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He liked nights best. Of course, there was less to do. His tutors were not there to tire him with dreary subjects of geography and history, or to distract him with the somewhat more interesting topics of literature and music. His valets would respond to the bellrope, perhaps, but not so quickly as during the day, and they failed, in their sleepiness, both at amusing him and at sneering at him in that that sly but deferential way they thought he didn't notice. He could have meals brought to him at any hour, but at night, of course, they would be neither hot nor fresh. All the same, he liked nights best. During the day, the walls of his room seemed to press in on him, the sounds of the busy world outside taunting his earfans. His room felt tiny, cruel. But at night, lying there in the cool air, his mind could wander out the window, down the side of the tower and through the castle where the staff slumbered, across the woods and into the town, in and out of houses where others were sleeping, just like him. Only the bitterest of winds could chill him, and tonight was temperate, so as usual, the muslin canopy of his bed was drawn. He stared insomnolently into the night sky, where the moon, nearly full, shone in his window, the constellations winking around it. He tried to identify them - was that Ilfetu, the Swan? Padde, the Toad? Astronomy had never been his strong point.

Unexpectedly, a shape appeared in the window, silhouetted against the brightness of the moon: a head, a lithe neck, two round ears. The head looked back and forth and then a slender body pulled itself nimbly up to the sill and dropped inside. Watching from behind the muslin, the prince held his breath. He was not afraid. It never even occurred to him to be afraid. With a single bellow, or a pull of the rope near his bed, he could have the room filled with guards in moments. He only wished not to frighten the intruder away too soon. This, at least, was something new, something different from the normal routine. The figure stood, and crossed its hands above a short, bottlebrush tail, then sauntered in a strolling gait away from the window, looking around the room. The prince gasped at the intruder's sheer audacity, then caught his breath again, hoping it hadn't heard. The figure made no sudden movements, though, no stares into the darkness of the canopied bed. The short gasp had been enough to carry a sweet and strong musk to the prince's nose, however. Ferret, then, or perhaps weasel. As it moved away from the window, enough moonlight fell across it to reveal its features to the prince: it was a stoat, a male one, clad in black cloth strapped with leather bands. His face was sharply pointed, and there was a scar across his snout. He moved with an easy grace as he wandered around the bed.

"Do you know that your eyes glimmer in the darkness?" he said abruptly, still not looking toward the bed. His voice was smooth as syrup, resonant, but quiet in the dark. "If you wish to feign sleep, perhaps you should close them." He didn't wait for a response. "But then, few sleepers hold their breath, either."

The prince felt his lips draw back from his dagger teeth in a smug snarl. "If you knew whose room you'd entered," he rumbled with every ounce of menace he could muster, "you would not be so cocky, thief."

"Wouldn't I?" the stoat said breezily. "Oh, I suppose if perhaps I'd broken into the room of Prince Athele, the kept dragon, I might have something to worry about, hmm?"

So. The intruder knew who he was. This made the prince feel a little less comfortable with the situation. Perhaps the stoat was a would-be kidnapper, intending to hold him hostage. Perhaps he was a member of the rebellion. Perhaps an assassin. His eyes widened, and he drew back in his bed. "I can fill this room with guards in but a moment," he stammered.

"Oh, by all means, summon the guards," the thief shrugged. "But what if I call them first?" His voice went high and trembling. "Please, sirs, save me. He had me brought here. He... he used me. I could do nothing!"

The prince's heart went cold.

The stoat gazed at him keenly. "You probably think no one knows why you're locked up here, don't you? Well, you're wrong. Everyone knows. All your servants know. The nobility knows. The people in the town know. It's spoken of in the farthest reaches of the kingdom. Just, mind, not where anyone who might shout 'Sedition!' can hear. Poor Prince Athele, locked up in his tower for practicing the forbidden love. Never allowed out, never allowed to see a man alone. Always two must see him together: two valets, two chefs, two chamber servants. The only son and heir a perversion, a disgrace to his father."

Athele stared at him in fear. "This... this is treason!" he sputtered. "Lies! Leave this room at once!"

