The Dragons' Chosen by Gwen Dandridge

clever, and did everything but wag my tail like a hunting dog retrieving a grouse.
    But beneath it all I shivered. My name and position no longer shielded me. A man had thought to take advantage of my situation. And I had bitten someone, protected myself with nails and teeth. This was not like sparring with the weapons master. I was flooded with emotion: embarrassment, shame, and yet, strength. It was distasteful that I was reduced to such, but I now knew that I would defend myself if attacked, and not just with words.
    And through it all, as the music played, I smiled and charmed.
    Mother would have given me her nod of approval. Frederick was not to be seen; I hoped he had taken his lesson to heart.
    I had learned mine.
    Lucinda watched my performance from the sidelines with no expression on her face. Later that night, as she helped me dress for bed, she still said nothing, though the bruises on my body were obvious in the candlelight. She held my arm out, examining the dark spots, before rubbing it with an herbal mixture that smelled of camphor and mint.
    I slept, dreaming of dragons who rode the wind, nobles who sprouted fangs and a woman who wore writing on her chemise.

 
    Chapter 10
     

     
    We left early the next morning, well before I was prepared to be awake.
    I quietly informed Captain Markus of George and Michael’s gallant behavior, though the details didn’t bear recounting. As Mother was wont to say, self-pity is so plebian.
    Riding along the dusty road, I reviewed the previous night: thinking about my folly with Frederick; how he had taken advantage of my situation, not for love, or even lust, but for power. None of my peers had looked for me, nor come to my aid. My rescuers had been my father’s men, George and Michael. It came to me that I hadn’t expressed my appreciation to them, taking their rescue as my due. An uncomfortable thought crossed my mind; what must they think of me, not only naïve and reckless but ungrateful also.
    An opportunity for reparation came at our midmorning stop. George held Winter’s reins as I dismounted. Nearby, Michael checked his mount’s feet for stones, both of them acting as if nothing had happened the night before. Lucinda busied herself with Dumpling’s saddlebags, pretending not to hover.
    When I didn’t leave, George raised his eyes to mine, questioning. I reached over, patting Winter’s mane to cover my embarrassment. “I never said thank you.”
    George exchanged a glance with Michael before speaking. “Nothing to speak of, My Lady. We protect our own. We could see he was up to no good.”
    “But you didn’t have to. You should have been off enjoying a pint of ale.”
    George nodded. “We have daughters too. He’s not worth the backside of a bullock’s bastard.” He flashed a discomforted look at me. “Begging your pardon, My Lady.”
    Impulsively, I grabbed his hand. “George, you do not need to beg my pardon. If anything, I need to beg yours. It was my inattention that put me in that situation.”
    His ears reddened. “No, My Lady, ’tis nothing to mention. At your age I got into foolish scrapes way worse.” His whole face and neck turned a dull red. “Not that I’m thinking we’re alike in any way, or that you were foolish,” he stammered.
    I fixed him with a look. “No, you’re right. I made a foolish choice.”
    George protested, “It was something anyone might have done, My Lady.”
    Anyone who hadn’t been raised as had I, perhaps.
    “I’m no longer who I was. Please, you don’t need to be so formal.”
    Michael looked at me from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. “You’re our princess—for the duration of this journey and beyond.”
    Something snapped inside me. This journey also affected these men. Men whom I had all but ignored.
    I stood tall, comprehending. Yes, I was going to my death, but they would take the guilt back with them, living with it day after day, year upon year.
    “And you need to know that while I am your