While there's plenty of butt abuse in this chapter, I like the idea of combining it with plot rather than having it be one comedic accident after another, so the story actually works as a story if you take out just enough slapstick for it to pass as something non-fetishy. There's one more chapter where everything comes to a head before the epilogue, and it's almost done, so be on the lookout for that by the end of this week! :)
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Seat of the Lindworm Prince
by Skaea
Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.
Word Count: 7,316
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Chapter 6: Packing Heat
In the days following the rebellion of the royal army, public approval of Prince Erland started rising at a measured but steady pace, especially with the announcement of his engagement with Ingrid and their plans to host the wedding a month from now. The afternoon escapade involving over two-thirds of the castle staff, several swarms of angry bees, an even angrier unicorn, a dozen jilted archers, and a shoal of interested pike was making the rounds throughout the kingdom at an astonishing pace, and while many couldn’t believe it at first, those who weren’t too afraid of Osmond’s anger to speak their minds unanimously agreed that the bastard deserved everything that had happened to him, seeing as he’d mistreated pretty much everyone for almost a decade. And since his selfish behavior had continued even in the thick of his curse, removing his air of invulnerability seemed to have exposed his despicable nature for all to see.
Even those who held all of dragon kind in contempt for burning down villages, carrying off maidens, and so on agreed: Osmond was worse than any beast of the sort. It was in a dragon’s nature to go on destructive rampages and battle knights on white horses, but perhaps just this once, they could at least choose to be wild and savage away from humanity, or use their ferocity to protect the innocent as Erland did. Osmond, on the other hand, acted savage because he could. And what was more disturbing was that his family had neither abused nor spoiled him – and he’d turned into a heartless despot regardless.
No wonder all of Wyrmwood preferred to be ruled by the Lindworm Prince.
Despite basking in his newfound fame, however, Erland couldn’t help but notice that every time Osmond looked at him now, the elder brother got a chill running down his spine. By all accounts, Erland should’ve been in far higher standing thanks to a single day of escalating artifice, successfully proving to the kingdom that he was willing to take a stand against Osmond, and more than that, willing to provide for the people at a far greater capacity than Osmond cared to reach.
But why, at least from his perspective, didn’t it feel like a victory?
Posing this question to the castle staff resulted in a nigh ubiquitous refrain, that much of the public was willing to look past the traditional contempt and prejudice held towards dragons as a whole and not make a move against those who didn’t cause them trouble – Erland least of all. More than anything, Erland had proved his worth as a ruler, by helping at least some of his people overcome their hesitation to fight for a just cause.
That said, though, Erland’s mind was focused on nothing else but those three words: “at least some”.
Not all of the kingdom had bore direct witness to the start of the rebellion. Not everyone knew of his kindness because, by staying in the castle to try and overthrow his brother, Erland had been forced to ignore the outskirts of the kingdom for now and leave the homeless on the streets and the hungry without meals.
His mother, in her heyday, would know what to do. He did not. And knowing how Osmond felt about him now, it was only a matter of time before he started stirring the ignorant into renting torches and pitchforks from the local mob supply vendors and demanding dragon meat for supper.
Perhaps that was why it felt like humiliating Osmond and currying the favor of the army wasn’t the ticket to usurping him like most people thought, but only a jump over the first hurdle. Erland now had a target on his back for Osmond’s wrath – or rather someplace lower – and one false move now would lead to his brother driving him out of the kingdom for good!
All of this occurred to him while he was lying awake in bed, three nights after he’d first mobilized the castle staff against Osmond and proposed to Ingrid. His fiancee was sound asleep next to him, but she’d noticed that he was too troubled to have a good time with her that evening, and a brief argument had ensued before she’d chosen not to cuddle with him under the covers. He’d related his concerns to her, but for now she was having none of it; even she had that much faith in their success in this endeavor, which was appreciated – but also concerning. So much expectations… and yet, if they screwed up now, they’d be all in dire straits indeed.
The moon was quite low over the horizon and nearly full in the night sky, its silvery light streaming into the room. Osmond was no doubt slumbering deeply in his own chamber, but Erland in his worry couldn’t sleep a wink, and the moonlight, as beautiful as it was, did not help at all.