The stoat chuckled, and turned to face him, pushing one of the bedcurtains aside with the backs of his short fingers. "Or what? You'll summon the guards? Have me thrown in prison? Oh, but what do you think your father will do if you're caught alone with another male again?" His eyes glinted wickedly. "Tell me, Prince. What did you do to get put up here in the first place? The little waiter kitty won't talk, probably afraid they'll cut out his tongue. Did you grope, perhaps? Or was it a kiss? Did you sink your heat into him, feel his squeeze, hmm?" He winked. "Or no, perhaps that's not quite how it went."

Athele felt fury building inside his chest, his claws splayed. "I don't have to summon the guards," he said. "I can kill you myself, where you stand. I'm a dragon."

The stoat suddenly become a shadowy blur. The air was filled with the rustle of cloth, and then Athele felt a solid line pressing against the scales of his throat, with a point nestling cozily underneath one scute as if about to prise it upward. A knee pressed heavily into his chest. The stoat's breath was hot and damp in his ear. "Be careful, my young friend. Dragons are difficult to kill, but not impossible. And you don't want to kill me, anyhow. I daresay I'm the most interesting thing that's happened to you in your whole short, uneventful life."

There was a quick glimmer, and then the stoat leaned up, sliding to the side so that he was straddling the dragon's belly. Athele could see no trace of the dagger he'd felt, nor work out where it had gone. He struggled to regain his composure, to seem still on top of the situation, coolly disregarding the attempt on his life. "And what makes you think you're so interesting to me, thief?" he managed. There was only a slight shake to his voice, but as he himself had barely heard it, he was certain the thief had not.

The stoat gave him a lewd grin. "Why," he said, "we both share... common interests." His thighs were gripping at Athele's chest, holding him there, and now he relaxed them, sliding slowly down toward the prince's legs.

"You're disgusting," Athele sneered. "Why on earth I would do anything you might be insinuating with you, you filthy little burglar?" Filthy wasn't quite fair, he reflected. The stoat was strong-smelling, certainly, but his clothes seemed clean, if rather cheap and crude. And in the moonlight, his face was almost handsome, despite the scar. Still, a point had to be made.

The thief shook his head. Was the expression on his face actually one of pity? But that made no sense. Athele was a prince, surrounded by riches, cared for, powerful. The thief was... well, if he was happy with his position in life, then why did he become a thief at all? Because he wanted what the prince had, that's why. Power, wealth, respect.

"Prince," the stoat said slowly, "if not with me, then who? Do you think your father will ever let you out of this tower? Do you think he'll ever give you the chance to have a man in your arms once more? Tell me, is he a kind man, or cruel?"

The stoat slid carefully to one side and stepped onto the floor. Athele found, to his shock, that he achingly missed the feel of the thief's weight astride him. He couldn't feel that way about a thief. "But, your royal Highness, should you truly be uninterested in what I have to offer, order me away, and I swear to you, you will never see me again."

The prince almost did it. The words were in his mouth. But no, if he sent the thief away, then the thief controlled the situation. He would have won, somehow, leaving Athele alone in his tower, having threatened him with exposure and a knife, and then escaping scot-free. No, it was better to toy with him a little, make him think he would get what he wanted. Yes. He would not be outsmarted by some ruffian weasel who thought he could meddle with a dragon and get away with it. Time to turn the tables. "Wait," he said. "Don't go!" He tried to put a little hint of desperation into his voice.

The stoat turned back, an easy smile on his lips. The overconfident bastard. Strategy was making your opponent think what he desired was in his grasp. "Rethinking things, Prince?" he said.

"You are a thief, yes?" said the Prince.

At that, the stoat bowed low toward the floor. "Your highness, I am the finest thief in the kingdom, perhaps in any kingdom. I can steal anything there is to be stolen. It is my calling."

Conceited too, thought Athele. He could use that against the stoat. "But you came here, not to steal from the castle, but to find me?"

The thief gave him an easy smile. "I can come for but one reason only? But no, Prince Athele, you were foremost among the reasons I came."

Athele felt his spaded tail begin to sway slightly on the other side of the bed, as it seemed always to do when he was feeling crafty. "Then if you steal for me, I will reward you with a kiss."

The stoat leaned toward the bed, keeping that casual smile as he spoke. "A kiss from a dragon prince, my, that would be quite the prize. And what would the price be for a kiss?"

