The life of a kobold wasn't an easy one. Since the fall of the last dragon, they had lived scattered and in hiding with only their faith to keep them going. That faith being that one day a dragon would rise and guide them again.

It had, therefore, been a religious experience to find that one had. They rushed in ones and twos, combined into groups, poured together into swarms—all toward her. A true dragoness, though she lacked her war form, that would lead them to their rightful place in the world.

Though they had been scattered, the swarms of kobolds that had lived on the fringes of societies all over the world were gathering. On foot, by wagon, and even by stolen ship or airship—they gathered.

Cassandra had already met a few of their number, but they had all reassured her that there would be many more coming. Not suspecting the scale of what was happening, she had given the few under her direct control orders to build, and while undermining a city was tricky work, it was no more difficult than—for example—building multiple magic tunnels up through a building with no room for such and into a second-floor apartment.

Once the kobolds had their god-queen's home connected to several, good tunnels, they began to delve under the old city and find the remnants of earlier cities in the dirt and rock under Conjur. All manner of things would be found down there, from old forges to wizard towers, all surrendered to the soft river silt and eventually used as foundations for the next version of the city.

This construction, of course, was happening while Cassandra sat at a little coffee shop, Stanton beside her, as they both sipped expensive coffee. Not that she realized it was expensive coffee—it was just the place she and Stanton always stopped at. "I still can't believe no one found either of them."

Cassandra's reason for concern was reversed depending on the target, of course. She was profoundly grateful for her shapeshifting that let her look like her human self as it had kept the authorities from locating the dragon they'd been searching for. That they'd not done more than a cursory search for Super Lupine Girl infuriated her.

Always ready to hide aspects of himself—but hating that he had to do so with Cassandra—Stanton sighed. "Not really any of our business. I had one of the city guards come and ask if I could help with their investigation, but so far this strange werewolf hasn't shown up anywhere. It's like they're some kind of ghost."

They felt real enough when I was beating the snot out of them, is what Cassandra wanted to say. She couldn't tell Stanton that, though. She knew how respected he was, especially among the lower classes, and it was all deserved. He was a genuinely good guy, and probably didn't want to know she was a dragon. "Well, from what I heard, she was being pretty stupid."

The topic already had Stanton on edge, but this turn was new. "Oh? I regret I didn't even make it out until after everything was finished and done with. What was her problem?"

"The usual noble stuff," Cassandra said, quickly adding, "you know how it is. You have to talk with them all the time too."

"Oh." Rumors, Stanton realized, were going to be annoying. "Well, nobles will be nobles. Wait, you don't think of me that way, do you?"

"What? Stanton, you are the least noble noble I know." When Stanton raised an eyebrow at her, Cassandra furrowed her brow trying to figure out what she'd said that had a double meaning.

"Maybe I'm so noble you just can't appreciate how noble I am?" Picking up his coffee cup, Stanton pinched the handle carefully, stuck out his little finger, and made delicate sipping noises at it.

Cassandra couldn't help but giggle at the obvious hyperbole her friend was deploying.

Finishing his sip with an indelicate slurp, Stanton set his coffee down. "But you got to see them fighting?"

"Oh, uh, kinda. There were a lot of people there and it was all kinda fast and—Stanton, you should have seen her. You know I don't follow courtly fashion or anything like that—"

"Something I'm extremely grateful for. You know what's in right now? Tight pants with half-skirts over them," Stanton said.

Cassandra's sentence evaporated at the revelation of yet another stupid thing nobles do. "You're joking? Wait, of course you're not joking. Why can't they just wear a dress?"

"It'd be too sensible. That's where you're coming at court fashion wrong, Cass. You don't dress to look good, you dress up to weaponize even your appearance. Your sole aim is to make anyone who isn't keeping up look foolish and, thus, lose face." Stanton enjoyed the silly game of court dress-ups, personally, because he could play dirty in it. Now, though, he knew he could play even dirtier. "I think I'll wear a skirt and tight pants next time mother or father summon me to the capital."

