Dawn breaks over the capital of the kingdom — the glorious city of Aur-Gordan. Lights flicker on in the windows, and the streets glow with a soft pink light. Wet cobblestones sparkle, and the air is filled with the scent of freshly baked bread. On the roof of a house, two cats prepare to fight for dominance over the street. They arch their backs toward each other, almost touching foreheads, growling in deep, bubbling snarls, ready to pounce into a screeching tangle. Suddenly, they freeze and fall silent, turning their eyes to the sky.

  A dragon hovers above the clouds, illuminated by the pink morning light. Its leathery wings stretch wide, seeming almost large enough to cover half the city. The cats back away from each other, deciding to postpone the fight until better times.

  Near the tavern’s porch, a drunkard lies buried in damp hay. Awakened by the morning chill, he tries to squeeze the last drops of wine from a green glass bottle. He lifts it upside down to the sky, freezes, blinks, lets out a hiccup, and lowers it again. Blinking once more at the sight of the dragon vanishing behind the clouds and reappearing, the drunk makes a sign to ward off evil spirits. Muttering promises of eternal sobriety, he flails in the hay, trying to pull himself free.

  Down the main street rolls a covered wagon bearing the crest of House Aismer: a mighty lion standing on its hind legs, wielding a battle axe in its front paws. The crest peeks shyly from beneath a ragged cloth — the baron prefers to keep his attachment to a small bakery in a poor district discreet, especially considering the dangers such attention might bring. Noble folk tend to have many enemies, particularly those prone to quarrels. Baron Asimer once tried relocating the baker and his family to the estate, but the quality of the bread worsened. Perhaps it was the ancient oven that had served generations before him, or perhaps the spirits of those ancestors themselves. No one knows for sure. Now, the baron’s men control the entire flour supply and baking process.

  Every morning, an unmarked carriage collects a generous portion of fresh pastries and delivers them directly to the baron’s table. It’s escorted by well-trained guards in gray cloaks, who hide in the shadows so as not to draw attention. Like true assassins, they know this whole routine is just a performance — everyone who matters already knows the baron's preferences and the route the cart takes.

  From rooftops, black-clad figures observe silently, blending into the early twilight. Their hands grip knife hilts tightly. Attacking would be too risky — if suspicion arises, the cargo will simply be discarded. Of course, the baron’s day will be ruined, but the expensive poison will also go to waste!

  The assassins move soundlessly from roof to roof, nearly invisible among the shadows. They watch and pray to the gods for a moment of distraction. One of the guards suddenly cries out and points to the sky. The others look up, drawing swords and daggers, gaping at the flying dragon. That brief lapse is all it takes. A dark figure darts forward, grabs the box, and vanishes into the alley. A “pleasant” surprise awaits both the baron and his taster.

  The dragon soars above the clouds, offering a breathtaking view of the sleeping city below. People don’t understand how to live — because they’re not dragons. Ahead lies the royal palace, perched atop a hill. The fortress wall glows in the reddish-pink dawn, reflecting sunlight through countless windows. Banners flutter atop the towers. From above, the vast park surrounding the castle spreads out, with a pond shaped like a squiggly line. The rising sun dances across the water’s surface, while birds sing nearby. Water lilies open one by one, releasing fairies who fly off and vanish among trees and flowers.

  Magic flows beneath the earth, weaving into thick veins that run through the world like a living being. The world grows endlessly, expanding through chaos, and the dragon is exhausted after his long journey from the mountains to the kingdom. Sunlight filters through his leathery wings, revealing thin bones and large blood vessels. Spotting a clear patch near the pond, he dives, tearing through the clouds and trailing wisps behind him. Just above the ground, he spreads his wings wide, uses a burst of magic to slow his descent, and lands heavily. Stretching out on the grass, he begins absorbing ambient magic from the soil, breathing deeply through his massive nostrils. His golden-green scales gleam as if polished.

  Letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction, the dragon stretches luxuriously, folds his wings behind his back, and dips his muzzle into the pond. Not exactly a well, but where else should a dragon drink, if not from the royal waters? So long as the king doesn’t decide to bathe there…

  Back at the castle, life stirs at the dragon’s arrival. Pale faces appear at windows, horns blare, chains rattle, and heavy footsteps echo. The dragon rests patiently, his forepaws folded. Soon, the first courtiers emerge from the trees — pale as deep-sea worms, trembling slightly. At their head strides the monarch himself, clad in a crimson robe and a magnificent coat hastily thrown on. Despite his age, his face remains sharp and stern, his powerful jaw adding gravitas. Silver hair is flattened under a golden crown.

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  With a commanding gesture, the king halts his retinue at the tree line and walks boldly toward the dragon. Stopping beside its snout, he smiles broadly.

  “It’s been a long time, lizard.”

  “Yes,” drawled the dragon, his scaly face expressionless, though his eyes sparkled. “It has. I feared I’d arrive too late and find only some distant descendant who forgot our agreement.”

