"At the end of the week, I'll be heading back to the capital and my mother will be announcing the victor." It annoyed Stanton that he hadn't even had a chance to organize the second contest properly. School had resumed and, as school does, it devoured his time.
The ring Gisse had given him had been a major part of his study. He'd taken it to Professor Celia, who had shown a keen interest in a soul-binding ring that didn't, supposedly, ensorcell the mind at all.
He looked between Triana, Lorissa, and Battlemaid. It hadn't been too hard for him to find out they had colluded together with promises for each to get exactly what they wanted. "You all know Triana's my choice."
Triana, of course, was grinning like the cat that ate the canary, though that didn't stop her from reminding them, "Elspeth hasn't backed out. You can bet she'll be there."
"If she causes some kind of scene, let Mother put her down. Unless she threatens any of you, that is." Smirking, Stanton waited for the inevitable question, but it didn't come. "What about me, I hear you ask? Let her come at me. Me beating her down will work better for us, anyway. It will show I am not interested in her."
Triana shrugged her shoulders and examined a nail. "She's gotten really bitchy lately, and not in a way that would endear her to anyone. Are you sure you can handle her?"
Lorissa laughed. "You know his magic gets stronger when he transforms, right? She'll be like a puppy to him."
"And not the kind I'll take in and feed," Stanton said. "So. I'll make sure Mother knows this. I won't accept any other pairing."
It made Triana smile to hear. "So, you have your dresses sorted?" She looked not just at Stanton, but Battlemaid and Lorissa too. She was doing her best to ignore the thumping on the inside of the chest that Stanton was sitting on.
Sliding to the side, Stanton thumped on the top of the box. "I told you, Angel, you're not getting out until you agree not to sabotage this."
"This is why I told you not to associate with wolves." Swiftpaw Deathbringer sat comfortably on Lorissa's lap. He may have even purred once or twice. "They squabble worse than kittens."
"But they are fun to watch." Lorissa kept up petting Swiftpaw, quite happy to have him there for moral support. "Let her out, Stanton. She only wants what she thinks is best for you."
Sighing, Stanton stood up and opened the chest. Giving her only just enough time to rush out, he sat back down on the chest and crossed his arms. "Angel, I'm never going to marry a guy. You have to accept that."
Crossing her arms over her own fuzzy chest, Angel made a soft humph sound. "You didn't even try!" It was an argument she'd used, and lost, before. Angel's heart wasn't in it. She'd watched Stanton and Triana rekindle an old friendship and, as the year had worn on, grow closer. "Ugh. Alright. I guess you can marry her."
"Angel, this is betrothal, not marriage. It's a promise, and an intention to progress, but we're not getting married this week." Reaching out, he grabbed up Angel and pulled her into a hug against his chest. "Sorry I got carried away and put you in the chest."
"You should be. At least it smells better in there than it used to." Surrendering to the cozy attention, Angel reached her arms around Stanton's neck. "This would have been sooooooooo much easier if you'd been a girl to start with."
"That totally wasn't my fault." Taking a deep breath and hugging Angel a little tighter, he added, "And I'm doing the best I can not to let you down."
"You have never let me down. I'm just set in my ways is all. I like Triana and Lorissa and Battlemaid. They're all super nice and I like how they all make you smile. Even that demon seems really nice." Angel slumped and let Stanton hold her. "I never thought I'd be seeing a magical girl making friends with a demon."
"Hey, it doesn't take much hard work to be good if you're human or elf. It's practically a fifty-fifty chance of you either being good or bad. But a demon being good is something amazing. She has to fight her nature constantly not to enslave people!" Fully prepared with a speech, talking points, and notes, Stanton could have spent the better part of a day extolling Gisse's virtues—mostly because it was a miracle that she had any.
"She's welcome to your time, Stanton, but if you plan to bed her, keep one of us there too, okay?" Triana asked. "I'm serious. As much as you trust her, her culture is still strong to her, and she might accidentally do something you'll both regret."
Stanton sighed. "That's a whole other problem. She thinks I'm physically male, and I think she'd notice if we got under the sheets and I had less and more than what she expected."
"You need to tell her, Stanton," Lorissa said. "Apart from you, I've probably spent the most time talking with her. She's genuinely nice, and tries to do good; plus fixated on you. She's done the most amazing drawings of you. I don't care if you feel bad about it, you have to tell her the truth because she deserves it."
It was a new level of trust that he'd have to extend, and though he felt a little anxiety about it, he was reassured by the support of the others. "What about Cass?"
"You haven't told her yet? Ugh, Stanton! Yes, tell her. She deserves to know. She's been your friend for how long now?" Glaring at him, Triana sighed. "This secrecy thing is just too much."