"Uh, but won't that make you look—err, lose face?"

"That's the clever bit, you see. It's a statement. A very bold statement. Since it will be the height of feminine fashion, it will show that I have every measure of fashion sense, yet because they will be women's clothes—that I'll have cut to fit my masculine form—I will show how stupid they are too." Even though he liked the plan, Stanton could see one problem with it—looking feminine. Then something else dawned on him that made him grin even wider. "And, you know the best bit? If I use an enchantment to make me a woman for the event, it will hit even harder!"

It was too much for Cassandra. Her friend was quite possibly the most masculine guy she'd ever met. He was never afraid to back down from a sword duel, he had thrown himself into flirting when his mother had claimed he didn't make enough of an impact with women, and he just screamed of maleness. "You're joking, surely?"

"No. I never joke."

"You joke all the time, Stanton." Despite all that masculinity, though, Cassandra could see her friend actually going through with it. One thing (of many) that she liked about him was the way he could stick to a plan. "I want a portrait."

"Of me as a woman?" Stanton asked, doing his best fluttering eyelashes (eyelashes he'd carefully trimmed).

"Yes. I want something to laugh at no matter how poorly I feel." Cassandra figured that it would be great for relieving the annoyance that Super Lupine Girl was inflicting upon her. "So, are you doing anything tonight?"

Raising his eyebrow even more than usual, Stanton smiled and asked, "Why, got a friend who needs a date for the evening?"

One of the things that annoyed Cassandra about Stanton was he could always make her blush. "Me!"

"You need a date for the evening?" Stanton asked.

Straining to keep her annoyance to just that, Cassandra slumped forward and shook her head. "Forget it. I don't—" She was stopped by soft lips against her own. It was, as far as kisses went, too short and too long at the same time. She got barely a moment to look into Stanton's eyes before it was over and he was pulling back. "Bah—?"

"I'd love to go on a date with you. This would count as the second, technically, since we had dinner a few nights back. Did you have any idea on where you wanted to go, or should I come up with something?"

"Bah—?"

"A bar? I can arrange that. Meet you at five?"

"Bah—?" Finally, Cassandra's mind caught up with the fact she'd just had her first kiss and she'd gotten invited on another date. "Five?"

"Perfect. Now, I have to go and see if Professor Celia will accept my essay on the use of frills by the upper class female fashion world to mentally manipulate the poor and feeble-minded nobles to surrender themselves to marriage as a form of mental manipulation." Standing up, he reached out to cup Cassandra's cheek for just a moment, smiling at the stunned silence he'd driven her to.

"Bah," Cassandra said (with more heat) when Stanton finally left her. She scowled at him as he seemed to sway slightly, but even that couldn't last as her fingers slid up to her lips and felt the slightest tackiness of a lip coating popular among noble men. She used the back of her hand to smear the stuff off. "Ugh. Why does he have to be so—so good at that?"

----------------------------------------

After mentally sparring with his (now favorite) professor, Stanton had left the class with a bounce to his step. There were now just two other classes to attend and one little task to take care of before his date.

Evocation was the last resort of skilled negotiators and the first resort of the military. Stanton, being from both a military-aligned family and a mage-aligned family—was basically required to attend and do well. Fire in particular had always come easily to him, though now he had found a propensity for his flames to turn slightly pink if he wasn't careful. With his mind wandering to Cassandra's surprise at his inviting her on a date, he was creating decidedly pink infernos and, in one instance, a smoke cloud shaped in a love heart.

"Stanton, I understand there is pressure on you to exceed expectations with your schooling, but there is no need to show off."

"Yes, professor. Uh, Professor Brereton?" Stanton waited for the old wizard to approach his practice station before continuing. "Honestly, it's a slight issue I'm having with my familiar coloring my magic effects. She's… opinionated, mostly on colors."

