes will tell, won’t they
...?”

Georgie couldn’t help but notice the large
number of would-be suitors gathered along the processional route to
watch the returning princesses. And she also wryly noted the
glances received by princesses numbered one through seven. Those
were, of course, the ones in line to receive the heftiest
dowry.

By the time
she
arrived, bringing up
the rear, she was lucky to get a waggled eyebrow or two from the
oldest or the pimpliest bachelor.

Georgie sighed. This was going to be a bit
of a rough patch, she knew. If she was forced to tell her parents
that she was absolutely
not
going to marry any of these
dickheads there would probably be a minor uproar.

Minor
because her position so far
down on the monarchical totem pole meant she was eating dirt most
of the time. But an uproar because princesses simply didn’t
do
that sort of thing - defying their parents.

Well,
fuck it
. Georgie had done a
lot
of things princesses simply didn’t do. Thankfully, not
many people knew about them.

She’d lost her virginity for one thing, and
that was Sin Number HA1 (Hugely Awful) when it came to the life of
a princess. They were supposed to be spotless, surrendering only to
their husbands and thus ensuring the unspotted purity of his
line.

Georgie repeated her earlier thought.
Fuck that
. She’d given it up to that really nice minstrel
with the lovely voice who’d had a number one hit about fire and
rain and stuff. He’d been quite kind, rather overawed at the fact
that she - a princess of the realm - was in his bed with her pussy
in his face, and overall it had been a mostly pleasant experience.
The oral part had been great, although the actual deed itself
didn’t quite measure up to its advance billing.

Since then, during her years as an advanced
student, she’d experimented a couple of times, finding the process
less messy, certainly less painful, and generally an okay way to
spend Saturday nights if there was nothing good on Shire TV.

But it hadn’t exactly rung bells for her.
Unlike her courses in
Leadership and Battle Tactics
, which
she’d bullied her way into, claiming that
Needlework and
Tapestry
made her puke.

This was quite true, Georgie having
developed a convenient but genuine allergy to the yarns used in the
course. A solid projectile-type vomit over a large,
almost-completed tapestry - which represented two years worth of
work - had pretty much guaranteed her rapid exit from the
classroom. Her ears rang for a week with the outraged screams of
her fellow needlewomen.

She’d gladly withdrawn from that course,
insisting that she be allowed to transfer into the small recitation
section that focused on more interesting things. Like leadership
and how to fight a successful battle.

She’d aced the tests, passed the final with
flying colors and presented a simulated attack plan that had
stunned the lecturer with its simple but effective brilliance.
She’d also fucked him the following evening, unfortunately
discovering that although his intellect might be huge, his sexual
prowess wasn’t quite so blessed.

She’d shrugged and handled it gracefully,
calling on her princessly skills to cover her failure to orgasm and
the minimal size of his dick.
Can’t hit the high notes all the
time
.

Thus the triumphant graduates of Princess
School filed in to their home, eagerly anticipating their future
lives as wives and mothers.

With one exception.

Georgie
.

All she could think of was going to find her
friend. Her one true friend. The creature who’d stood by her for
her entire life, through thick and thin.
Theo
, her very own
dragon.

She slid from her horse ignoring the shocked
gasps of those who noticed she had been riding astride instead of
in the correct sidesaddle manner of her sisters.
Screw
that
nonsense. She hated the awkward twist of the spine required to hold
her balance, figured the horse probably hated it too, and much
preferred to have something moving rhythmically between her
legs.

Tossing the reins to a servant, Georgie
hurried up to her small room, shrugged off her riding cape and
quickly found her way to the older, quieter parts of the castle.
She knew he’d be there, figured he’d seen the noisy procession
wending its way over the drawbridge and guessed he would be
waiting.

He was.

“
Theeeeooooo
...” Georgie nearly
tripped over his tail as she ran out onto the balcony where he’d
been watching the goings-on. “I’m home.”

She dashed to his head and hugged him as
hard as she could, almost smothering one nostril with her hair and
poking him in the eye with her hands.

“
Mggrymplfmpf
.”

“What?”

“I said...” He snuffled her hair out of the
way and tried again. “Welcome home.”

“
Theo
, you’re crying.” She sniffed
herself and hugged him harder.

“I wouldn’t be if you took your fingers out
of my eye.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Georgie backed away a little
bit. “Damn, babe. I’m so glad to see you. God, you’re looking
good.”

She caressed his snout, running her hand
over the smooth blue scales that glowed brightly in the
sunshine.

Theo grunted. “You too, sweetheart.”

“Did ya miss me?” She grinned at him,
ringing his horn with her fingertips and then dancing around him,
touching him every place she could reach. Being with him at last,
in the flesh, made her heart sing and she couldn’t stop smiling as
she learned the texture of his body and the shape of his head.

“Nope.” He chuckled in her head.

“Liar. Dear liar.” She dropped a light kiss
on the tip of his snout. “I missed you.”

“Oh sure.” He sighed gustily sending a quick
whiff of warm air through her loose tresses. “I’ll bet you did. All
those boys - all those adventures, which - I might add - you never
did
dream about and let me share...” He looked pained.

“Jeez, Theo. You perv. You wanted in on the
action, huh?”

Theo pouted, quite an accomplishment for a
creature with no lips. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

She giggled. “Nothing
to
share,
sweetie. Nothing worth dreaming about. If I was going to dream with
you, it was gonna have to be something
really
special.”

He lifted one scaly eyebrow. “Like invading
that icky territory a few shires away?”

“Hey. A good battle gets the blood heated a
helluva lot more than most of the idiots I was fool enough to
fuck.” She sighed. “And I never
did
hear the last of that
little episode.”