"I didn't want to hurt anyone. I mean, if the dragon figured out who all my friends were, it might go after them instead of me." It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and Stanton still thought it was.
"Your friends? You mean the crazy lightning sorceress, the werewolf, the werecat, the cute golem girl with more explosions than a fire mage, and a succubus?" Lorissa put as much sarcasm into her descriptions, gave a wink to Battlemaid as appropriate, and ended with a raised eyebrow the likes of which would require a construction permit to repeat.
"Okay. The next time I see either, I'll tell them."
----------------------------------------
Stanton had been so caught up in making arrangements for going to the capital that he'd not been able to get in touch with Gisse. With all his classes becoming more specialized, too, he hadn't even seen Cassandra. But, on the last day before he would be formally betrothed, he resolved to contact both.
He left the academe after his final class for the day, which was mid-afternoon, and decided to find Cassandra first. He made a point of asking a few people around school first, but when no one had seen her all day, he figured she'd be at home in her dormitory.
The walk to her apartment was an odd dichotomy for Stanton. On one hand he felt anxiety at finally revealing the truth, but consequently he looked forward to getting it off his (well-concealed) chest.
He was so distracted with his thoughts that, halfway to Cassandra's home, he wandered past an alleyway that, with hindsight, he probably should have avoided. A pair of large, clawed hands reached out for Stanton and dragged him off the street and into the darkened interior. He didn't even have a chance to look at what had grabbed him before his head bumped against the ground and, with a feminine growl from above him, he was unconscious.
Waking up reminded Stanton that he should avoid being hit on the head as much as possible. Calling what he had a headache would be a gross insult against headaches. "Did anyone get the number of— Huh?"
Looking around, Stanton was in a plushly decorated room that, nonetheless, had the smell of dampness about it. There were rugs on the floor, cushions everywhere, and tapestries on the walls. He was, at that moment, on a huge bed that looked big enough to hold ten of him. It would have been fairly cozy if it weren't for the steel collar around his neck and the chain securing him to the wall.
Holding the chain in one hand, Stanton scooted his way along the bed to where the restraint was anchored into the wall. Huge bolts fastened it in place. "Well, time to use a little magic and—"
A flare of light, red and purple, made the whole room glow for a moment as Stanton tried to channel some magic. A huge pattern drawn into the carpet with magic drew away the spell he'd intended to cast and left him feeling oddly empty. But, Stanton knew that magic. "Gisse?"
It was demonic magic, for sure, and he'd felt her casting enough to know it was hers, but that meant—
"Stanton Raveel-Sharptooth." Cassandra had hoped she could have grabbed him and run as her normal self, then revealed to him at a safe, later date that she was the dragon. The opportunity had come and, excluding an accidental dropping of him as she misjudged her own strength, she had mostly succeeded. "Of all the nobles I have had the displeasure to encounter, you are the least I would loathe. Perhaps, even, admire. You use your power not for your own ends, but to help those around you."
"Oh, so all nobles are bad, but I'm the exception?" It was a line he'd heard before, but where he could accept the sentiment from Cassandra, because she had proven to him that from her angle it was true, he couldn't take it from the dragon. "And what are you, then? You have all these kobolds as your commoners, treat them like dirt, and lord it up over the common folk in the city above by imposing might makes right?"
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Cassandra felt anger, first and foremost. This was an argument she'd had with Stanton, but never before had he used this angle on her—mostly because he didn't know she ruled the kobolds. "I don't—" It would be a lie, now, to say she didn't rule them, especially given she'd just thought as much herself. "They came to me! They wanted my guidance. They asked me to take charge."
"They might have asked you, but you took charge all the same. Aren't you a noble in your own little empire?" Talking was a good idea. Stanton was already learning from the situation, gaining insight into the dragon herself. What he really hoped, though, was to get Gisse's attention.
"It's not the same!" Cassandra struggled to rein-in her anger. Stanton knew how to push her buttons, and if she wasn't careful she'd let slip who she was before they were safe. "It's—not the same. You'll see, once we're—" She bit back her words before messing up and spilling everything. "I came here to tell you that you're safe. No one will hurt you while I'm—"
"In control? In charge? Threatening them?" Stanton almost went further. He almost let slip that he knew more about the dragon and the power structure than he should. "Does Gisse know you've kidnapped me?"
Actual worry hit Cassandra. She'd gotten Gisse to make the anti-magic ward on the pretense of kidnapping a noble to ransom, without mentioning the noble was Stanton. "The demon doesn't matter. Wait here."
"Orders? So I am just a commoner here while you're the noble?" Stanton could see the dragon flinch as she stormed toward the door. She paused a moment, let out a little growl, then left. It might not be information everyone could use, but her reactions armed him with weapons he could deploy later at the right moment. "Now, how do I get Gisse's attention?"