Chuckling and twisting the edge of his moustache, the old wizard nodded as he reflected on his youth. "That happens. Some would say you should be harsh and remind your familiar who's boss. Others"—he made a point of patting his own chest—"would point out that it is a lifelong bond with your familiar, and that you should take on some of their traits as they adopt some of yours. Partnerships are about compromise, young master Raveel-Sharptooth."

That gave Stanton something to think on. He nodded, mumbling his thanks, and went on with the lesson—without holding back so much of the pink flames and heart shaped smoke. What this revealed to him was his magic had become significantly stronger, even without being in his wolf-girl form.

But, even as he was walking out of the class feeling a little better about having pink flames, Stanton's mind was replaying the fight with the dragon. She'd telegraphed a lot of her attacks at him, but even the ones Stanton hadn't seen coming—he'd felt coming.

The more he focused on the sensation, the weirder he realized it was. He hadn't seen her arms moving, hadn't sensed them with any of his normal senses, in fact. He'd felt for sure that the blow was coming.

He needed, he realized, a way to test this without risking his life fighting a dragon again. With a free period before his last class, he made his way out of the academy and to one place that would let him practice what he needed.

There was also the matter of touching base with the guard with relation to one Super Lupine Girl's identity. On his way there, he started to concoct a plan. He paused to buy some street food, and quietly explained his situation to his Sharptooth family contact—but not all of it. "The incident yesterday, I may be slightly compromised with the werewolf involved. Will claim is a minor scion of Sharptooth clan. Let mother know." The words had been spoken with food in his mouth and with every evidence that he was actually chewing.

"Oh, of course, young sir. Would you like another?" The old man selling the cheese and water bug rolls bared his uneven teeth in a big grin.

"Mmm." Making a show of actually speaking, Stanton nodded. "You know, I think I will. This is some of the best peasant food I've ever had. What's the secret?"

"Butter. Lots of butter!" Tipping a ladle of cheesy crayfish into another unleavened bread pocket, the man passed Stanton a small slip of paper along with it—and got paid handsomely for the simple fare.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Starting on his second helping, Stanton flicked the note open inconspicuously and read the name of a low-born scion of the family in a position under some cousin he could only barely remember. Louise Silverclaw was a common enough name and he could remember that the Silverclaws were an offshoot of the Sharptooths—though so far down the tree that they might as well be their own clan. One thing about such families, though, was they lived and died by their loyalty.

Reaching the central guardhouse just as he finished the food—which seemed to have evaporated into the unending cavern that had replaced his stomach—Stanton read the note several times to ensure he had the name correct and then stepped inside the busy foyer.

He wasn't the only civilian here to talk to someone. There was a line at the front counter and, reluctantly, Stanton started walking toward it.

"Excuse me, sir Raveel-Sharptooth? Sergeant Gaoler said you would be coming in today. If you'll just come this way, sir."

Recognizing the corporal from the day before, Stanton didn't hesitate to step out of the queue and make his way after the man. Once out of earshot of the waiting people, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for that, corporal…?"

"Jones, sir. Corporal Travis Jones. Sorry about my behavior yesterday, my sergeant filled me in on—"

"Don't worry about it, Travis." Familiarity cost Stanton very little among non-aristocracy. First-name basis with the town guards, however, was a valuable asset easily purchased. "I'm just a concerned citizen doing my best to assist in the maintenance of law and order." Now, however, he needed to engage in a little mummery and deception. He let out a sigh. "It turned out this could be an… awkward matter after all."

"Sir—"

"Stanton, please."

Travis felt himself stiffen for a moment, then he relaxed a touch. "Stanton, family problem?"

"Sharp. Yes, indeed. I'll save the explanation for the sergeant. This is all becoming a dreadful little mess and I despair unraveling it." Not lies. Not at all. It was a family problem and it was something he despaired about. When the corporal escorted him into an office where the sergeant from the previous day was sitting, Stanton gave a firm bow to the man.

"That will be all, Corporal Jones," he said.