"The moon," Athele said smugly. "Bring me the moon, and you shall have your kiss."

The thief tilted back his head in a merry, bubbling laugh. "The moon, you say! Well, it is not beyond my grasp, but I'm afraid, my prince, that your kiss isn't worth that much. Perhaps if you were offering more for it..."

Athele felt a bit puzzled. The stoat still seemed so confident, not taken aback at all by his request. He had hoped to utterly dismay him, but if that didn't work, perhaps he could still ensnare the thief. "All right," he said. "Perhaps even for one of my kisses, the price is too high. Try this. In my father's chamber, outside his bedroom, he keeps a nightingale. It is a prized pet; he keeps it locked in a cage too large to fit through the door, and he covers the cage at night with a velvet mantle to keep it from singing. There is no way to move the nightingale's cage, so you will need to remove it from the cage and, somehow, keep it quiet as you sneak past the many guards protecting the chamber and hallways to bring it to me. If you do not keep it quiet, the guards will hear you, and you will be imprisoned, perhaps even executed, on the spot. Bring this nightingale to me, thief, and then you shall have your kiss."

There, he thought, satisfied. That ought to shut the thief up, or at least get him captured. He waited for the stoat to hang his head, to beg for an easier target, but the thief only laughed again.

"But my Prince," he said, "I have already been to your father's chambers, on other errands, and I have already liberated the nightingale. You see?" And with that, the stoat held up his paws. As if having materialized from his sleeves, suddenly the nightingale sat in his cupped fingers, head canted to one side, then the other, looking perplexed, as if it had just arrived there unexpectedly. It made not a sound.

Athele felt his jaws drop open. It was impossible. It was sorcery; it had to be. Surely there was no way the thief could have anticipated his request, much less actually stolen away the nightingale without being caught.

"And now," said the stoat, "I will take my prize." His hands reached forward and took Athele's scaled head between them, pulling the Prince forward toward his waiting lips. Then they were pressed together, the stoat's broad tongue sliding between the Prince's teeth, moving as slow and sweet as honey. A surge of hunger built in Athele's chest, like he was about to breathe fire, but different. Like fire was being breathed into him, filling his lungs, burning in his belly. He felt his own tongue slide clumsily across the thief's, and he was ashamed. It would be obvious he did not know how to kiss. Once again, the thief had the upper hand, but for the moment, he didn't care. He felt his hands sliding up to grip the stoat's slender shoulders, and the thief neither tensed nor pulled away, but sunk against him, lips firm against Athele's, belly pressed to belly, his hands firm and embracing to either side of the dragon's jaws, and then, too soon, the stoat withdrew, looking down with an expression of both wonder and pity. "Oh, you poor prince," he said. "It was your first kiss. Your very first."

Athele's face burned with shame; he could not deny it. Distantly, he heard the rustle of the nightingale's wings as it flew out the window.

"I'm so pleased," said the stoat. He smiled warmly. "Tomorrow night, though, I shall want more than a kiss from you." He nodded toward the books in one corner of the room. "Think of what you want me to steal for you, and write it on the first page of a book, then drop it out the window in the morning before the sun's light. I will return at night." He moved toward the window.

"Wait," said the prince, and this time he didn't need to feign the urgency in his voice. The stoat paused, looking toward him. "What's your name?" he asked.

"You can call me Nerian," said the stoat, and then in a swift movement, he slipped out the window and was gone.

For a while, the prince lay in the dark, staring at the roof of his bed. His lips tingled, the sweet nectar of the thief's kiss lingering on his tongue. He was afraid to swallow, that it might vanish. How could the stoat - how could Nerian - have known to find the nightingale beforehand? How could he have kept it secret through the guarded halls? He closed his eyes, and again, he sunk into the kiss. He could smell the stoat's musky trail still in the room. Not a good trait for a thief, to be so easily detectable. But now, he could almost imagine he was still in the room, waiting, bending down to touch his lips again. Athele felt the thickness in his loins as his arousal slid toward the opening in his scales, his heat poking up into the cool air. What was wrong with him? The intrusion was not to be tolerated. A criminal did not consort with a king-to-be. It was sedition, treason, blasphemy! No. He was strong. He was the dragon prince. He would push these feelings away. They were not truly his; he had never lusted for a thief before. No, he was sleepy, and easily beguiled. He would not be so the coming night. He would devise such an impossible goal for the thief that he would certainly be trapped, and Athele would no longer have to grapple with this perverse longing. He knew just what to ask for. The prince smiled to himself as he sunk back into his down pillows, and by the time his fingers curled around his aching shaft, he was sleeping soundly.