Unbeknownst to him, though, the odd brightness at this hour was about to become the least of his worries…
*****
Outside the bedchambers, perched on the roof like the world’s loveliest gargoyle, was a dark-haired woman with skin as white as chalk. The elegant, nearly form-fitting silken gown she wore upon her person was a dark blood-red, the gown reaching to around midway down her shins with a long slit on the side that reached up to her waist, for the form of her long, shapely legs to peek through; it was sleeveless, too, for although she couldn’t feel the swelter of excessive heat, she still had to look as sensible as her seductive outfit could manage. Her large, liquid eyes, wine-purple in hue, could almost see through the tiling and observe her target seemingly snoozing below. Her shoulder-length locks billowed as though in a gentle wind, even though the air was all but still in this warm summer night, and as she scowled in distaste, her dagger-like fangs could be seen between lips colored as red as blood.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Evangeline muttered to herself in a hiss of malcontent. “That tyrant thinks he’s got me wrapped around his finger just because he blackmailed me like that. But if I get out of this alive, I swear, I oughta sink my fangs into that luscious deserving rump of his…” The vampiress whispered an oath in some long-forgotten tongue under her breath, still unable to believe that she’d been coerced so cruelly into helping Osmond.
She wondered if the flavor of dragon blood had changed since the last time she’d had it. She’d tried it very few times in her fifteen millenia of existence, and those high-ranking half-dragon nutcases over the eons had tasted to her like sugar-free coffee did to people: potently energizing, but far too strong and bitter for her liking. The contrast with the slightly tart sweetness of human blood diluted with alcohol, her personal favorite, couldn’t be more stark. It was no surprise that she preferred those who hoped to commit crimes against humanity, especially men who came home smashed off their asses and beat their wives and children for the fun of it.
To rip this kind and loving husband-to-be away from his fiancee, especially so close to their wedding, was an anathema to everything she stood for, and if it weren’t for Osmond’s threat of having her burned at the stake in the midday sun in front of the entire kingdom, she would never have agreed to such a task. Still, a job was a job. All she could do was follow through with Osmond’s wishes, and hope to find a relatively clean hiding spot when the sheer amount of ensuing bullshit inevitably hit the windmill.
Deciding that now was as good a time as any to get things over with, Evangeline started making her way towards the window below her, clambering upon the roof like a massive spider, her bare feet and hands only barely making contact with the shingles. She soon found herself hanging by her long, shapely toes from the eaves of the rooftop, her crimson-nailed fingers inching towards the latch of the rather large stained-glass window…
Erland grumbled in annoyance. His and Ingrid’s bedchambers were roomy, sure, but they felt like a greenhouse even in the nighttime. Not caring that the moonlight had suddenly been blotted out, he got out of his bed, strode over to the window, and flung it open.
“AAAACK!” Evangeline had just barely managed to touch the outer window latch with her fingertip when she felt the wooden frame smack her in the face. The force of the impact sent her tumbling head-over-heels off the rooftop, to smack bottom-first onto the steep roof BELOW the window, her silks flipped upward so her bare ass was scraping against the very rough surface.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEK!” Screaming and struggling to adjust her trajectory, she felt her soft, flawless skin being rubbed raw by the sandpaper-like shingles, but there was worse to come. She looked up to see a row of three-inch iron spikes on the edge of the roof, meant to deter birds from perching on it and making a mess. Iron spikes… which were about to meet the severely scraped seat of an undead abomination whose skin reacted very, very badly to cold iron.
This could only end well.
“Oh nonononoNO–”
SHINNKKSSSSSSSSSSH!
“EEEEYIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!”
Shrieking and flailing her legs wildly about, she struggled to get herself free of the horrible ornaments, managing to do so after a few agonizing moments of tugging and pushing. She ended up falling off the roof… and onto another one, with another row of spikes lining ITS edge. And given the height of the castle, there were surely several more of those lying in wait for her.
WHUMP-SHRRIIIPPPP-SHINNKKSSSSSSSSSSH!
“YIIIEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWCH!!!”
WHUMP-SHRRIIIPPPP-SHINNKKSSSSSSSSSSH!
“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!”
The scraping, stabbing, sizzling, and undignified screaming would carry on for a good three minutes.
Erland blinked, picking his ear. The horrific noises he’d just heard did not, in any way, fit the activity of the kingdom at like what, 4 AM? It was like he’d suspected – something wasn’t quite right. What was Osmond playing at this time? This warranted investigation. Maybe tomorrow he’d head out to the outer regions of the kingdom to see if it needed fixing, but sadly, this issue was more urgent.
Pausing only to tuck in his still-sleeping fiancee (and give her a light kiss on the cheek besides), he slipped into his nightgown and slippers, before picking up the silver crucifix pendant on his nightstand to slip around his neck, lighting a candle with a little puff of fire breath, and exiting the room.
