screams seemed far away from my thoughts, like I wasn’t even here. Somehow, though, it made sense. It wasn’t even my own body. Really, despite feeling the acolytes’ hands yanking off my boots and leggings, in some sense I was just an observer watching the violence done to someone else. The paralysis only served to enhance the dreamlike dislocation. The part of my mind that continued to think along these terms wondered if this was really the case, why was I still screaming?
Apparently, one of the acolytes wondered the same thing, and, after cutting part of my undergarments off, shoved some of the shreds into my mouth. Unable to scream anymore, I could hear Prince Dudley idly talking to some of the other Nâtlac worshipers by my feet.
Someone was asking whether they should deflower the sacrifice before or after they cut out the heart. Prince Dudley responded that there was no reason why the deflowering couldn’t happen before
and
after, something about the best of both worlds.
That was the point where the dislocated observer part of my mind decided to start screaming as well.
CHAPTER 11
I don’t have a real clear memory of the next few moments. It seemed to last an eternity with me paralyzed, naked, and gagged on the altar, black-robed acolytes holding down my arms and legs as if I could move, Dudley at my feet undoing his breeches. At some point I remember hearing someone say, “At least it’s not another wizard.”
But, as Prince Dudley started climbing up to take the princess’s virginity, a familiar shadow crossed above us. Dudley and the other acolytes looked up as a booming voice called down.
“I always thought you were overcompensating for something, Dudley.”
Above us, dropping out of the clouds, was a black dragon gliding on fifty-foot wings, snaking its long neck down in our direction, opening a set of toothy jaws that could comfortably envelop half the altar.
One of the men holding my arms screamed like a little girl.
Prince Dudley’s eyes went wide and the color drained from his face. He raised himself to his knees and slid backward off the altar, still staring at the sky. He reached down to the ground, where his breeches, belt, and scabbard had been left. He grabbed blindly for his sword, staring at the descending dragon.
It was a bad plan.
I didn’t see exactly what happened, but his sword only came half out of its scabbard as something tangled up in his feet and he fell backward, naked sword between his naked legs. He cursed in pain as he dropped out of my line of sight and I winced inside.
Then my field of vision was filled by a wall of muscle and dragon scales. The dragon had landed with its feet straddling the altar. I saw a scaled forearm make a sweep and I heard an acolyte scream.
Its head—
her
head—bent down to look at me. “Move! I’m trying to rescue you!” Her breath blasted my naked skin with the scent of sulfur and brimstone.
I’d never been happier to have a dragon yell at me.
“I can’t!” I called up at her. “Binding charm!”
The dragon uttered a word that I’m sure princesses weren’t supposed to know. Then she knocked back a line of acolytes with another sweep of her forearm, raised her head, and belched three cannonball-size balls of fire after them. I heard more screams from beyond my line of sight.
“I don’t believe this . . .”
She swung her tail and knocked aside another half-dozen black-robed figures as she reached down and grabbed me. She hugged me to her chest and flapped her wings, and suddenly we were airborne.
Below, I heard a familiar voice uttering an elaborate challenge up at her. We rocketed up out of the gray mists of the cursed black forest, and the Dragon Lucille asked me, “Did someone participating in a sacrifice to the Dark Lord Nâtlac just call me an unclean abomination?”
I gulped air and yelled over wind whipping past us. “That’s Sir Forsythe the Good. I think he’s a bit confused.”
She grunted and
Apparently, one of the acolytes wondered the same thing, and, after cutting part of my undergarments off, shoved some of the shreds into my mouth. Unable to scream anymore, I could hear Prince Dudley idly talking to some of the other Nâtlac worshipers by my feet.
Someone was asking whether they should deflower the sacrifice before or after they cut out the heart. Prince Dudley responded that there was no reason why the deflowering couldn’t happen before
and
after, something about the best of both worlds.
That was the point where the dislocated observer part of my mind decided to start screaming as well.
CHAPTER 11
I don’t have a real clear memory of the next few moments. It seemed to last an eternity with me paralyzed, naked, and gagged on the altar, black-robed acolytes holding down my arms and legs as if I could move, Dudley at my feet undoing his breeches. At some point I remember hearing someone say, “At least it’s not another wizard.”
But, as Prince Dudley started climbing up to take the princess’s virginity, a familiar shadow crossed above us. Dudley and the other acolytes looked up as a booming voice called down.
“I always thought you were overcompensating for something, Dudley.”
Above us, dropping out of the clouds, was a black dragon gliding on fifty-foot wings, snaking its long neck down in our direction, opening a set of toothy jaws that could comfortably envelop half the altar.
One of the men holding my arms screamed like a little girl.
Prince Dudley’s eyes went wide and the color drained from his face. He raised himself to his knees and slid backward off the altar, still staring at the sky. He reached down to the ground, where his breeches, belt, and scabbard had been left. He grabbed blindly for his sword, staring at the descending dragon.
It was a bad plan.
I didn’t see exactly what happened, but his sword only came half out of its scabbard as something tangled up in his feet and he fell backward, naked sword between his naked legs. He cursed in pain as he dropped out of my line of sight and I winced inside.
Then my field of vision was filled by a wall of muscle and dragon scales. The dragon had landed with its feet straddling the altar. I saw a scaled forearm make a sweep and I heard an acolyte scream.
Its head—
her
head—bent down to look at me. “Move! I’m trying to rescue you!” Her breath blasted my naked skin with the scent of sulfur and brimstone.
I’d never been happier to have a dragon yell at me.
“I can’t!” I called up at her. “Binding charm!”
The dragon uttered a word that I’m sure princesses weren’t supposed to know. Then she knocked back a line of acolytes with another sweep of her forearm, raised her head, and belched three cannonball-size balls of fire after them. I heard more screams from beyond my line of sight.
“I don’t believe this . . .”
She swung her tail and knocked aside another half-dozen black-robed figures as she reached down and grabbed me. She hugged me to her chest and flapped her wings, and suddenly we were airborne.
Below, I heard a familiar voice uttering an elaborate challenge up at her. We rocketed up out of the gray mists of the cursed black forest, and the Dragon Lucille asked me, “Did someone participating in a sacrifice to the Dark Lord Nâtlac just call me an unclean abomination?”
I gulped air and yelled over wind whipping past us. “That’s Sir Forsythe the Good. I think he’s a bit confused.”
She grunted and
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