********************

The cocks woke him a bit before dawn, as was usual, crowing triumphantly at the dim glow of twilight behind the hills. He sat upright, briefly considering the idea that the previous night's events had been but a slumbering fancy. But no, even now, the faintest trace of the stoat's scent was detectable on the morning air. There was something he was supposed to do - yes! Write Nerian's target for tonight. He stood and scanned his bookshelves for a suitable book. Ah, Machiavelli. That would do nicely. The prince delicately took a quill between his talons, dipped it in the ink, and wrote on the inside cover, Bring me the heart of my mother. Let the little beggar sort that one out, if he was so cunning.

He took the book to the window and looked out. The castle courtyard lay below, still silent, the stones empty, though distantly he could hear the staff beginning their day, the livestock complaining as they were roused, the clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen. The window was narrow enough that his wings were trapped inside. It was impossible to fold or unfold them enough for him to drop out, even if he were certain of his ability to fly, which he wasn't. He held out the book and let it fall, the pages rustling in the air as it opened. He turned back toward the room and then paused. There was no thump, no sound of the book hitting the stones. Turning quickly, he leaned as far out the window as he could and peered down, but the courtyard was still empty, and there was no book lying on the stones below.

He backed away from the window, feeling uneasy. Best to put it out of his mind, he thought. The thief would certainly be caught, no doubt trying to break into the royal crypt. Then he'd be executed, and Athele could put those distracting thoughts out of his head for good. He smirked to himself, sitting before his mirror to groom, imagining Nerian with his head on the chopping block, shame and humiliation on that scarred snout as he asked himself why he had ever tried to outsmart the prince, why he ever thought he could have had the upper hand with a dragon. Then... whack!

The prince snorted in satisfaction, then paused, looking at his pale scutes in the mirror. Surely he could not have been that excited during the night? Certainly not about any thief. He grimaced and stepped back from the mirror, using his fire to burn away the brittle, yellowish stains spattered across his belly and chest.

********************

The day of tutelage seemed interminable, boring hours of astrological omens and alchemical formulae crawling by at an ant's pace. Each tutor and chef and servant he asked for news, but, though some informed him of the mysterious disappearance of the king's prized pet, no other events seemed to be of note. Even the nightingale's absence was not of much concern. Apparently the cage door had been mistakenly left open; the bird was assumed to have flown out the window. Any new prisoners, inquired the prince, but no, apparently there were none, and it had been a rather quiet day for the castle. Athele felt he could hardly stand the suspense. The sun hung in the sky as if it had no place to go, and night dawdled on the other side of the earth, apparently content to stay there. As the hours progressed without any hubbub about attempted thefts or grave robberies, doubt began to pluck at the prince's mind. What if the thief actually succeeded? What would he demand of the prince? More than a kiss, he had said. Whenever Athele's thoughts wandered down this direction, he could feel his arousal pushing up from within him; he had to stifle his thoughts around his tutors and servants, to think instead of horrible, unappealing things, like the warty old fox woman who cooked frankly wretched stews for dinners. Most of the time, that did the trick, but when the sun was fat and heavy in the hills, anxiety and excitement so crowded the prince's thoughts he could no longer force them away. He tried reading; he tried distracting himself with a game of draughts; he tried exercise, but none helped for long.

Finally he lay in bed, pulling the heavy eiderdowns over himself, trying to force himself to go to sleep. It didn't work. The sky grew darker and darker, the crickets and frogs apparently competing for volume. The prince found himself growing increasingly anxious. Suppose Nerian was captured by now? Suppose he'd been discouraged by the cryptic goal, and wasn't coming at all? What if Athele never found out what happened, never heard from Nerian again? But then again, suppose any of those things were true? Why should it bother him so? Wasn't it precisely what he desired, what he had aimed for? No, he should be congratulating himself on his own triumph. Yes, that was the correct response. Well done, Athele, he told himself. You cunning and devious dragon! You know how to deal with thieves!