"If it's not too much trouble, Travis here has been a big help already and I'd not be adverse to having him involved in assisting with this little mess." Describing it as a mess definitely got the sergeant's eyebrows raised a little more than normal, Stanton recognized. When the door was closed with Corporal Jones still in the room, Stanton began his little tale of woe.

"I dread that she has caused a mess for you, but the werewolf in question is Louise Silverclaw." As he said the name, Stanton watched Sergeant Gaoler write down the name, followed shortly after by Corporal Jones doing likewise on his own notepad. "A relative, though distant and from a family off on its own branch, I fear this all being such a mess that she'll need to be punished for it and—"

"There are no charges against her, sir," Sergeant Gaoler said. "She defended a student and—by all accounts—prevented injury to many bystanders."

Stanton had to wonder if it was associating the wolf girl with himself or if the sergeant really had those details. He chose to rely on the latter. "That is a relief. I've already contacted her family to have her contact myself. Would you like to interview her?"

"It would be appreciated if you could arrange that, if only so we can get her account of things. Her name…"

Chuckling, Stanton nodded. "She's a bit theatrical, from what I understand. Super Lupine Girl seems to be a pseudonym she employs when trying to save people anonymously. I wonder if my little cousin was trying to court lady Starlit?"

"Starlit? Oh, the noble lady the"—Sergeant Gaoler still hated reading the word, so appended an appropriate word to soften the term—"supposed dragon tried to assault? Hrmm, that makes it even more clear-cut. The only thing remaining is to figure out if the attacker was a person in their own right or someone's familiar."

It was a perfect opportunity, Stanton realized, to give the guard a real warning about the dragon. "I'll have Miss Silverclaw contact you as soon as she is able."

"Thank you again, sir Raveel-Sharptooth. I knew we could trust your clans to wrap this up faster—and I must admit that you, yourself, are growing into the best example of both your families." Sergeant Gaoler was parroting what his higher-up had told him to say. He had been sure he could trust the young scion, but he didn't have the right words to pull off making the city guard sound respectful of that.

Standing and bowing, Stanton said, "Please, sirs, the honor is all mine to be able to represent my families and assist in any way I can. I do, however, have a small request to make—if it's not too much trouble?" A gesture from the sergeant urged him on. "I have been working on a new spell, you see, to aid in close-quarters fighting. It's not offensive, but I require a skilled combatant to help me test it. I was hoping I could borrow the corporal here for a moment?"

An easier way to thank Stanton would have been harder to come up with. Sergeant Gaoler nodded. "You can have him for ten minutes, and please return him in one piece."

"I actually just need him for one thing, you can even do it right here. Take a swing at me and don't pull your punch." Stanton turned toward Corporal Jones and delighted in the look of shock on his face. "If it helps, aim for my shoulder."

"But you're—"

"I'm a werewolf, Travis. Unless the city guard have improved their entry training significantly, you won't do any permanent damage. It will probably help if I explain what I'm testing." Stanton gestured to himself. "I have adapted a new spell to allow me to predict blows that are coming toward me, even if I don't see them."

"Oh! So you're going to dodge it, right?" Corporal Jones was intrigued now, and somewhat relieved.

"No. Evading the strike will not assist in this. Please hit me." The strike, when it came, gave Stanton far less warning than he'd gotten as Super Lupine Girl. Still, he did get a tingle of awareness that the blow was about to land.

Wincing as Stanton's body twisted with the force of his punch, Corporal Jones asked, "Are you okay?"

Stanton wasn't used to having the slightly less body-mass his female form now had—at least, not when it came to physical blows landing. Straightening up, he nodded. "Yes. That's a good hook you have there."

"Corporal, coming from a werewolf, that's a compliment. Is that all you required, sir Raveel-Sharptooth?" Sergeant Gaoler asked.