Evangeline’s wild ride, meanwhile, had ended with her tumbling rump-first into the viciously thorned rosebushes surrounding the archive wing of the castle, concealing the brown and black snake currently sleeping on one of the inner windowsills within from anyone’s view. After shrieking and kicking impotently for a minute or two, and getting a couple of thorns in the soles of her feet as well, the vampire had to use her demonic powers to levitate herself off the vile plants, yelping as several thorns remained embedded in her bottom. Why had she even agreed to this?! Oh, right. She hadn’t. Osmond had threatened to publicly execute her if she didn’t comply.
She wanted to scream in rage and anguish, but she couldn’t draw anyone’s attention. Instead she slunk into the shadows, waiting and plotting her next move… while also pulling the thorns out of her feet and especially her swollen, punctured bottom, hoping she still had enough eldritch energy to heal it up afterward. If she couldn’t get it back from feeding off of Erland, she’d definitely leech it off Osmond later, whether or not his dastardly plot was successful.
It was to her great surprise that Erland exited the castle a half-hour later, a lit candle in his hand and aiming to investigate the goings-on outside. She tensed in preparation to pounce, but then she realized two things: one, her noisy and excruciating accident from earlier had no doubt given her away, making her designated target more alert than he otherwise would be; and two, he hadn’t come unprepared. A silver cross was now dangling from a thin jeweler’s chain around his neck, and who knew what else was under his robes if he was to go out into the night alone.
Evangeline hissed in annoyance, so quietly that none but herself could hear her. This mission was going to last quite a bit longer than she had suspected.
Erland was indeed on high alert. He should’ve realized that Osmond would stoop so low as to send someone after him. It was clear that after being bested so badly, he’d basically lost all respect of his brother, and would now do everything in his power to discreetly axe him. If Erland hadn’t bought his cross with him, he’d probably lose control outright if he were even accidentally startled; several saints from Europe and France had, in fact, managed to tame a few rampaging dragons by presenting the crucifix symbol, its holy magic seeming to emit a calming effect on them. It did wonders for his stress, he gave it that.
It wasn’t long before the prince spotted a familiar face waiting outside the gates leading out of the castle grounds. Squat-bodied, stocky-limbed, warty-skinned, and at least a head taller than a grown human, the castle security warden, Krak the troll, looked like an oversized obese man with the bumpy, clammy skin of a toad, long muscular arms and short legs like a gorilla, the tusks of a walrus, the trunk-like nose of an elephant seal, large flipper-like hands and feet with webbed digits, and a short but strong tail with a horizontal fish-like fin. Sporting a sleeveless, loose-fitting leather shirt, ragged sack-cloth trousers, and large cowhide slippers, he looked unfit for the job as a guardian, but he got by: his hide was so thick and rubbery that nothing could pierce it, and he did after all have a mace with a spiked ball on the end as wide in diameter as an oxcart wheel. The troll turned to regard the prince, his bald, rock-hard scalp shining in the moonlight, crowning a bulldog-esque head with small fin-like ears, beady dark eyes, and a thick, whiskered mustache under his nasal trunk to go with those foot-long tusks.
“Lovely night, ain’t it, sire?” he asked, his deep croak of a voice rumbling like grinding stone.
“A little too lovely, I must say,” replied the prince, patting the warden’s shoulder. The troll’s skin felt greasy and slimy in the way only an oversized amphibian’s could. “I have a feeling I’m being followed, and I’ve been worrying that a certain someone in the castle might have sent someone else after me.”
Krak grunted in a toad-like fashion. “I get that all the time, believe me. So, s’there anything I can do?”
Erland wiped his hand on his nightgown. “Just keep your post, Krak. But make sure that until the kingdom awakens, nobody gets in the castle – and if they’re already in, nobody gets OUT. Unless it’s someone we know, anyway.”
A splashing commotion in the moat outside the castle drew the attention of both of them. It was quickly silenced, however, and after a bubbling noise, all was quiet once more.
“I’m honestly not sure about this, sire,” Krak said finally. “There be plenty o’ thieves and scoundrels out n’ about. They’ll wanna right piece o’ ya for a good sum after what happened to Osmond a few days back…”
“FINALLY, someone gets it,” Erland sighed. “I keep getting these weird looks from my brother all the time now. It’s like… like he wants me gone.”
“Can’t blame ‘im, given what you an’ the castle folk did to ‘im. He had it comin’, of course, but he takes bein’ upstaged very, very badly, and we all know that.”