Theo shook his head. “Can’t say I’m
surprised. Not many princesses get to join a military campaign in
disguise, chop off some heads, skewer a knight or two and live to
tell about it.”

“Good point. But shit, it was
fun
,
Theo.” She smiled sunnily at him. “Better than sewing any day.”

Theo’s non-lips parted in the dragon
equivalent of a grin. “Yeah. I sort of figured that out.”

“About the barfing thing...”

He lifted a claw. “Don’t go there,
okay?”

Georgie shrugged. “Okay.” She stretched and
moved to the battlements, looking out over the countryside. “So.
What’s next?”

“For you? Marriage I suppose.”

“Fuck. I was afraid of this.” Georgie
squared her shoulders. “Father’s got ‘em all lined up, hasn’t
he?”

“Yep. It’s his duty.”

“Duty
schmooty
. He’s after loot,
that’s all. We’re commodities to be bartered in the market of
dowries and land. It sucks.”

“Maybe he’s picked out a nice one for
you...” Theo was obviously trying to be supportive.

“Yeah right.” She snorted in her turn. All
that was missing was the smoke belching from her nose. “I’m lucky
thirteen, babe. No matter that I’m sharper than the rest of ‘em put
together. No matter that numbers one through seven took a few more
years to graduate because they had problems spelling their names.”
She curled her lip in disgust. “I seem to come from a long line of
flaming twits.”

Theo chuckled. “Well you broke
that
mold right enough. And in all honesty, it would be fucking scary if
all
you princesses could wield a sword instead of a
needle...”

“Another good point.”

Georgie was about to continue her discussion
when a chime sounded within the roost. “
Princess Georgiana - to
the main hall please. Princess Georgiana - to the main
hall
.”

Her jaw dropped. “An
intercom
? What
the fuck is this?
Castlemarts
?”

Theo shrugged. “It got installed some time
ago when the King had laryngitis and couldn’t yell for his servants
anymore. Gotta say it pisses me off.”

“
Princesses Shirley and Florence - please
see the seamstress. Princess Arabella - your prince has
come
.”

Georgie rolled her eyes. “Shit. I can see
why.”

“
Cancel Princess Florence. Cancel
Princess Florence
.”

“And this morning it’s been going nuts.”
Theo sighed. “You’d better go, honey. The King doesn’t like being
kept waiting.”

Georgie grimaced. “Yeah. And I’ll just bet
there’s a maid in my room now with some really trashy piece of
clothing she’s gonna want to squeeze me into. Like my tits are
gonna sell me since my dowry won’t.”

Theo was oddly silent and Georgie turned to
look at him. His eyes were glassy and fixed on her chest, and his
tongue was hanging out. “You okay?”

He cleared his throat and politely blew the
smoke downwind. “Of course. I was just thinking about your breasts,
that’s all.”

Georgie smirked and tugged her tunic up,
flashing him a look at the real thing. “Not bad, huh?”

Then she spun on her heel and ran toward the
stone stairs. “Later, dude. I’ll be back.”

Theo rocked the battlements with the ensuing
groan.

Court Courting and the Art of the Negotiated
Deal

The main hall was a seething throng of lush
fabrics, massive glittering jewels and fanciful hairdos - and that
was just the
men
.

The women were even
worse
, at least
according to Georgie’s bored eyes anyway. She’d never actually seen
so many women engaged in what she could only describe as
“synchronized simpering” in her life.

The Princesses had been seated on a dais to
the left of the King’s throne. (The Queen, poor dear, was
recovering from the birth of yet
another
daughter. Georgie
had given up trying to remember how many sisters she now had. And
she also wondered if the Queen had ever considered birth control -
or, if that proved ineffective, castrating the King with his own
sword.)

To the right of the throne was the King’s
trusty Seneschal, now a graying elderly man with a rather harried
look in his eyes. Since he was the one who had to continually tell
the King about the arrival of more daughters, Georgie wasn’t
surprised.

And off to the far right were the suitors.
Georgie looked them over.

Shit. That’s a sorry-looking lot
.

Ranked by importance, even the most noble of
princes looked a bit light in the loafers to Georgie’s critical
gaze. Of course, she couldn’t see terribly well, since the
princesses had also been arranged in order of importance and she’d
ended up at the back - third row, last seat on the left.

The sister in front of her seemed to think
that Big Hair was still “in” and Georgie spent a good portion of
the time craning her neck around the monstrosity that her sister
had teased up into some sort of hirsute mountain. There was a bird
in it, too.

Georgie stared at it, wondering if it was a
decoration or one that had mistakenly (although understandably)
assumed that this was actually its nest.

A blast on the trumpets made everyone jump
and silence fell as the King strode into the room. There was a
rustle as the throng stood respectfully, and a muffled clang
followed by a curse from one of the Princes when his dress sword
dropped on his foot.

(The bird hadn’t moved, so that answered at
least one of Georgie’s questions.)

Suppressing her snicker, Georgie schooled
her features into an arrangement resembling princessly disdain.
Mostly she figured she looked like she had gas, but what the hell.
She might as well show the Court she’d learned
something
from her Princess classes.

“Welcome home, my
daughters
.”

Talk about having gas
.

The King spat out the last word with barely
restrained disgust. “I’m sure you are all ready to take your place
beside your chosen mate. To become his support, his inspiration and
bring pride to your family.”

Not to mention enriching the King’s
coffers considerably
. Georgie curled her lip. Of course, to
give the guy his due, he lived in a castle where there wasn’t a
raised toilet seat to be found anywhere.