Maid Aegirine left, as meek and contrite as Rodgardae had ever seen her. He looked around at everyone remaining. They had all come to meet the esteemed Dr. Worthan, but introductions had taken place before Maid Aegirine arrived and there was precious little other business to attend to that could not be put off until the following day.

“I shall catch up with Dr. Worthan, privately. Have another bottle of wine sent up. That will be all.” He motioned the doctor to one of the chairs. Milles followed his lead and settled into it gratefully while everyone else filed out. Mistress Seraphinite snapped her fingers and her assistant dashed through a side door to retrieve the requested wine, but otherwise took no notice of any of the soldiers or dragons around her. Wildt held the door for her, and they were the last to leave.

Rodgardae sighed and glanced over at Mani, who was himself falling elegantly into his chair next to him. They reached out and held hands briefly before Rodgardae let go to pour wine for the three of them.

“That was unduly exhausting,” Mani complained, taking his glass and sniffing the wine.

“Ohyi, everyone thinks I’m gonna take an iron rod to their buttholes,” Milles said, causing Mani to cough and sit forward quickly in order not to choke.

“Physician!” Mani cried out, the tone reprimanding but his eyes filled with delight.

Rodgardae rolled his eyes but stayed out of it.

“Am I wrong, Lord Roki?”

Mani paused at that. “Most don’t call me ‘lord’ here.”

“I’m not from around here. On Watt we respect the lineage first, the rank second.”

Mani blinked at the older man a few times before nodding. “I have not yet traveled to Watt, so I am glad that now I have been…prepared.”

The delivery was as dry as high-altitude ice and most people would not even clock it for the joke it was, but Milles, bless the man, laughed. Rodgardae smiled softly at both of them as he sipped his own glass of wine. It was, like most local vintages, rustic and rusty but strong.

“So, you got me here. Now what?” Milles settled back in his chair.

Rodgardae answered. “We’re changing up the training regimen to more closely align with Wattish principles.”

Milles snorted. “These pampered pets not holding up to the strain, are they?”

Rodgardae chuckled. “They are hardly soft. Kaaltendt military training is not lacking, per se; it’s just very different. If war comes we will have flights and wings flying together.”

“And?” Milles frowned at him.

Mani picked up the thread. Rodgardae let him since it had been his idea after all. “There are so few dragons that they are often spread thin over this vast continent, and are therefore not used to flying, or fighting, in any formation greater than what we would call a small flight, much less a full wing.”

Milles let out a long noise of understanding. “So they are flying closer than they are used to and banging each other up.” He nodded. “Wing rips?”

Rodgardae nodded. “A few. Some scratches as well.”

“Collisions?” Milles asked, squinting at him, reading the problem right away.

“It’s like herding twenty fledglings off a cliff, to be honest,” Rodgardae groaned, slipping down in his chair.

Mani laughed outright. “That’s giving fledglings a bad name. At least those raised in full clutches grow up jostling each other. These Kaaltendt dragons are tripping over each other like they are drunk.”

Milles shrugged. “Like trying to take a plow horse and train it for war, more like. Skittish? Awkward? Prone to panic?”

“You do seem to have a grasp of the situation,” Rodgardae said.

“I’ll do what I can to patch them up, then.” He quickly polished off his drink. “The dragons upstairs?” Milles asked as Rodgardae filled his wine glass.

“Most. You met four of them just now; the other fifteen are in their lairs. After a few group trials I’ve had them stagger their shifting so we only have four in walking form at a time.”

“Three-week shifts?”

Ro shook his head. “I’ve cut it to two weeks. I fear complacency, given the unpredictable political situation.”

Milles nodded slowly. “This fort is purely a defensive position, correct?”

“Aye, it is. Not built as a launching point at all. Anything like that would go out of Tunwwe Harbor, south of here. But should things become desperate on Watt, we’re also the front line for intercontinental offense.” He smiled tightly at Milles, who snorted.

“Twenty Kaaltendt dragons and you? I’m sure we’ll all die horrible deaths.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Your confidence endears you to me, as always.”

The doctor waved a hand around. “I saw you out of that egg, and fixed your wing after your first flop off the Devillin Cliffs.”

Rodgardae cringed. “Can we not discuss these matters?” He hunched up over his wine glass.

Mani grinned. “Oh, but we must!”

“This is why I dreaded bringing you here, old man.” Rodgardae pointed at Milles.

Milles laughed and leaned forward, patting Mani’s knee. “We will get along well, Lord Roki. Our duke’s older sister bid me harass him in her stead, after all.”

Rodgardae groaned, causing Milles to turn back to him. “And also your brother, His Excellency, Prince Tonae, whose word just happens to be law. I am helpless but to obey their commands.” Milles relaxed in the chair, radiating smug satisfaction.

Rodgardae took another swig of wine, which Mani quickly refilled, although he was smirking far too much for comfort.

“Anyway, none of your family have met this handsome consort who stole your heart…and your seed; don’t think no one took issue with that.”

“My actions are common enough everywhere but here,” Rodgardae defended.