“It’s less about being upstaged, and more about trying to keep himself in absolute power. But I very much understand what you mean. I’m dead sure about going out and investigating the goings on, because if anyone is coming for me, I need to be the first to know.”
Krak gulped audibly, hesitating before reaching for the winch to lower the drawbridge. “But what if they do come an’ getcha? Ye’re a prince, sure, but ye’re just one person.”
“Pssh, I’m a DRAGON. I can handle it. And if I’m not back before sunup, ask the staff to send Ingrid my apologies and explanations as soon as she wakes up. I hope she doesn’t get angry at me for going missing.”
Krak paused, and then sighed. “Whatever ye say, sire. And good luck.”
Erland smiled in appreciation, and watched as the drawbridge was lowered.
Evangeline, meanwhile, was secretly thankful that she’d managed to dive before anyone could notice her, because right now she was emitting muffled screams of pain that would’ve surely given her away had she not been submerged. The drawbridge was the only way out for most people, but she’d had to be more discreet about her escape, and so she’d simply scaled the wall and dove into the moat. Unfortunately for her, however, Osmond had imported a dozen Nile crocodiles from Africa to populate the moat and make sure that anyone who fell in wouldn’t make it back out. Several of them had already taken notice of the enticingly jiggling globes of flesh attached to the back of her hips by now, even as she’d run for it along the bottom of the channel, not needing to breathe but definitely needing to escape.
SNAP! “BBLLLBLBLBLB!” CHOMP! “AIEEEBLBLBLBLBLBBLL!!” RIP! “EEEBBLBLBEEEEBBLBLBLBL!!!”
By the time she’d emerged onto the outer edge of the moat, having to resort once again to her dark arts in a bid to yank herself free from the crocodile sinking its teeth into her rump, the hapless villainess was nothing short of furious, and not because of her botched attempt at Prince Erland’s life. As soon as she laid eyes on Osmond again, she promised herself, she was going to kill him.
Grumbling to herself and aiming a manicured middle finger up at the castle, she stormed off in a huff, determined to find Erland and hoping that things wouldn’t go further south than they already had.
*****
Back in the archive wing, Sormr was now milling about in clear agitation. Though her sense of hearing, as with snakes in general, was different than other creatures, being reliant on detecting vibrations in the ground and the air around her, it was still acute enough to clearly pick up the vibrations of someone crashing into the bushes outside, which had jolted her awake in an instant. Who would be up at this hour, she didn’t know, but judging from the way the person had slid down from the roof of the castle, they had apparently tried to climb the outside and taken a nasty fall. There was only one reason for them to do this, and that was to get inside.
Sormr was reptilian in mentality, opting for slow and patient observation without frenetic activity, but she wasn’t stupid. She hated when people called reptiles stupid, for some engaged in playing behavior, others hunted cooperatively, and some could even count. The magic that had created the zaltys breed of magical snake, aside from boosting their intelligence to speech-capable levels, also made them cunning and calculating despite their friendly demeanor. Looking at the way Sormr was curled up in the windowsill, the light of the moon bathing her, you wouldn’t guess that inside her scaly head, the gears were turning at maximum speed.
There were lots of advantages to being most active during the twilight hours. Sormr was, for one thing, able to observe the goings on in the castle at any time of day. And what was more, being able to get up whenever she felt like it made it difficult for people to predict when she’d make her next move, so you’d never know where she could be or whether or not she was overhearing your current conversation – for so developed was the vibration detection of her kind that she could hear at frequencies far higher than any mundane snake, including human speech.
Or, for that matter, the sound of screams, clothing being shredded, and someone’s backside being cruelly impaled by wrought-iron spikes, all coming from outside the castle.
“Alright, Osmond,” she mumbled to herself, before tasting the air with her forked tongue. “What are you up to this time?”
She wondered whether to head up the ventilation ducts, find Ingrid, and warn her and Erland about the intrusion. But then she heard a sudden commotion from the doorways leading into the records room. There was someone there, and judging from the screams and swearing he was emitting, she knew exactly who it was.
By the time Osmond stumbled into the room, cursing about loosely hung ornamental sword displays and rubbing his recently punctured butt cheeks, Sormr was nowhere to be seen. She’d slithered off the windowsill and hid beneath a cabinet, watching intently. Unaware of her presence, he grabbed a silken cushion from a nearby chair and some papers from a nearby compartment before making his way to another chair in front of a desk at the window.