Rolling his shoulder a little to get his muscles working again, Stanton nodded. "Your assistance has been invaluable. I'll send the message to my mother to have Louise drop by for a chat. Sergeant, Corporal…" With a bow to the pair, Stanton made his way out of the office and watch building, feeling optimistic about his idea.

He'd made a point of closing his eyes when he'd asked the corporal to swing at him, and sure enough he'd felt something a moment before the impact. It had been everything he could do not to dodge it out of reflex.

On the walk home he ignored his Sharptooth contact and instead stopped at a neutral vendor to grab another snack, this one a thumb-round cut of pork about six inches long with a golden piece of crackling fat along one edge. Like all food lately, it disappeared with barely a thought, but the taste of it was amazing and had Stanton striding with purpose back to his last class for the day.

Magic History was normally boring for Stanton, because he'd researched the topic extensively himself and, since it was a requirement, he usually sat bored in class. Today, though, he got a surprise.

"Dragons," the professor began, "are this week's topic. It wasn't meant to be, but the Grand Wizard of the Academe has asked that we put to rest the rumor that a dragon was seen fighting in the city yesterday. Let me start off with a simple explanation of dragons and their various skills, so you can judge for yourself if it was a dragon—that would have destroyed the city—or something trying very hard to appear as such."

Stanton was all ears. The information on how dragons were literally the most overwhelming single creatures that ever walked the world, how they could call down devastating magics, and their physical prowess was all known to him, but he remained attentive in case there was anything he'd missed. There wasn't, though the lecturer was doing her best to paint a worst-case-scenario such that the dragon being young and inexperienced was never broached.

"… dragons haven't been seen for hundreds of years. The last remaining egg was destroyed by the hero Vanquisher nearly three hundred years ago. You have nothing to fear except a crazy look-alike that was—thankfully—driven off by a werewolf." It was a boring topic because it was a completely dead one. He hated giving such a talk when there was literally nothing to be gained from the subject of dragons except exciting stories. "There won't be questions, you can all go now."

"Professor?" As soon as the word started to leave Stanton's mouth, he was fixed with a glare from the professor who clearly didn't want to deal with the topic any further. "Are we sure all the eggs were destroyed?"

It was a better question than many for him to answer. "Yes. Dragon eggs give off both magic and fate emanations. They twist the world around them in their favor. They were tracked using this to ensure they were destroyed. The fate-twisting has a limited range, as all such magics do, so it was easy to track down their general location. Even after fifty years, there was no further evidence of it."

Musing on it, Stanton had to admit that was firm evidence. "But what if such an egg had its fate magic suppressed somehow?"

"Then it would be unlikely to have hatched. The fate magic was what ensured they would always be viable." Eyeing the student asking questions, the professor tapped his chin. "Raveel-Sharptooth, correct?"

Stanton straightened a little and nodded. "Yes, Professor Brereton."

"Excellent. I'll look forward to your research paper on dragon eggs and their magic by the end of the week." Grand Evoker Toddy Brereton hadn't been expecting a smile and a bow from Stanton, but he felt obliged give it a slight nod. A challenge, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't give the young man extra credits for a good report. "Then I believe you'll be answering your own questions by then. Dismissed."

The tone told Stanton all he needed to know about Brereton. Snapping his heels together, he straightened his back and nodded to the former military man. Making his way out of the classroom, he only facepalmed mentally at adding to his workload for the week. But then it hit him, "Now I have a reason for going to the library and asking for weird books about dragons."

"Dragons?" Cassandra asked, walking up to Stanton and bumping her hip against his. "What's all this about dragons?" She did extremely well at hiding her concern at his topic.

"Well, that thing the werewolf fought yesterday, remember? The big rumor going around is that it was a young dragon, but there's so much that doesn't add up with that. I just had Magic History, and the professor said he was required by the school to give the big reasons why it couldn't possibly be a dragon—Oh, right, you remember I'm a history buff, right? Well, I asked questions at the end, even though Brereton didn't want any, and now I'm stuck doing a research paper on dragons."