He puffed up his chest, pleased with himself, but then considered how empty the night would be. Hour after hour passed--or perhaps it was less?--and for a moment he lulled into semi-consciousness, but then there was a low murmur at the side of his bed. "Prince Athele." He started awake in shock, eyes wide. The stoat stood over his bed, an amused smile twisting his muzzle.

"Asleep so easily?" the thief said. "Not the slightest concerned for my well-being, hmm? That I might have been captured, killed?"

Athele could not decide if he were relieved or nervous to see the thief again. "I have more important things to worry about," he managed to sneer.

"Do you?" the thief said quizzically. "Well then, perhaps you are your father's son after all!"

"What do you mean by that?" Athele asked, making his voice hard and cold, sitting up in bed and flexing his talons. The covers slid down his chest partway as he moved back, and he thought he saw the thief's gaze flicker briefly, almost imperceptibly, down and then back up again.

"Naught, naught," the stoat said soothingly. "Just that... I thought--I still think--you might be a different sort of person from your father."

The dragon didn't know how to reply to that. "So since you are not, as you pointed out, captured or killed, I assume you forfeited our challenge. In that case, why are you here? To beg for another chance? An easier goal?"

The stoat smiled casually and unfastened his cloak, letting it drop to the floor behind him. Beneath he wore a simple, forest green shirt with buttons, which he began to undo one by one.

A surge of excitement and resentment washed through Athele. "What are you doing?" he demanded. "You dare? You failed the challenge."

"Oh, but your highness," the stoat purred. He managed to make the title sound diminutive, even condescending. "I didn't fail." He pulled open his shirt, revealing a lithe, toned chest. A golden chain was around his neck, and attached to it, nestled in the cream-colored fur between the muscles, lay a large, glittering ruby in the shape of a heart.

The prince felt his jaw gape. "How... how... It is always..."

"Always around the neck of your father," Nerian said. He put a knee on the bed, leaning forward, the huge jewel swinging like a pendulum between them, beating out the tempo of Athele's own heart, perhaps, or maybe just describing the distance between the stoat's chest and his own. Nerian peered down at him. "Oh, but you're so shocked!" he said. "You probably thought you were being so clever, didn't you? You couldn't have known how your father has boasted to his citizens that even though his beloved wife died long ago, he still carries the heart she gave to him as memory of her."

The prince stared up at the thief, inhaling the stoat's breath, mingled with the sweet scent of his weasel's musk filling the room once more. "But my father, when he finds it gone--"

"Will never know the difference," Nerian interrupted him. "I have a friend who makes replicas. He's quite good at it, you know. When I lifted your mother's heart, I replaced it with a false one." Here he gave Athele a sly look that the dragon didn't like at all. "Though some might claim she did that long ago. But unless your father lets it fall to the stones, he will never know the original has gone missing, I swear to you." Delicate, clawed fingers lifted the chain from around his neck and over his head. "You should keep this," he said. "After all, you did ask me to steal it for you." He laid the ruby on the pillow next to Athele's head. "And now, I believe I will take my prize."

The prince stiffened, pressing back into the pillow. "What is it you think you have won? I won't allow you to violate me; I warn you now."

"Violate?" Nerian laughed, and immediately Athele felt ashamed, though he could see no reason to be. "My dear prince, if you mean what I think you mean, you are right. No mere ruby--however dear its sentimental value--could be worth such a treasure. It would take a much, much greater act of thievery for me to claim your innermost secrets. No, this time, another kiss is payment enough, though, I believe, a kiss of a slightly different flavor."

Athele nodded and leaned forward, opening his jaws slightly, but the thief leaned down, pressing his lips to the white scales under Athele's snout and kissing firmly. His fur tickled the prince's chest, and the dragon grunted. "That's it?" he asked, feeling disappointed.

