The Head Maid, formerly known as Hadleigh Goldberg looked up as the doors to her chambers were thrown open. Dukgraeg stormed into the room, his brutish face red with rage. Two of his best men, Krokdrat Hillbeard and Weradmumli Hardbow, followed close behind him.

She sighed and put down the blueprint she was working on. It was menial work, something she should’ve had her assistant been doing anyway but she decided to give the poor girl a break. Honestly, she didn’t know why the dwarves had such big heads if their brains couldn’t handle drawing up a new plumbing system from scratch.

“How did you get past my guards?” she asked, rising from her chair.

“Oi towl yer dat trappin' de beast wus a shoddy idea!” the old dwarf shouted, pointedly ignoring her question. “Nigh luk what's 'appened!”

He thrust the tablet that accessed the security cameras she’d had set up in the dungeon. The screen displayed an empty cell with pried open bars, the empty tray of food sent to feed her new pet dragon, and beer bottles scattered around the floor of the cell.

Frowning, she lowered the tablet and stared accusingly at the fidgeting dwarves behind Dukgraeg. “Which one of your men last saw Starr?”

He scoffed and crossed his arms. “You're not implyin' wan av me tren set de aberrant free, are ye?”

She gestured toward the screen, her painted nails flashing in the tablet’s glow for a brief second. “What else would I expect with all these bottles laying around? I have repeatedly told you that the guards were to cease their excessive drinking or face punishment and yet, for some reason, they always fail to follow my orders!”

Krokdrat snorted and, leaning discreetly over to Weradmumli, whispered, “Oi doubt any guard wud listen ter a lass wi' fancy nails an' a steck up 'er jumper.” The other dwarf snickered in reply.

Hadleigh turned to glare at him. “Excuse you,” she snapped. “You don’t think I have ears? And it’s not lass, it’s Head Maid. I won’t tolerate such disrespect the next time it happens.”

He flushed and bowed deeply at the waist, nearly tipping over as he did so. “F-forgive me, Head Maid. Oi meant no-”

“You know exactly what you meant,” she interrupted. “But I am showing you mercy now. I want both of you to leave my chambers before you give me any reason to change my decision.”

The dwarves bowed to her once, twice more, before snapping a salute to Dugraeg and nearly falling over themselves to be the first out of the room. The last Dwarf out pulled the doors closed behind him.

Ugh, she thought. Of all the fantasy races to be reincarnated as, why’d it have to be dwarves? They’re such primitives.

Her shoulders slumped as she sighed. She brought her hand up to her forehead and rubbed at the crease forming in her brow.

“How long are you going to stand there glowering, Mr. Battlegrip?” she murmured.

She opened her eyes to see his lips, mostly hidden in his thick beard, pressed in a thin line as his owlish eyes drilled holes into her head. She shifted uncomfortably under his heavy gaze, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Look,” she started, “I know you don’t like me and I won’t even pretend to say that the feeling isn’t mutual. But you have to admit, Mr. Battlegrip, that what I’m doing here is amazing. I mean, I’ve built your clan up from basically nothing and we’re still going strong.”

She put her free hand on his shoulder, flashing him a fake smile as she activated her best spell yet, [Charm: Appealing Idea]. “You are a strong warrior, Dukgraeg. Your men respect you a lot more than they do me, no matter how much power I hold under this title. Imagine what we could do if we were united. If our people saw that I had your backing, think of how much more we could accomplish. We could-we could rule the surface and no pesky dragons or humans could stop us! Join hands with me, Dukgraeg, and help me take the clan higher.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The dwarf’s expression remained unchanged throughout her speech. When she finished, he only shook his head, brushing her hand off of his shoulder.

“Nigh oi see 'oy yer got dem wrapped raun yisser wee finger,” he grumbled, snatching the tablet from her hands. “But Ah've dealt wi' mental mages stronger than you, witch. Yer silly charms don't work on me.”

Hadleigh straightened her spine and inclined her head, forcing her face to remain calm and neutral. “You don’t know who you’re talking to, Mr. Battlegrip.”

He smiled then, his fat lips twisting into a self-satisfied smirk. “Oi nu exactly who Oi'm dealin' wi', lass. You might tink you're big an' mighty cause yer can flin' yisser juicy spells 'ere an' dare, but you've been muddlin' de minds av babes an' politicians.” He thumped his chest with a fist twice as large as her hand. “But Oi'm a warrior, now. Been wan since oi wus a lad. You ain't never dealt wi' de beasts av de 'ills; Ah've spent a quarter av me life facin' aff against things jist as cruel as dragons, lassy.”

