Within the shadowed grandeur of the hall, every surface dripped with opulent adornment.
The ceiling, a masterpiece of carved marble, bore the intricate signatures of countless artisans, each detail a testament to their skill.
Heavy velvet curtains cascaded from the lofty heights, their deep crimson clashing vividly with the golden filigree that adorned the walls.
Interwoven threads of gold and gold traced elaborate patterns, framing delicate mirrors and oil paintings that crowded the space, commanding attention with their relentless elegance.
The floor at the hall’s center was a mosaic of multicolored marble, its geometric design a marvel of precision.
Even the faint, dusky light could not dull the overwhelming splendor, each lavish detail pressing itself into the beholder’s gaze.
The butler, though no stranger to this place, still found himself struck anew by its extravagance, a sensation bordering on shock.
His eyes widened further as they fell upon the hall’s heart: a pile of sand heaped upon the marble floor, half-burying nine dragon eggs, their shells glinting with an eerie luster.
A golden pillar nearby bore an incense burner, its faint dragon’s breath scent weaving through the air, cloaking the hall in an ethereal haze.
The mistress of this domain, a silver-haired girl, lay sprawled across the dragon eggs, engrossed in a novel.
As the butler drew closer, he glimpsed the title in her novel—The Care and Hatching of Dragon Eggs.
“Something’s wrong,” Frostsilver muttered, her voice soft yet edged with frustration.
“By theory, these should’ve hatched two weeks ago.”
She looked up, her silver eyes meeting him.
“You’re here. What is it?”
The butler bowed.
“My deepest sorrows for your mother’s passing, my lady. As for your task, there’s news. Word has it in Lhasa, the dragon-slaying knight Richard at an auction house publicly hatched a dragonet, named Jewel. It’s the talk, and already someone’s offering a fortune to seize her.”
Frostsilver scoffed, her voice cold as frost.
“Hmph. Impossible. That’s nothing but an ostrich egg, touched by the aura and blood of a dread dragon at best. It’d only spawn a pseudo-draconic beast, nothing more.”
“There’s another matter, my lady,” the butler pressed, his tone cautious.
“Your recent expenditures. I understand researching dragons is a noble tradition, but as one who served your mother faithfully for forty years, I must advise restraint. Your spending has grown… excessive.”
“Simple solution,” Frostsilver said, her voice light but laced with menace.
“I could just kill you.”
Her eyes glinted.
“Last week, when you audited the gold vault, three gold coins went missing.”
The butler paled, his voice rising in protest.
“Who dares slander me?”
“Steal from my vault today, collude with outsiders tomorrow.”
Her words were a blade.
“My lady, don’t heed petty lies! As your mother’s right hand, I know this manor and its wealth inside out. I’m indispensable. Without me, who could you trust—”
Frostsilver raised a hand, and an invisible noose tightened around his throat, hoisting him into the air.
His hands clawed at his neck, legs flailing, finding no ground.
She gazed at him, perched atop the dragon eggs, her voice a silken drawl.
“When you saw me lounging unladylike across these eggs, you should’ve started penning your last will.”
He gurgled, eyes bulging.
Frostsilver rose, her silver heels crunching into sand.
With a flick of her wrist, the butler flew to the hall’s entrance, where two arcane guards materialized, seizing him.
“My command: hang him. Charges are contempt of the lady and embezzlement.”
“No… please… without me, you’re too young, no one will—” His voice faded into the corridor’s depths.
Frostsilver murmured to herself, “Plenty of little insects can manage.”
She strode forward, her long legs carrying her with grace, silver heels clicking—tap, tap, tap—against the polished marble, each sound a whisper of intrigue.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Richard trudged alongside his oxcart, his shadow stretching long across the earth like a weary companion.
Clad in full armor per the Code, sweat soaked his gambeson, a testament to his unyielding duty.
The cart brimmed with cabbages, and from their leafy mound, Aurina’s head popped out, dislodging a few heads.
“Hungry! My stomach’s starving!”
In less than a day, Aurina had devoured the villagers’ meager stores of jerky and cured meat.
Now, on the third day, the wilds offered no large game—only squirrels, too slow to escape her ravenous jaws.
“Alright, we’ll rest and eat supper now,” Richard said.
“Meat! This princess demands meat!”
Aurina whined.
“I’m still a child, you know!”
Her words weighed heavily on Richard, stirring a pang of responsibility as her guardian.
Wiping sweat from his brow, he set to work, kindling a fire and heating a pan.
A knob of butter sizzled, melting into a golden pool.
He tore cabbage leaves, discarding tough stems, and tossed them into the pan with a pinch of coarse salt and a precious dash of sugar.
The aroma rose, rich and savory.