"He punished you for asking questions?" A feeling of anger threatened to steal Cassandra's focus.

"What? No. He's giving me a chance to find out what I want to know. I've heard he gives bonus credit whenever anyone gets these 'punishments'." Stanton waved a hand to ward away the idea it was a punishment. He knew it was, though, but he didn't care. "What about you? Anything fun from evo-classes?"

Having her favorite topic come up made Cassandra bounce a little in excitement—and she noticed that Stanton looked at her with more interest when she did. That's when it truly hit her that he liked her. "I learned how to melt bones. Did you know if you get them at just the right temperature and use a particular acid spray on someone, it will completely liquefy them?" What worried her was how he'd feel about dragon-her. It was such a roof-of-mouth itch that she found herself needing to ask him more, even if she wanted to avoid the topic. "So, uh, what do you think about dragons really? I mean, they can't all have been bad, right? There must have been one good one?"

"Okay, yes. There was one good dragon. That's how they were defeated. He was young, but he made the huge mistake—at least for dragons—of falling in love with a human. When other dragons came for them, they fought together to protect what was theirs. Then he spread his realm and called on more races to join him. Gray Wing Dragonbane was the only good dragon—and I'm pretty sure half of what was written about him was just fairy tales." Stanton had been told the story when he was young, and hadn't believed it then. "So, got any ideas what you will be wearing tonight?"

"A dress." Cassandra huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere nice. Oh, remember my plan to make a fool of myself and the current fashion trend at the same time? Would you be interested in attending?"

Feeling a little left behind in the conversation, Cassandra thought about it a moment. "You're really going through with it? Won't your family be upset if you don't take a noble along on your arm?"

"They'd be furious if I did take a noble along on my arm. Nobles have agendas and agendas are always going to cause a problem. Cass, do you know how much I have to do each week just for my families' agendas?" When his friend looked clueless, Stanton nodded. "Exactly. I'm good at it. Mom thinks it's her talent shining through, and so does Dad. I might even believe them if my cousin—Mom's brother's and Dad's sister's kid—weren't as clueless as a brick when it comes to agendas.

"I want to take you, Cass, because you're fun, gorgeous, and you don't make me have to worry that you'll suddenly start trying to steer things astray because of some agenda your family has."

"See? This!" Cassandra actually snorted out a flame before realizing it. "Ugh. Damn evo. You know how I always had an affinity for fire? It's getting worse."

"You still haven't told me what your familiar is." Heading for the library, Stanton kept glancing back at Cassandra. "You can't keep it a secret forever. What is it? Did you summon a ghost that possesses you? Maybe some kind of parasite? I still think it could be a demon. I have heard of demons that disguise themselves as armor or weapons…"

"Does it look like I'm wearing armor?"

"Could be one of those fancy corsets. You know the ones—they give extra push upward and the ladies at court hate them because none of them have a chest that could really do them jus—" Stanton broke into choked giggles as Cassandra pinned him to the wall with one hand. Not that he struggled to get free—he enjoyed seeing her cut loose a little.

"I am not wearing a corset." Glaring at Stanton, Cassandra felt her fury at least moderately controlled by the fact that she liked Stanton—unlike that Super Lupine Girl. Even just the thought of her made Cassandra get a little more angry.

"You should. You could rock one of those. Why not wear it to the ball?"

"What ball?" Taking her pressure off Stanton let him get away from the wall and slip around to her side.

"The ball I invited you to. The one I said to wear something actually nice. A good, fitted corset, summer skirt, and a long sleeved shirt with puffy cuffs would look great!" Stanton quickly dodged the next attempt Cassandra made to grab him, slipping closer to put his arm around her hip. "You'd totally carry that off."

"Ugh. Damn noble nerds. Go, study your books. See if I care."

"When you're done with your last class, come by my tower and we can head out from there." Stanton reached up and booped Cassandra on the nose before dodging another grab to get out of reach. "Bye!"

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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.