As Sormr watched patiently, the blond prince lit a candlestick perched on the desk, before pressing the cushion to his ass and taking a seat. He was somewhat relieved that nothing was waiting under there to hurt him, but that was not his immediate concern.
He needed to be sure his contingency plan would work, assuming his rather fetching cohort wasn’t successful. And more importantly, he had to check if his plans had been tampered with.
The last time some very important documents of his had vanished, he was wracked with mortal panic. Who could’ve possibly taken them at this hour, and how could they have done so without disturbing a single mote of dust in the treasury room? It had to be that… that witch, he just knew it. But if she was going away from the kingdom, possibly for good, there was no way she could incriminate him. The greatest danger, therefore, lay with Erland now. That was what this plan was for.
He had drafted the route for her to take, relayed the instructions to her, and made sure to leave out the best part of the plan. If he succeeded with THIS, Erland would be no more, and the whole wide world would soon be his.
With a sigh of relief and wistfulness, a satisfied Osmond finally blew out the candle, stood up, and headed out of the library wing in the hope of getting some shut-eye.
Sormr slithered out from her hiding spot, unable to believe that the prince was foolish enough to leave his plans lying around. Either that, or his concerns that someone would dare to steal them would be too far beneath him to notice. Either way, she had to investigate this. She had to know.
Slithering up to the desk, she found herself looking over a stack of parchment with detailed plans and notes, the top of which had a map of the town immediately surrounding the outer end of the castle drawbridge. Two dotted lines were there, one labeled “Evangeline” and the other “Fuckhead” – she guessed that one referred to Erland. Erland’s line led relatively straight, down main street towards the town square, whle Evangeline’s was much more winding, ducking around buildings and crossing narrow alleys. Both of them, however, crossed at several points along the path: next to the local chapel, at the front of the library, and just outside the town square.
All of these intersections had a red X over them. The scarlet ink sent a shiver down Sormr’s extremely long spine. This could mean only one thing.
A sound behind her, coming from the door, jolted her back to reality. In her frantic bid to escape, she accidentally knocked a vial of ink over to spill its contents onto the map, before dropping off the desk and onto the chair, hidden behind the back-rest, but listening intently to the vibrations of someone trying to get the door open.
The angry muttering of that someone made Sormr coil up in mortal fear.
Osmond was coming back.
*****
Erland was now on his way down the main street of the kingdom, and already beginning to wonder if this really was a good idea. He had to know who was out there at this time of the night, though, and if they were to make a move against him by now, if he could fight them on his own. At the very least, he’d have to take them to the castle for trial, if he couldn’t get them to confess outright.
There it was again, the sense that someone was behind him. And he or she was getting a little closer…
Evangeline cursed under her breath. The sky was starting to grow lighter by the second, which could only mean that dawn was fast approaching. It was now or never. Her long red nails extended into hook-like claws, and her fangs seemed to extend a little in her mouth as she reached for the pair of bronze knives strapped to her belt. Next thing her victim knew, she’d emerged from somewhere to his right and leaped at him at full speed, blades drawn!
Three things happened in rapid succession. The first was that the startled prince dropped the candle he was holding, which went out as soon as it hit the floor. The second was that when he stooped to pick up the candle, the equally startled vampiress flew right over him, twisting in mid-air to try and reach him but ending up being carried off by the force of inertia. And the third was that because the entrance gate to the grounds of the local chapel in the uptown district was to Erland’s left, Evangeline hurtled straight through it, smashing the gate open, her curvaceous bottom arcing downwards towards the grass outside the chapel.
The vampire’s beautiful purple eyes nearly popped out of her head even before she’d landed. If she’d thought the injuries induced by the iron spikes and brambles were the worst pain her silk-clad rump had suffered, she was proven very, very wrong an instant later. The holy magic radiating from the church had permeated throughout the entire lot, as it was wont to do in holy ground, which meant that even the thin, pointed blades of the grass outside it were suffused with enough of said magic to make Evangeline’s landing on the lawn feel like sitting on an entire field of red-hot needles, each and every one facing pointy end up.
CRUNCH-POINK-POINK-POINK-POINK-POINK-POINK-POINK-POINK-POINK-SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
“EEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCHHHH!!!”
Having picked up and relit the candle, Erland could only gape in astonishment as Evangeline hurtled into the air, shrieking like the bride of the Devil and clutching her smoking, punctured bottom. In desperate need of water to sooth her agony, she spotted a large and rather full wooden bucket and instantly dove towards it upon landing, enduring more burning, prickling pain in her naked soles and dancing a wild jig like she was on hot coals, further screams of agony pouring from her fanged mouth. As soon as she reached the bucket, she instantly dropped her bottom into the water inside… and regretted it a moment later.
FSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
“AAAAAYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”
The bucket, as luck would have it, was not only within the grounds of the chapel, but also filled with holy water, so patrons could wash their hands free of sin before entering every Sunday. Of all the substances Evangeline could’ve used to douse her buttocks and at least attempt to ease her pain, it was the worst possible candidate, and her mistake was not lost on Erland, who found himself hesitant to help even as she continued screaming and squealing, her long legs kicking about uselessly and her sizable and now severely sizzling seat jammed firmly in the bucket.
It took him a moment to remember that this was the lady in red with all those knives who’d volunteered one night to try and bring Oili back from the dark forest, only for a swarm of pixies to send her packing. Her brazen weapons, dropped onto the lawn, were instantly recognizable. He’d had her bought into the castle to recover from that little debacle, but if he’d been kind enough to help nurse her back to health, surely she wouldn’t want to kill him, right?
Still, dawn was approaching quickly. He couldn’t just leave this daughter of the night in a very bad position, not after the last time. And anyway, if she wanted to murder him, she was welcome to try.
A few moments more passed before Evangeline felt someone grab her by the arm and pull her free from the bucket, but it felt like an eternity. She was too blinded by pain, tears, and her own hair falling over her face to clearly see who it was, but she didn’t care; golden light was sweeping across the kingdom, threatening to devour her in a split second. She bolted the instant she was out of the courtyard, diving for the pub on the other end of the street and slamming the door behind her.
Erland had had enough. The knives he had seen this madwoman try to shank him with told him all he needed to know. Even if she didn’t deserve being reduced to ash, she was definitely going to answer to him in person, and his mother too once she got back from the neighboring kingdoms. With that dismal thought in mind, Erland blew out his candle, undid the latch securing his crucifix pendant around his neck, and then started slipping off his nightgown…
In a desperate bid to escape the sunlight, Evangeline had hurtled through the pub, scrambling for the wine cellar, and flung it open before descending into the thankfully unlit depths within. Safe from the sunlight at least, she still had a very sore bottom to deal with, the sting of the holy water and hallowed ground turning her skin a horrible dark purple and causing it to emit thick, putrid smoke. Half-running, half-hopping in a tight circle around the perpetually darkened space in the very back of the cellar, she continued screaming her head off and slapping her cauterized caboose for several minutes before the horrifying sensation finally began to fade into a throbbing, aching feeling in her mangled bottom. Upon coming to a stop, she leaned against one of the shelves, unable to help herself bawling from the torturous feelings that had plagued her in the last hour – and were no doubt going to earn her Osmond’s wrath very, very soon.
So preoccupied with her sorry state was she that the vampire failed to notice something huge and sinuous coming up right behind her, until a hand the size of a couch wrapped its scaly, taloned fingers around her slender waist, and lifted her up into the air. After shrieking and flailing for a few seconds, she suddenly went silent and limp, wide-eyed with absolute terror, as she found herself nose-to-snout with one sleep-deprived and very annoyed lindworm.
“Unless you want far more than just your arse to burn,” Erland snarled, the corners of his fang-filled maw beginning to smoke, “you have exactly thirty seconds to explain yourself…”
*****
Sormr didn’t dare move.
She should’ve known that Osmond would return to pick the papers up. And now her lapse in judgement would mean she’d surely be discovered. All she could do was coil up as tightly as she could and pretend to be part of the seat cushion.
Osmond was mentally cursing himself for forgetting to put the papers back. What if someone had managed to slip into the records room and take them? Then it’d all be over for him… He had to bring them to his room before they were–
And then he saw the ink stains on the map of the town outside the drawbridge.
Oh no.
Some HAD been here. And ruined his plans, too!
He had to check. He needed to make sure nothing else was damaged or missing. He lit the candle once again, and prepared to sit down…
Now, as a reminder, Sormr was coiled up on the chair cushion which, being patterned in a brownish hue with black spots like the fur of some kind of exotic animal, hid her surprisingly well. However, being in the chair left her in a very bad position, and if Osmond took a seat now, he’d crush or smother her.
It’s also worth remembering that like most other snakes, Sormr had a set of small but very sharp teeth in her mouth, not for seizing prey or injecting venom – she was an egg-eater, after all – but to defend herself from the myriad of much larger creatures in the area that could easily kill her. And she wasn’t hesitant to use them, especially not with a rather large and shapely bottom about to squish her flat…
Sormr struck so quickly that Osmond didn’t even have time to register that she was there. Her needle-like teeth slipped out of their gums as they zeroed in on his left buttock…
CHOMP!
