***
“I don’t want to stay here,” princess Alice says for the hundredth time. “I want to go back to the island.”
Apparently flowery language only lasts when she’s not terrified. Bonnie doesn’t know whether to be happy or disappointed about that. On the one hand all that stooping was getting on her nerves. It’s strange being the man in the situation and having someone scared to look you in the eye or offend you. It’s nice that three years with only a dragon for company gave her confidence enough to express an opinion to two men she doesn’t know. On the other hand, it’s an annoying opinion, and it doesn’t get any less annoying every time she repeats it.
“Great idea,” Bonnie says throwing her arms in the air. “Just show us the way. I’m sure we’ll be there in no time.”
Princess Alice hunches her shoulders and drops her gaze to the ground.
“Leave her alone,” Neven says, moving faster to walk by the princess’s side. “It’s not her fault we’re lost.”
“As opposed to you, you mean?” There’s an ache of regret the moment the words leave her mouth, but its pain is tempered by another feeling. Satisfaction. Her tongue may have been more free with Neven than other boys, but she’s always been aware that he would grow into a man. A woman insulting a man is as unnatural as a dragon playing tea parties. A man insulting a man however, that’s as commonplace as that same dragon eating its tea party companions, china cups and all.
Neven’s mouth drops open, before he closes it, gathering himself. “Well if someone didn’t decide out of the blue that slaying a dragon was a great way to spend a sunny morning…”
Red hot anger boils through her. Anger at him, anger at herself, anger at the dragon. Before she knows it the words are out. “And if you weren’t so scared of everything, your father would’ve sent you off to war and we wouldn’t be here!”
It’s unfair. She knows it as soon as the words are out. Neven can’t help who he is, just as she can’t help who she is. She opens her mouth to take the words back, but can’t think how.
“We should stop for the night,” Neven says, his voice ice cold. “I’ll gather wood and you can start a fire.”
She nods. There’s nothing else to do. Hopefully a fire will keep the worst of the dark magic away.
By the time they find a clearing , Neven’s arms are full of sticks of all sizes. They build the fire in silence, Bonnie’s experience working together with Neven’s instinctive knowledge of where the bits should go. The princess crouches down beside them, her arms crossed over her chest for warmth. She’s shaking. Her dress is made for beauty, not for warmth. The shining blue material would be fine in a summer’s day, but does little to keep the cold of the night out. Here in the forest, the thick barrier of trees should protect them from the worst of the cold, but somehow it seems colder here than it should.
The dragon follows them, trees creaking sideways as he pushes past, sometimes cracking in two or wrenching up out of the soil. He shuffles around the clearing a few times, making it bigger with every step, then curls up like a cat opposite their fire. It’s a stark reminder of how large the dragon is; him lying in his self-made clearing while they huddle together in the tiny space they have left between his belly and feet.
Heat radiates off his stomach where the scales are not quite as thick. If they were to huddle in close there, they might not even need a fire. Bonnie glances up from the flint she’s striking to look at Neven and Alice’s faces. They’d have to be pretty desperate to consider that. She doesn’t even know why SHE’S considering it.
“When we were falling,” the princess says shivering, her nose and cheeks a raw red in the dim light. “You called the dragon Gelert. Why did you do that?”
Bonnie drops the flint onto the pile of underbrush she’s trying to light. For a moment she can’t breath. Gelert. How long has it been since she’s said that name aloud? Wooden boxes, red scales, and blood the same shade all fill her mind before she shakes her head, makes herself pick up the flint. “It’s got to be a better name than Sir Dragon.”
"I read about him," Princess Alice says. "Gelert the hound. He was a loyal hound, until one day his master found his infant son gone from the cradle, and when he went to look for him he found Gelert with his muzzle covered in blood. Enraged the man killed the hound."
Neven glances uneasily at the half asleep dragon. "I don't think that's the smartest thing to name him. If he turns, he's going to be a lot harder to stop than one hound."
Bonnie shakes her head, picking up where Alice left off. "After killing the hound, the man went to look for his son's body. What he found was a wolf dead and the baby unharmed. Gelert had killed the animal and protected the boy. So he was faithful to the end. Some say he was the most faithful hound that's ever lived."
“It’s so very cold,” the princess says. “Will we have a fire soon?”
“Soon,” Bonnie says, striking the flint again. A spark rises but fails to spread to the underbrush. She remembers enough from father’s lessons to know how it should work, but it doesn’t seem to work the same way in her small hands as it did in his large ones. She takes a sharp breath, trying to force down the urge to throw the stones into the darkness pressing in on them.
“Here. Let me,” Neven says, taking the stones from her without waiting for an answer. “Look in our packs and see if there’s something warmer for the princess to wear.”
She steps away from the fire and sits down heavily next to the princess. Cold leeches up from the ground like it’s something alive, wriggling its freezing fingers up through her veins to warm itself over her heart. She ignores it, digging through the bags. The dress she’d changed out of sits at the very bottom. She’d forgotten she had it. She tosses it into the girl's lap.
Princess Alice pulls it on over her blue gown. It looks odd, worn woollen material over shining silk. Blue stands out bright on the arms and hem where Alice's extra head of height makes the dress sit shorter on her than it did Bonnie. She's lucky it had always been such a poor fit on Bonnie, like wearing a turnip sack instead of a dress, otherwise it would never have fit over Alice's waist and chest, let alone the frilly gown.
No sooner has Alice pulled the dress on, than the fire springs into life. The princess leans into the heat, watching as Neven piles on twigs, then some of the larger pieces of wood. "Gelert is a good name," she says. "But we should still be careful. My father said that after my true love came, none of the spells would last. I grew fond of the dragon, but I know his true nature is not the one he carries now."
Bonnie clenches her teeth together and looks at the dragon. He's giant now, where before he would barely have reached his own ankle. But the more she watches him, the more it seems the height is the only thing that's changed. His eyes are the same dark pools, his scales as bright a red as ever. The way he looks at her sometimes; like he knows who she is. It sets her heart on edge.
"So you agree with Neven?" Bonnie asks her. "You think I should kill him before the spell breaks?"
Alice flushes red. She ducks her eyes, as if only now remembering her station as a woman. "I would not presume to tell you what to do, and I'm sure your skill with a sword is unparalleled."
"But?" Bonnie prompts, deciding once and for all that she prefers the girl when she forgets herself. She's roughly of age with herself, but holds herself to expectations others had of her before she left for the tower when she was little more than a child. Sometimes she even forgets those expectations.
"But if you don't kill him soon," the princess continues quietly. "I worry that he'll never give you the chance to."