Nerian chuckled musically, but the laughter was not derisive. "Oh no, dear prince. That is not it." He reached forward with one hand and tugged back the eiderdown, climbing up onto the bed and putting one knee to each side of the prince's legs. He kissed the prince's chest again, lower, and then lower again, moving down toward the dragon's belly, and the lower the tickling muzzle brushed, the more the prince felt the fires of excitement build within him. He wanted to leap forward, felt his hands reaching toward the smaller creature, but he forced himself to lie still, that he not be complicit in this act. After all, he thought, he had tried his best to dissuade the thief, but had given his word. He could not go back on that. This was not his fault.

Nor, either, could he be blamed for the swelling pushing up from below his scales. It was--what was the phrase his tutors had used? Simply a dragon's innate feral nature. He should not be expected to control it, even were such a thing possible. His body felt too tight and small to contain it, and as the soft fur of the stoat's chin brushed down his belly, he felt the point of his erection slide into the coolness of the room, the fine weave of the eiderdown rough on his hidden flesh. He clenched his teeth, trying to stifle a groan, but Nerian's ears perked, and he folded the blanket back to expose a rising pink spire.

Athele's temperature rose under his scales, though he could not tell whether from embarrassment or desire. The weight of the eiderdown pressed his shaft against his belly as it slid upward, and the stoat watched it with his head tilted to one side, whiskers twitching in bemusement. A liquid pearl formed at the tip, almost iridescent in the moonlight. There was a quick flick of pink tongue, and it was gone. Athele had felt no touch at all, but the sight of it made his hips shift of their own accord.

Nerian looked up and winked at him. "You see? That is how I steal: so quick and sly that you never know anything has happened."

"Please," the prince heard himself say, and he realized he did not know for what he pleaded. It could not have been for Nerian to go on. No, he would not move this forward on his own. Whatever he meant, though, the thief interpreted it as he wished to, for with that word he smiled in satisfaction, scarred muzzle wrinkling in a sly grin, and then his tongue slid into the air again and dragged slowly, smoothly up the prince's erection. Athele was utterly unprepared. He heard himself groan loudly through his teeth as his back arched, his heels dug into the sheets. The cat, the waiter, whom he had cornered long ago, after a private dinner and a lot of wine--that cat had had a rough if eager tongue, but the stoat's was slick and smooth as chocolate, warm and curling. He felt himself strain, felt another hot droplet appear at his tip, only to be flicked away once more, and this time he felt the touch, the lightest of kisses. Again and again the stoat's tongue moved against his aching flesh, and just when he thought he might be getting used to the sensation, he felt himself suddenly engulfed, liquid heat pouring down his length. He opened his eyes again, not even remembering when he closed them, and saw the top of the stoat's head below him, white-furred fingers curled lightly around his shaft, pulling it up and away from the belly as the thief moved down around him.

All at once, his lust concentrated itself in his loins. He felt tight, full to bursting, desperate to release and at the same time ashamed it was so sudden; he had heard his father boast of satisfying partners for hours.

Surely, though, few had experienced anything like this, the silky, enveloping heat, the ripple of tongue against his erection as it pushed deeper and deeper. Something constricted around it; it must have been the stoat swallowing; he must be buried in the thief's throat. The thought was overwhelming. His lust rose within him and he felt his fingers clench in the bedsheets. A groan came from between his fangs, increasing in volume; it was all he could do to keep it from becoming a roar that would surely summon the guards. His hips bucked upward and he heard the thief splutter. Well good, that would show him what messing with dragons got you. The thought was barely out of his head before he felt his erection give a sudden surge in the thief's throat and his climax burst. Ecstasy squeezed his eyes closed once more. His hips were moving on their own; he couldn't stop them. Again and again he felt himself buck, felt his seed squeezed from him, but not once did Nerian lose his balance atop him, not once did he feel the scrape of teeth. And then, all too soon, it was over, and his shaft was pulsing in the cold night air, the thief smiling up at him, licking the corners of his mouth.

"You're eager, prince," he said.

It took a moment for Athele to process the words. He was lying back against his pillow, panting, his erection still straining as if keen to keep doing what it had liked so much before. Eager, Nerian had said. Quick. He felt his cheeks burn with shame.

"Sorry," he said.

Nerian shrugged. "You're young. It's all right. Flattering, really." He brushed the soft fur of the backs of his fingers down Athele's shaft, and the dragon gasped. "I don't know," he said. "I think you'd be ready for another in a minute or two."

