The Dragon and the Prince

Slashing his wicked blade through the air, Prince Roderick stalks forward, cornering the beast. The dark room sends them into shadows as the pair stumble further from the torches hanging from the stone walls, the only light shining through a small window high in the ceiling. It catches on the sword, and when Roderick glances down at it, he realises how much damage he’s already caused to the monster: red staining the tip, dripping onto the uneven floor.

“Well?” He shouts, pointing the weapon at its chest. “What are you waiting for?” Several deep slashes are already marked in the centre, for each time he was close, but not close enough, to reaching his target. Though the dragon is large and formidable, it can move at a surprising speed. Roderick lunges forward again, but again barely scrapes along the tough scales of a hind leg as it slinks past, shoving him aside with its long, twisting tail.

He falls backwards, his hands thrown out behind to catch himself. Stones dig into his palms, and the great sword falls from his grip, sliding across the ground. Fumbling to his feet, Roderick steals up the blade and follows the monster.

The dragon knows the tower all too well, and easily slithers around the stone corridor to find the entry. The old wooden doors have already been smashed in, so it was easy to slip outside into the sun. Shouting follows her outside: Prince Roderick steady at her heels.

She senses his approach before he comes into view. Turning back to face him, the dragon notes the fierce expression across his face - determined eyes follow her every movement, and he doesn't even appear to blink.

Her broken wing drags across the damp grass, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Stumbling on shaking legs, she tries to fly, the remaining wing flapping in the air, desperate to take flight. The left side of her body lifts up, her feet barely reaching the dirt, but she quickly collapses back to the ground once more. She feels something on her torso, and glances down to see the wounds have stretched open, and she is actively bleeding in several places.

"Don't try to run, you coward." The Prince reaches her, standing near the lake beside the tower. The view has always been one of her favourite things about this place especially when the sun hits it just right. "Fight back!"

He swings the sword out again, this time slicing through her side. A roar escapes her lips, but she does nothing to defend herself. Perhaps she already knows it's futile, that he has already won the battle. He slashes again, another painful mark on her skin.

Breathing heavily, she stands still, ignoring the Prince. Tears glisten in her eyes; she knows she is defeated. Raising her head high, she stares over the lake, taking in the landscape for the last time. She can hear the birds singing in distant trees, the gentle ripple of the water, leaves swaying in the trees.

Those are the sounds she keeps at the front of her mind. Not the swash of armour beside her, not the whistling of the blade as it swings into her. Not the sound of flesh tearing, not the pouring of blood hitting the grass.

Her eyes stay open, watching the world move by, as she collapses. No noise escapes her wide mouth, no attempt to return the damage to her murderer. She lies still and stares at the lake, at her happy place, until the light leaves her eyes.

Prince Roderick kicks the unmoving body of the mighty dragon several times to check he's done the job. Once satisfied, he turns around and heads back into the tower.

It has a large area at the base, the lair where the dragon used to sleep. Beside that, a tall winding staircase that leads to the only room at the very top. The room where his prize lies.

The battle with the beast took a toll, and though he sustained only minor injuries - why on earth didn't the monster fight back? - the few hundred steps takes his breath away. And not in a good way.

Finally reaching the top floor, he finds a tall wooden door. It sits slightly ajar, allowing some of that beautiful daylight to escape into the stairwell. Straightening his chainmail and taking a deep breath, Roderick pushes it open.

And comes face to face with an empty room.

A wide curtained bed lies in the centre, and though he checks underneath and behind it, he finds no princess waiting for him.

"Amara?" He whispers, though doesn't know why. Nothing moves in the room, beside the curtains swaying gently in the breeze through the large open window.

Roderick searches everywhere he can think of in that small room. Inside a chest, underneath the lonely armchair, behind those thin curtains. He turns himself in circles, desperate to find her.

Confusion takes a hold, and he lowers himself into the chair, head in his hands.

"What did I do wrong?" He mutters to himself, looking through his fingers at the chamber. "She should be here."

Did someone else get to the princess first? Did they sneak past the dragon, stealing her away into the night without a soul knowing? Or did that monster tire of hiding her away, and devoured her itself?

He then notices a stack of papers, piled in the corner of a small desk. An ink pot and quill lie, dried, beside them. He shuffles through the notes, desperate for a clue as to where she might have disappeared to. He rifles through some letters to her family, a few discarded notes with lines through everything, and finds one short message that makes his heart plummet into his feet.

Knocking the rest to the ground, he takes off at a sprint, rushing down the stairs three at a time. The single note is clenched tightly in his fist, the sword in the other, clashing against the stone bricks with every step he takes.

Out of breath and holding his side, where a sharp pain has appeared, he stumbles into the sun, and cries.

"No. No, NO!"

There on the grass, where he left the monster to die, lies a small body in its place. Curled up small, her knees reach her chest, which doesn't seem to be moving. Her eyes are open, staring across the lake.

Roderick rushes over, casting the weapon aside. He kneels down and lifts her into his arms, hugging the small girl to his body so tight he fears he might break her. Her head falls back, limp, and Roderick becomes aware of something seeping through his clothes into his skin.

Her white dress is torn, and the front is soaked through with dark blood. Her skin has turned pasty, almost translucent. Her eyes are dull, staring blankly at the water.

"I... I did this." Roderick holds her frail body close, as if any moment someone might try and steal her away. "I'm so sorry, Amara. I didn't- I didn't know."

The note falls from his hand, and he glances at it on the floor.

Don't worry, it's only me.

Hot tears splash onto his sister's still body as he cries, watching the sun slowly sink over the lake, until the world is cast into darkness.