“True enough. Fear not, no one genuinely begrudges the match, and your father has played the business angle of that alliance to everyone’s satisfaction. The Clan Roki are majestic traders.” Milles nodded at Mani, who pretended he wasn’t preening at the praise for his family, then turned back to Rodgardae. “But as I say, your family has yet to meet this gentleman warrior. So in their stead, I will have to interrogate him mercilessly.”

“Sweet Goddess of the Aerie Fires, please do no such thing.” Rodgardae stared at him.

Milles’s grin grew even wider. “Dear boy, what else do I have to while away my time in this Gods-forsaken pit?”

Mani started laughing loudly.

“Perhaps practice medicine?” Rodgardae stared glumly at his drink, realizing that he was outnumbered.

Milles sighed. “I’ll have my hands full training that maid. I hope she is as bright as the Dragon Mistress says.”

“Dragon Maid Auxiliary Corps Headmistress.”

“I shall never get used to that.”

“They are touchy about their titles here. To call her a dragon mistress might get you slapped.” Rodgardae grinned despite the seriousness of the topic.

Milles snorted in surprise at the double entendre. “Such a strange people. Ah well, as it stands, if I can get one good nurse out of this maid, I’ll be satisfied.”

Rodgardae lowered his glass. “So you truly do not expect any assistants to arrive?”

Milles shook his head. “No. Dr. Alphine has been assigned to Galworthy, where she was immediately made lead physician of the fort, while my nurses were called back to Herinfay University to teaching posts. Anyone who applies to the program is being accepted. Those who cannot cut the studies are washed out, but it is seen a better investment to pull in as many future nurses as possible rather than cull unlikely candidates at the first. And those who do wash out are still being posted to hospitals as nurses’ aides.”

Mani whistled softly.

“My brother the prince suggested war was close, but your words bring that home much more clearly to me.” Rodgardae tipped his head to stare at the ceiling above, cut stone beveled with the simple, spartan design that marked all of Kaaltendt. “And here I am.”

“Serving the princely counsel as a good child of Watt should, Your Grace,” Milles said gently.

“I simply fear for the safety of my family, while I am here playing diplomat and contract keeper.”

“Diplomacy has its place in war as well as battle. You know this.”

“Speaking of: Have you heard any word of trading dragons for land?” Mani leaned forward.

“Not much, though we are all certain the offer of marriage has been put forth to Emperor Rhezv. He wants our fair country, our defensible cliffs rising out of the ocean and our place as halfway mark to the coast of Kaaltendt. No number of fine or fair dragons will match that.” He grumbled a bit before continuing. “Anyway, gossip is that he wants a queen of his own, and that is one thing Watt could not provide even if we wanted too.”

They sat in silence for a while, refilling their glasses from the spare bottle that Maid Pyrite delivered.

Rodgardae set his glass aside and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. Mani and Milles looked at him but waited for him to collect his thoughts. “This land is nearly barren of dragons, as you know, and treats the few they have with ill-disguised contempt, outside of the queen and her flight. Your maid, for instance, had to be chosen carefully from the Corps by Mistress Seraphinite as most of them are low-ranking women of little education. Hardworking and respectable, I should add, but without training in manners or academics. Some are nearly illiterate. Such is the value placed on the people who tend to aeries.”

Milles whistled. “I have read many reports of this country, and their fine literature of course. But to hear it firsthand from you is somewhat disheartening. That mad, evil King Maganrad, was it? Who killed off their dragons?”

“Almost all. The slaughter hit most draconic families like an ax. Even three generations on, they are still recovering, and still suffer some of the antagonism toward dragons that fed his insanity. The queen at the time and her flight were spared, at least. His madness did go that far.”

Mani’s lips thinned and he looked away. He knew it all the same as Rodgardae, and they had lived in the strange country for long enough to be inured to the treatment of dragons, but he always took it personally anyway.

“It always comes down to the queen.” Milles harumphed. “I shall make do, in any case. If I may say, you seemed flustered by the woman. She is handsome and well-mannered.” Milles grinned at him.

Rodgardae sighed heavily. In his youth he had been marked as rake, loving and leaving any number of pretty faces through the court. He had not shown much discretion then, and more than one scandal had to be settled via public apologies and business contracts. Rodgardae suspected it was one reason his father had chosen him for Kaaltendt and his brother for the family throne, as sending troublesome heirs overseas was a time-honored tradition in Watt.

He shook his head. “Such times are behind me. Age or experience or love, I do not know. But I hit these shores weary and lonely, and then had the fortune to meet Mani within the year.” He held out his hand and Mani took it, his expression fond. “I grieve as much as the next dragon that such a match means I’ll never sire an egg, but I am content nonetheless. I reserve the right to appreciate beauty, and Mani reserves the right to make me sleep alone for it.” He smiled at Milles, knowing his feelings were written on his face.

Mani snickered at that, and Milles’s smile slid from amused to paternal. “You have grown into a fine dragon, Your Grace. I look forward getting to know more of the consort who has trimmed your claws.” He nodded at Mani, who was back to subtle preening again, with an added shade of smugness.

They toasted their glasses one last time before retiring for the evening. Rodgardae put the thought of the unusual dragon maid out of his mind and pulled Mani to his bed later that night with filthy promises and the clumsy tanglings of the besotted.