Athele said nothing, not daring to grant permission, but unwilling to eliminate the possibility.

Nerian leaned up. "But I'm full," he said. "And anyway, I'd have to steal something else for another, wouldn't I?"

"That's... that's right," Athele agreed.

The stoat hopped off the bed, and Athele was gratified to notice the jutting bulge in the thief's cloak. Nerian laced his fingers behind his back and began to stroll about the room as he had the previous night. "So," he said. "How about that moon, hmm? Tomorrow night, it will be full."

Athele felt his jaw go slack. "You can't... you can't steal the moon," he said disbelievingly. "That's completely impossible."

"Can't I?" Nerian turned to look at him, his grin wicked, predatory. "Would you care to put a little wager on that, Prince?"

This had to be a trick, Athele knew it. The thief thought he was so sly, but Athele had read about rogues like him. He was relying on Athele being like just another idiotic, badly educated peasant, but the dragon was trained by the best tutors, his mind disciplined for keen rational analysis and critical thinking. He knew there was no such thing as this rubbish, no possible way anyone could ever steal the moon. And anyway, he couldn't back down now. He'd look weak, scared. No, this whole situation was still salvageable. The thief thought he had the upper hand, but Athele would catch him this time. "What's your wager?" he asked.

He didn't like the look on the thief's face one bit: it was almost triumphant. "Oh, it's simple. If I come back tomorrow night with the full moon, then I get to do whatever I wish with you for one night. If it is still up there in the sky, then you may do whatever you wish with me for as many nights as you like."

Athele still could not see the catch yet, and it was bothering him, but he knew he would find it eventually. "Very well," he said, filling with his voice as much confidence as he could muster. "I shall look forward to your nightly visits into perpetuity. Though I somehow doubt I shall see you again after tonight."

Nerian shook his head. "So cynical. Such a lack of faith in others," he said. "Never fear, young prince. I will not disappoint you. Good night, Athele." With a flourish that the dragon though unnecessarily dramatic, he leapt to the window, and then tipped backward out of it, and was gone.

Athele was proud of himself for not rushing to the window to see if the thief was all right. Silly, showy nonsense was all it was. And yet, somehow, it made his heart pound. But perhaps that was just afterglow, as they called it. He sunk back against his pillows once more, pulling the covers up over himself, although he was far from cool at the moment. The fabric rasped against his sensitive flesh, and he gritted his teeth. He often found it difficult to dismiss his erections, but usually a short stroking session would do the trick. Tonight, though, his blankets formed an obscene pyramid in front of him. He thought he might never get to sleep, and he was still pondering this frustrating possibility as he drifted into slumber.

********************

He was still asleep when his valets entered. As he groggily picked at his breakfast, he considered that for two nights he'd had greatly reduced sleep, and dragons needed more than your average working-class villager. Today was a Saturday; normally he dreaded the weekends. They were interminably long without the distraction of his tutors, and often he could hear the happy cries of people picnicking or sporting in the woods near the castle. Sometimes, in the distance, the faint wail of a hunting bugle rose from the hills, and it was at these times more than any other that the walls of his tower seemed to grow impossibly close. He would pace back and forth before the window or door, sick to his stomach with frustration, boredom, and even melancholy. Often he ordered great quantities of wine that he might sleep the hours away, that he might blur out the noise of the world he was never allowed to join. His valets knew to avoid him as much as possible; on the weekends he could be surly, even vicious. But today he was glad for the weekend, for he was too sleepy to pay attention to his tutors, and had he not been so drowsy, he was sure his mind would have been too distracted with thoughts of his nightly visitor to focus.

What would Nerian bring? What trick would he employ to try to deceive Athele? Perhaps he would not be able to think of anything at all! Perhaps the stoat would appear in the prince's room hanging his head, dragging his feet, presenting himself for whatever whims Athele might devise. It was a most satisfying thought, though, on reflection, Athele could not imagine how he might employ the thief to his own desires night after night, at least without becoming complicit once again in the perversions that had led to his imprisonment in this tower in the first place. But on the other hand, if he were to be shut up here forever, then he might as well do that for which he was suffering, mightn't he? He could hardly be faulted for indulging in his baser nature with the captured thief, if the whole reason he had been shut away was that he couldn't be trusted! And it would be sweet indeed to have that soft, delicately fanged mouth engulfing his flesh every night. Perhaps, once or twice, he might even slide it up under that little tail and...