Aurina sat clutching her bowl, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Richard poured the stir-fried cabbage into it, each leaf glistening, untouched by char, steaming with promise.
She sniffed cautiously, then plucked a piece, chewing.
The cabbage snapped crisply between her teeth, perfectly seasoned.
“How is it?”
Richard asked.
“Horrible grass,” Aurina muttered, spitting it out.
Richard sampled it with his chopsticks.
The heat was spot-on, the balance of salt and sweetness ideal, the cabbage crisp with a buttery finish.
If he opened a cabbage-themed tavern in the capital, it’d be a roaring success.
But when he glanced back, Aurina was about to dump her bowl’s contents onto the ground.
“Don’t waste food,” he said.
“This grass is awful.”
“Don’t be picky. Try another bite.”
Grumbling, Aurina took a reluctant nibble, then spat a gout of flame, tossing the bowl’s contents skyward.
Richard lunged, catching the cabbage in his frying pan.
Dragons, it seemed, couldn’t stomach vegetables.
“Sorry,” he said, meeting her gaze.
“Just hold out one more day. We’ll reach the next town.”
“Will there be meat?”
“Once we sell the cabbages.”
Gurgle, gurgle… Aurina’s stomach roared.
“Ugh, my poor tummy,” she moaned.
“We passed bandits on the road. Could’ve eaten them.”
“No,” Richard said firmly.
“Absolutely no eating people. Next time, it won’t just be a rap on the head.”
“As if this princess fears a puny insect like you,” Aurina huffed.
“What’d you hit?”
“Your backside.”
Aurina stepped back, hands shielding her rear.
“I’m hungry! I’m just a kid!”
“All we have is cabbage,” Richard said, exasperated.
“You ate all the cheese and meat the first day.”
Aurina eyed the cabbage pile, gagging at the sight.
“To think this princess has fallen so low,” she muttered.
“It’s all your fault, insect. Why can’t you offer me a herd of cows?”
“Come on, Aurina,” Richard sighed.
“I’m not a genie.”
Aurina sized him up, clearly aware she couldn’t overpower him—yet.
Her shoulders slumped, a rare melancholy settling over her.
Her hand rested on her growling stomach, and she murmured, “I miss the whales in the sea…”
She wandered to a boulder, chest-high to her, and inhaled deeply.
A torrent of flame erupted, scouring the stone clean of moss and ash, leaving a glassy sheen.
“Dragons are incredible,” Richard marveled.
“Barely two weeks old.”
Aurina pointed at the boulder.
“Look, a big whale!”
Richard chuckled.
“You’re delirious with hunger. Want some sugar water? I’ve got white sugar.”
Before he could stop her, Aurina chomped into the boulder, her cheeks bulging as she crunched stone.
“Whale’s delicious,” she mumbled, swallowing.
“Wait, that’s not a whale—”
She bit again, and again, until the boulder resembled a whale statue, complete with a spouting head.
Richard rushed over.
“Why are you eating rocks? Spit it out!”
“It’s a whale,” Aurina insisted, smearing butter from her bowl onto the “whale” and taking another bite.
Half the statue vanished.
“Only insects make a fuss.”
Richard gaped as she polished off the entire “whale,” burping contentedly.
“Let me check,” he said, circling her.
She bounced, unharmed.
“Dragons eat rocks?”
“It’s a whale!”
Aurina snapped.
“Just a bony one, insect.”
“Still hungry? I’ve got sugar.”
“Nope. Who’s hungry after a whale?” she taunted.
“Insect, insect.”
That night, as Richard kept watch, he heard soft sobs.
He found Aurina clutching his sky-blue cloak, murmuring in her sleep: “Green snacks… mammoths… whales… boars… giant sandworms…”
A tear slid down her cheek, glistening on her delicate face before soaking into the cloak.
Guilt gnawed at Richard.
She was just a child, craving meat.
Maybe he could let her eat monstrous humanoids…
“…long-eared insects, stumpy ones, hard-shelled bugs, squishy bugs, crunchy…”
Aurina’s tongue flicked out, licking her lips.
No.
He couldn’t allow it.
He’d eat rocks before he’d let her cross that line.
Richard pulled out his map, cross-referencing the auctioneer’s tip.
By tomorrow, they’d reach Yodell, a town dealing in slave contracts.
If he could find the buyer—or the mastermind—behind the trade, justice might be served.
Goblins had slave contracts, too, bartered from their plunder, paid with captive women to someone called “Black Boar.”
Boar Boar’s ill-gotten wealth could feed Aurina’s hunger and ease their plight.
With resolve renewed, Richard packed their gear and stood guard, the setting sun a fading ember on the horizon.