His eyes went wide. The stained paper he was holding fell from his hands. And then, well…
“YIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWCH!!!”
Shrieking and hopping about madly, the prince tried to shake his unwelcome guest off of him, accidentally swiping the papers off the desk and onto the floor. In a bid to wrench herself free, Sormr’s long, sinuous body accidentally knocked itself into a dragon-slayer’s helmet, lined with spikes as long as a man’s thumb, which fell to the floor with a crash. Reaching behind him, Osmond grabbed at the reptile and tried to pull her off his very sore butt, unaware of its misplacement. By the time he’d wrenched her free and tossed her aside, he’d been thrown off balance, with the helmet right behind him and dangerously close…
“WAAAAAAAGH!”
WHMP-SHNNNK!
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!”
Osmond howled in pain, kicking his legs about as he lay curled on the floor, trying to yank the helmet off his bottom, but the spikes were embedded very deeply. Guards were already making their way towards the records room, and the sight that would greet them would not be pretty.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Sormr slithered towards the papers, desperately trying to find something, anything, that she could relay to the rest of the castle.
Then she froze, finding herself staring down a map of all of Europe, along with western Russia, northern Africa, and some of the Middle East.
Labelled red dots on the map indicated certain towns and cities, but the text wasn’t describing towns, and some had multiple labels. And reading all of them made her recoil with a hiss of horror.
Y-Drai-Goch. Graoully. Tarasque. Landvaettir. Ladon. Azi Dahaka. Zmey Gorynych. The most famous and influential dragons of yore, all of them. And attached to a dot somewhere in Sweden, there was the name of Nidhoggr, the serpent beneath the world tree called Yggdrasil…
Beneath the map were plans and diagrams showing dragons of every shape and form, including anatomy charts and notes on how to slay each and every one. Notes on which people held them in respect or contempt, how to turn them against the dragons who protected them or mobilize them against those who were better left alone. The horrifying implication was almost too much for her to bear.
And most distressing of all was a dot on the map, located in Denmark. That one was labelled “The Lindworm Prince”.
Osmond had managed to get to his feet, and he finally pulled the helmet off of him and tossed it aside. Upon seeing what the snake was looking at, he screamed and made to lunge for her, but then the doors to the records room were flung open.
Two guards entered to find him staggering about and clutching his bottom, a mess of papers and a live four-foot snake on the floor.
“Uh… Is this a bad time?” asked the guard at the front, a rather cute young man in his late teens with pale skin, unkempt platinum-blonde hair which was almost white, and vivid ice-blue eyes.
“GET THE SNAKE! DON’T JUST STAND TH–” Osmond was fuming, but to his great indignation, he was cut off by another guard.
Another guard spoke up in reply. “We’ve received word from some of the locals. There was a commotion outside the chapel…”
Silence greeted them. Then Osmond turned his head towards them expectantly. “Who was involved?”
The white-haired guard answered. “Sire, there was Erland, and this woman, with raven hair and a badly singed bottom… They were found talking about you, something to do with a plot on your part to–”
Osmond couldn’t take it anymore. Without warning, he seized the helmet he had sat upon and hurled it across the room, sending the startled guards diving for cover.
The silence following the clank of metal hitting the wall was worthy of a medieval mausoleum. And then Osmond spoke in a very low, trembling snarl.
“Seize them. Both of them. Right now. Or so help me God, I will have every single one of you RIPPED LIMB-FROM-LIMB BY THE ROYAL HUNTING DOGS RIGHT THIS FUCKING INSTANT!” That last part was a deafening scream that made everyone present flinch in horror.
“But sire–”
“NOW!”
The absolutely demented look on Osmond’s face terrified everyone present so badly that they ran screaming from the room. Even before they’d left, he grabbed the side of the table and flung it across the library, shattering it to splinters and scattering stationary and papers everywhere.
And then he dropped the lit candle onto the papers, which blossomed into flame. Most of his miscellaneous plots and schemes would be lost forever, but one plan, the most important collection, had managed to escape… along with the serpent that had snatched the papers and slipped away when he wasn’t looking.
Osmond continued hurling things around the library and smashing all he could, priceless artworks and books becoming nothing but fuel for the fire. That final betrayal had pushed him over the edge, causing him to go into a downward spiral of utter madness. But he would have his revenge here and now. Sooner or later, all of his sacrifices would be worthwhile.