Reaching up to the collar, Stanton felt around it for some kind of lock or bolt, but it felt perfectly smooth. He grumbled something dire about draconic magic, then started to trace over each of the chain links—again, he found nothing exploitable about them.
Slumping back on the bed, he wondered if there would be some way to sneak off far enough to be out of reach of Gisse's ward.
First, he climbed off one side of the bed, finding even that hard since the chain wasn't long enough for his neck to leave the edge. Still, he stretched out so only his head was over the bed, and tried his lightest spell—a simple one meant for poking things. The purple/red glow came again and drained away the spell to feed itself.
It was reassuring in that he couldn't feel the drain being bound to the chain or himself—just the location. It would stop him from working magic, but it should stop anyone else nearby from doing the same.
The door to the bedroom opened and, along with a renewing of the damp smell, came Cleverclaws. Relief hit Stanton as he spotted her, and she seemed like a little miracle caster in his current situation. "Cl—"
"I can't free you, sorry." Carrying a tray of what she hoped he would enjoy, Cleverclaws brought it to the bed and set it down before Stanton. "I didn't know she was planning to do this."
Ignoring the food, Stanton reached his hand out to cover Cleverclaws' wrist. "It's okay. I understand. She's— I mean, she's a dragon. No race has felt their dominance more than kobolds." When she looked up at him with a shocked expression, he grinned and reached out to pull her into a hug.
Of all the things Cassandra had ordered Cleverclaws not to do, hugging wasn't one of them. She clung to Stanton and buried her face against his vest. It was cathartic to rest there and feel reassurance instead of commands. To simply exist and enjoy a moment rather than have to walk on eggshells.
"It's okay. I know you're not doing this. Did you cook this meal for me?" Stanton asked, pitching his tone low and soothing.
Tilting her head enough to look at the tray from the corner of one eye, Cleverclaws nodded.
"Then I am going to sit here and enjoy it. Don't think I have forgotten how good your cooking is." Shifting Cleverclaws to his other side, Stanton pulled the tray across the bed toward him and used the provided utensils to start spooning up the thick chowder. The taste of it, perfectly seasoned, creamy, and brimming with ocean flavors—made him close his eyes and forget where he was.
Cleverclaws looked up at Stanton's face, watching as he savored the fish stew. "Y-You like it?"
"Of course I like it. I'm not saying that I'd be fine with getting kidnapped just to enjoy your cooking, but it's definitely the highlight so far. Hugging a cute kobold is a close second." Stanton gave her another squeeze before continuing to eat.
It wasn't until he was done with the chowder and had used his spoon to scrape the bottom of the bowl clean that Stanton was in any way interested in dealing with his situation again. "Simply amazing."
Ducking her head, Cleverclaws couldn't stop smiling at the praise and, above all, the smile that Stanton wore. She pressed her firmly against his midriff and inhaled. Something rang odd to her. She breathed out and in again, curiosity taking over from the joy of praise. When she did it a third time, and the smell remained the same, she tilted her head up and looked at Stanton. "You're a girl."
"Uh." It was the first time Stanton had been found out. He wondered how to react, but then the door crashed open and the dragon was in the room again. "What now? Want to argue more over who's the worse noble?"
Looking between Cassandra (who had a bundle of cloth in one arm) and Stanton, Cleverclaws scrambled to get out of the hug and flee from the bed. She managed, mostly, but her mistress gave her a glare as she retreated from the room. Outside, she pressed her back to the wall and breathed fast. The smell of Stanton was still obvious to her—and still obviously female. She waited there, listening to find out what was happening within.
"We're leaving in an hour. Ready yourself." Tossing an armload of clothes onto the bed from where she'd been carrying them, Cassandra did her best not to rip them with her claws.
"Sure, I'll totally be able to get changed while there's a collar around my neck." Stanton, at his most droll, was very sarcastic and dry. "Let me just use my magic to— Oh. Wait. I can't use that either because you don't have the guts to ask me to give my word." He glared daggers up at the dragon, daring her to ask for the promise.
"Alright. Promise me you won't escape!"
"No."
Stomping around the bed until she was right beside him, Cassandra balled her fists in fury. "You are the most impossible, annoying, and unhelpful noble!"
"And yet you kidnapped me. Well, you have me. You want me to get changed—you have to let me do it. Take the collar off and I'll swap clothes and you can take me who-knows-where to—" That's what was puzzling Stanton. He had no clue what the dragon's end-game was. "To what?"
Consequently, that was also a little hole in Cassandra's plan. She glared at Stanton for a moment, reached out with a claw, and used her magic to separate the chain from the collar. "I don't have to reveal my plans to the likes of you!"