  “And I half-hoped you wouldn't come at all,” the king replied with a bitter chuckle.

  A curious fairy landed on his shoulder, burrowing into his hair, trying to slip under the crown. She climbed carefully onto the balustrade.

  “So you don’t want to pay your debts?”

  “Who does?” the king sighed. “Everyone wants to borrow, but returning… Well.” He waved the fairy away, who buzzed off in annoyance, circled overhead, and vanished into the blossoms.

  “Don’t worry,” the dragon said, attempting a smile — rows of dagger-like fangs flashed, along with a piece of something stuck between them. “I won’t eat her. Who eats princesses anyway? All skin and bones! She’ll stay in my tower for four years and then be free. It’s tradition.”

  “I understand perfectly,” the king said. “Though really, what danger could there be living with a dumb lizard for four years? Unless some wandering knight steals her. Then I’ll have to give him half the kingdom! Can you imagine the mess when fools get lucky?”

  “Listen, I’m not thrilled either, but without this, I can’t start a family.”

  “How does raising a human relate to that?”

  The king stretched like an old man, placing his hands on his lower back, and walked slowly around the pond, the dragon following, watching the play of light on the dissolving clouds.

  “Well, simple: If I can’t handle one person, how will I manage a brood of dragonlings? They’ll be worse than me in their first century.”

  “Traditions…”

  “They are the same, yes. But you did receive an advance. The kingdom cannot exist without my blood, and you cannot wear that cloak.”

  Rubbing his chin, the king felt the short, stiff stubble under his fingers.

  “You're right. Those were good days — adventures, battles, danger at every turn. Your blessing helped more than once. Even now, most my age are long dead, yet here I am — still spry.”

  “You see, I made a promise. And dragons keep their word — like elephants.”

  “Like what ?”

  “Oh, elephants. Huge creatures with big ears and long trunks. They swing them around like you do your arm.”

  “Don’t tell me stories. We have serious business.”

  “I’ve seen them! They travel in herds!”

  “All right, all right. Maybe the world is bigger than we thought.”

  They finished circling the pond as fairies, glowing like floating dandelion seeds, clung to the dragon’s neck and wings. They scratched gently between his scales, making him roll his eyes in bliss, barely holding back a groan. The sun finally broke through the clouds, bathing the world in brilliant color.

  “Dear friend,” the king asked quietly, gazing at the mirrored surface reflecting the trees and towering castle, “you don’t trust me… Is this tied to your future? What is it?”

  With each step, ripples spread across the pond, his tail dragging behind, flattening grass and flowers.

  “You mean… because I have no children?”

  The dragon leaned closer, warm breath tinged with fire enveloping the king.

  “No, I have many — enough to raise an army. But I dread what happens when I die…”

  “Alright, alright. Four years — not a day more!”

  “The dragons keep their word!”

  “And so do I.”

  The king raised his hand sharply. From the palace emerged a dozen servants carrying a canopy fashioned in Eastern style. Golden and pink silks billowed, concealing whoever lay within. The dragon shifted nervously, pressing his tail to the ground to stop it from swaying like a dog’s. The servants set the litter before him and quickly retreated, not daring to straighten.

  The curtain drew back. Golden hair cascaded past the shoulders, a graceful figure dressed in ceremonial finery. Eyes impossibly blue and wide enough to drown in stared back — delicate features spoke of noble birth, lips as soft and pink as the dawn, smooth skin kissed lightly by the sun.

  The dragon looked at the king, clenched his teeth, and growled low:

  “This is a man! What are you doing, old fool? Trying to trick me?!”

  “I didn’t know!” cried the king, spreading his arms. “It’s not my fault they’re all sons! Seventeen legitimate ones!”

  “What about bastards? Any daughters there?!”

  “No! Do you think I didn’t want a daughter? My sons are driving me mad! Take this one — he looks the most like a woman!”

  He pointed at his son, standing rigid in a white uniform with a red sash across his chest. The prince lowered the curtain with the calmest expression possible on a human face. Indeed, his features were soft, feminine, and his lips full — from a distance and in dim light, easily mistaken for a girl.

  “Well?” urged the king, looking between the dragon and his son. “The ladies of the court have plenty of dresses — they’ll send some with him. Add blush and whatever else they use…”

  The dragon groaned, rolled his eyes, covered his snout with his wingtips, and shoved his nose into the dirt.

  “They’ll laugh at me! They’ll brand me a husband! For crying out loud, who kidnaps princes?! Fine, take him — but I have to live with him for four years!”

  “Well, there’s another reason to guard the tower!” the king grinned, showing off his large, noble yellowed teeth. “No one will see from the balcony!”

  Startled by the shouts, the fairies rose into the air, circling the trio before disappearing behind the trees. The dragon opened his mouth to roar, snapped it shut, and fixed a heavy stare on the prince. True — no one would recognize him from the balcony. Especially in a dress and a touch of makeup…

  “Fine… Curse you all, fine! But if anything goes wrong — I burn the entire palace down!”