She sneered at his declaration. “Is that supposed to scare me? You would dare to threaten the Head Maid of this clan?”

The smile fell from his face faster than she’d been hit by that truck. His scowl darkened his face; he suddenly seemed more dangerous than before. “You ain't no Head Maid av mine. An' oi don't chucker wi' threats; only promises. Try yisser charms on me again, witch, an' I’ll send yer roi back ter whatever 'ell you came from.”

Her lip trembled as she took a few steps back from the Dwarf. She had known dealing with him would be difficult but this? He would be a thorn in her side until he was dealt with. There was no way he would allow the clans ascension to the surface with his attitude.

Her plumbing blueprints would have to be put on hold. She needed to redraft her plans for getting rid of the old Dwarf, ASAP. But for now, she had a dragon to find.

She turned from him, striding toward the butterfly windows and taking a deep breath to settle her nerves. As she gazed over the upper residential area of the hill (it was a funny name for the area, given that it was closer to the bottom of the designated clan space in the Underground), she spoke in a calm and collected voice: “Fine, then. There is no need to continue this conversation. Find my dragon and bring her to me.”

He grunted and she gathered that through the swishing of his uniform pants and stomping of his boots, he was leaving her chambers. “Oi still tink you're crazier than a coy for 'eadin' through wi' dis.”

“I don’t remember asking for a second opinion, Mr. Battlegrip,” she said through gritted teeth.

He snorted. “Whatever. Sorry for tryin' ter save you trouble.” He opened her tall, ironwood chamber doors with hardly a grunt. “And Hadleigh?” he called back.

She jerked away from the window and spun to face him. He smiled at the sight of her pale face, stricken with fear. “How do you know that name?” she whispered.

His smile only widened as he said, “It wus Rudola who wus last seen wi' de aberrant. Wan av yisser maiden soldiers. Tart ye'd loike ter nu dat in case yer still want ter fend whoever let it out.” With a mocking salute, he turned and marched out of her chambers.

Hadleigh brought her fist up to her mouth, biting her thumb knuckle as she watched him leave. Her strong teeth broke through the tender skin, drawing blood. She dropped her hand and pressed it against her side, stemming the blood flow on her jumpsuit. After another moment of quiet panic, she turned and ran for her phone.

“Damn it all,” she hissed, dialing a special number. “Damn it, damn it, damn it! How could he of all people know it? Come on, pick up, Parrish...”

A lazy, high-pitched voice muttered, “I’m busy, Dwarf. I told you not to waste my time when you got lonely.”

“Dukgraeg knows, Parrish,” she whispered, flopping down on her bed. “He knows my name.”

The fairy lord paused. “And?”

“And I don’t know what else he found out!”

“I have bigger problems to worry about than petty clan squabbles, Hadleigh. One of my breeder groups found an awakened dragon and lost it; I’m in the middle of taking care of the backlash right now. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Wait,” she murmured, sitting up. “An awakened dragon? How old was it?”

“Mmm, the reports are telling me it was still in the juvenile stage. Why do-” Another pause and then his voice went deeper, more malicious. “You know where it is.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. She shivered excitedly.

“Perhaps.”

“My property is not to be toyed with over my head, Dwarf,” he hissed. “Do not forget who brought you where you are.”

“And don’t you forget who helped you quell the opposition to your rule,” she snapped. “Don’t you know how hard it is to convince Hill Dwarves to help anybody but their own? It cost me, you know. And now Dukgraeg is an even bigger problem them before.”

Parrish sighed. “What do you want?”

“I can’t kill him on my own. I need your best sleepers to take care of him. In return, I’ll hand over the dragon.”

“You’re making an Oath with me, Hadleigh? Need I remind you of the cost of that?”

“You’ll get the dragon when your sleepers finish that pesky Dwarf.”

“Fine. I‘ll send twenty in a week.”

“Good. I’ll see to it that they are accommodated properly.”

“I want that dragon back, girl,” Lord Parrish Orthrux said.

“And you’ll have it,” the Head Maid responded, “as soon as Mr. Battlegrip has been terminated.”