The cliché statement surprised both of them. Stanton started to work on something to come back with to put Cassandra's shout down, while Cassandra wasn't sure what to follow such an announcement with.
"You don't know, do you?" Stanton let a smile spread across his face as he tossed the chain to one side of the bed. "You have no clue what you're going to do with me. The pig has been planning these pranks and—I'm going to drop the alliteration—and this is all your doing and you are bad at this."
The world turned pure white with rage. Cassandra opened her mouth and, before she realized it, she'd breathed at Stanton.
Electricity connected with the collar first, and dove into Stanton's body and down through the path of least resistance. His eyes widened a moment and, unable to move or even balance, he toppled sideways onto the bed.
Blinking at the result of her anger, Cassandra realized that unlike any time she'd sparred with Stanton before—he hadn't been able to cast any defensive magic because of the ward around the bed. "Crap. Crap. Crap." Turning, she ran from the room, barely noticing Cleverclaws.
Poking her head inside the room, Cleverclaws let out a yip of panic at the sight of Stanton laying on a smoldering bed. Rushing in, she shook his shoulder. He didn't move. That earned a more shocked yap. She tossed him onto his back and pressed the side of her head to his chest.
Kobolds, it should be noted, are very pragmatic about death and life. A kobold body is a wonder of biology, its cells going into stasis at the first hint of conditions that would cause death. Cleverclaws knew that if she put enough bits of a kobold into one piece, stitched them together, and started the kobold's heart and lungs—they would come out of stasis and be alive again.
Humans, though, didn't work like that. Not even werewolves could be brought back in such a manner.
But, all Cleverclaws could think to do was to make Stanton's heart beat and his lungs work. She pounded on Stanton's chest, she breathed into his mouth, and between every action she made little yips and yaps of concern.
It was the third time she beat on his chest that she heard something that wasn't her own voice. Breathing. Pumping. Leaning down, she pressed the side of her head to Stanton's chest and listened.
Once his body was active again, Stanton's werewolf heritage kicked in. Cellular regeneration went into overdrive and he felt a rush of vitality building him up again. "Wha—?"
"YIP!" Cleverclaws wrapped her arms around Stanton as best she could and hugged him tight.
Stanton's mind, with a good dose of adrenaline that his body was sure he'd require, tried to piece together what had happened while his new, scaly limpet stayed attached. He soothed her with one arm, cognizant of the limb feeling odd and tingly still even as he patted her. He'd died. The dragon had hit him with no defenses in place and no ability to cast any. Her lightning had hit him with deadly force and slayed him. Now he was alive again and had no idea how. "Cleverclaws?"
Still making incoherent noises, Cleverclaws looked up at Stanton with tears in her eyes. "It worked?" When he showed no signs of falling down dead again, Cleverclaws let out a sigh and slumped against him. "It worked."
"What worked? I remember—dying. Did you use magic to bring me back?" It would be a feat no smaller than archmage rank, of course, but there were always genius mages who had a knack for a single spell.
Shaking her head, Cleverclaws was aware again that Stanton was female. The smell, the feel, the way his strapped-down breast was poking into her head—it all helped to reinforce it. "Kobold trick. Make heart pump. Make lungs pump. Body wakes up."
"W-Wait, so you brought me back to life by…"
"Pumping chest, breathing into mouth. Same as we do to wake up kobolds who are put back together." Cleverclaws' butt wouldn't stop wiggling side to side. She was so happy it had worked that she didn't stop to question anything else, least of which being Stanton's feminine state. "She, uh, removed the chain?"
"Yeah. I guess I can leave now. Don't worry about lying for me. I— Oh, hi Gisse." Stanton looked across at where the demoness had almost literally flown into the room. "Something wrong?"
"C—That idiot dragon told me she'd killed you!"
"She did," Stanton said.
"She did," Cleverclaws said, at the same time as Stanton. "I fixed him."
Narrowing her eyes, Gisse had to work to hold back anger unlike any she'd felt before. She clenched her hands into fists and felt all the magic her father had invested her with boil inside.
"It was my fault. I wouldn't stop with the barbs until she was so angry I hoped she would storm out again, so I could get changed in peace. Instead, she lost control of her anger and breathed at me." Edging to the side of the bed, Stanton tried to stand and though his muscles were recovering faster than any human's should, he wobbled on his feet.
Standing in the doorway, having returned after letting go of her anger, Cassandra looked at Stanton in surprise—just as his shirt fell apart, the stitching unable to hold on anymore.
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This story is released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. If you are paying money to see this or the original creator, Damaged, is not credited, you are viewing a plagiarized copy of the story.