So caught up in his fury was he that he didn’t notice that his back was turned towards the window, or that the leg of the wrecked table was behind him, until he stumbled backwards to try and balance himself while hurling a hundred-year-old Bible across the room, tripped over the wood, and landed rump-first in the blazing fire.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!”
*****
Erland couldn’t believe what had just happened. It had come and gone so fast that he barely had time to comprehend it, and yet here he was, in a deep pit in the depths of the dungeon.
More than half the army, no doubt spurred by an enraged Osmond and his guards, had all but torn down the pub and found the cellar door, surrounding him and Evangeline with every weapon imaginable. And then Osmond himself had appeared among them, his bottom still smoking, and glared so hatefully at the two of them that even Erland had shriveled like a prune.
“I should have known,” he had snarled. “Of course you’d be in cahoots with HIM, you useless, scandalous whore! Erland, Evangeline, for your crimes against the empire, for your crimes against ALL OF GOD’S CREATION, I’ll have you both sentenced to death, which will be in effect first thing tomorrow!”
Erland’s eyes had widened in horror. “Brother… why? Why are you doing this?”
The glare of absolute loathing Osmond had given him would have withered all the trees in the royal orchard. “You turned my life upside-down and inside-out, and taken away everything I held dear just by EXISTING. I think it’s time I pay you back. And pay THE ENTIRE KINGDOM back besides.”
“You absolute MADMAN!” Evangeline had screamed, but she was blocked from murdering him by a wall of iron blades. “Do you have any bloody idea what the fuck you’re doing?!”
“I don’t care. You two deserve it. THEY ALL deserve it! Now, lock these abominations up until I can deal with them safely. And if anyone tries to stop you, arrest them, too.”
By the time the sun was beginning to set, the dying day taking the utter pandemonium with it, more than two-thirds of the castle staff had been put in the dungeons to await THEIR execution, Ingrid’s mother had sacrificed her freedom to get her daughter to a safe hiding place, and fuck, even THE ARMY ITSELF had been imprisoned. Not even Krak was safe, bound in chains and thrown in a cell several sizes too small. And then there was the horde of very angry townspeople, several thousand strong, which was being handed torches and pitchforks by the farmers outside the kingdom, including Ingrid’s father, free of charge.
In short, chaos was on the horizon. And all who stood by Erland were caught in the middle.
The circular pit the lindworm was in had smooth, vertical walls that he couldn’t climb out of, and was so deep that he was barely visible at the bottom. Osmond had made sure that nobody save one could speak to him. High above, Evangeline was dangling from the ceiling of the dungeon by a long rope harness, holes in said ceiling allowing thin beams of sunlight to shine through in a small circle around her. She had been stripped naked and strategically positioned so that any movement on her part would lead to her swinging about on the harness and her bare bottom coming into contact with the searing beams, as she’d found out the hard way with no small amount of squealing and swearing.
Aside from that, it was quiet in the dungeon for a long time.
Evangeline’s voice, a quiet whimper of utter horror, broke the silence. “I… I’m so sorry.”
Down below, Erland lay coiled up and in total misery. “I know. And I would accept your apology. But it won’t solve anything now.”
“If I hadn’t gone after you, none of this–”
“I don’t blame you. You had no choice.” He paused, drawing in a loud sniffle that sounded more like air being sucked into an enormous pair of bellows. “We all had no choice.”
“But Osmond… Your brother rules by instilling fear. And I can say from experience that fear can be overcome by–”
“Just stop talking. It isn’t helping.” He blinked slowly. “Nothing is helping. And nothing can, not now, not ever.”
The vampire stared down at him, dumbfounded. “So that’s it? After all you’ve done for your people, you’re just… giving up?”
He looked up at her, his green eyes huge and his normally slitted pupils almost round. Even as an alpha predator, one could clearly see the anguish and betrayal etched upon his scaly face.
“It’s over, Evangeline,” he said sadly. “I can’t do this anymore. There’s no way anyone will let me now.” His voice cracked, and if dragons could shed tears, he would’ve. “Osmond of Wyrmwood has won.”
Unbeknownst to the two of them, however, a pair of much smaller reptilian eyes, orange in color and belonging to a four-foot-long legless reptile hidden in one of the air ducts leading away from the dungeon, would have narrowed had their owner had the facial muscles for it.
Not yet he hasn’t, thought Sormr, the papers she had filched from a certain room in the archival wing clutched in her tail.
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