Athele forced himself to push away the thoughts. He could feel the scales below his belly parting, and it would not do to have a valet enter and find him with his erection tenting his shirt like some sort of obscene puppet. But as soon as his mind began to wander, the thoughts returned of their own volition, and he was holding the stoat's slender, naked body against his own, gently rubbing his tip through the thief's soft bellyfur as they lay cradled together in the moonlight... which would be bright and clear, since there was no way the thief could ever steal the moon. And he would slowly slide Nerian down his chest toward his waiting tip...

His erection was pushing up under his shirt properly now. This wouldn't do. He was too tired and unfocused, and the night was too far away. Uncomfortably, he recalled how long the previous day had been, how interminable it had seemed. Today would be even longer. He pondered for a moment or two, and then pulled the bellrope for the kitchen. He would have a bottle of wine. Perhaps two.

********************

When he awoke, the room was pitch dark. He blinked a few times, barely able to make out details. His head was thick with sleep. He looked toward the window, but could see very little; only the dark shapes of drapes covering it. So.

"Nerian?" he said?

"Ah, you are awake, my prince," came the thief's voice from the corner. A dark figure made its way over to the bed.

Athele scooted backward in the bed, sitting upright. "Am I to understand you have succeeded in stealing the moon for me?" He tried to keep the note of smugness from his voice.

"Did I not swear I would, my prince?" There was a rustle of cloth, and then the room was flooded with light, pale and cold and brilliant. He squinted his eyes, feeling the slits narrow to threads. Now he could see Nerian standing at the foot of his bed. In his white-furred hands he held an incandescent globe, about a foot in diameter. It was a cool white, unblemished, perfectly spherical. It lit the stoat's face strangely from beneath, and the rays illuminated his entire room, making it seem eerie and alien. For a moment, Athele felt a twinge of supernatural fear grip at his chest; for a moment, he saw the moon in the stoat's paws, and knew that the sky was utterly empty and barren, that the sensible world he knew had gone wrong. He forced his mind back to rationality. It was all a trick. A very good trick, but a trick, nonetheless, and the light from that trick showed him that heavy drapes were, indeed, drawn across his window so that he could not see the true full moon up in the sky.

"It is beautiful," he breathed truthfully. "A wondrous feat indeed, thief. But tell me, why is it unmarked so? I have seen the full moon many times, and it has markings. There is even a face in it. This bauble you hold has no such markings."

"My prince," Nerian replied smoothly, "surely you did not expect me to bring you a dirty moon. I have had it cleaned and polished first." He held it toward Athele, and the shadows in the room shifted oddly.

The dragon took it gingerly in his talons and gazed at it with wonder. It was smooth and solid, almost like glass, and surprisingly heavy. "That is... that is very thoughtful of you," he managed. "But why is it so small? Surely the moon is far, far larger than this?"

Nerian shook his head. "Forgive me, your highness, but the moon behaves differently than other objects. You could not be expected to know, as you are not permitted to leave this tower, but many things, as you approach them, go from small to large. The moon does not do this. You could climb to the top of the highest mountain, and the moon would appear no larger. You could run as far from the moon as your legs would carry you, and it would grow no smaller. So, even when I came close enough to the moon to steal it--and I waited until very late last night, when it was quite low in the sky--it remained the size you see it now."

Athele struggled to find a way around the logic of the stoat's answer, but he could see no problem with it. Still, this was not the moon. It could not be, and there was one way he could prove it. He set the globe carefully down on the blankets, and slid to the edge of the bed. "One more question, thief, and then, if satisfied, I will concede you have won the wager." He stood and strolled toward the window. "If what you have stolen for me is indeed the moon, then, pray tell, what is that?" And with that last word, he dramatically flung apart the drapes that had been drawn over the window.

"What is what, my prince?" the thief asked innocently.

Athele gaped. There was no moon in the sky at all. Stars glittered, certainly, millions of them, but the moon was completely gone. He looked back toward his room at the brilliant, glowing globe nestled in his bedcovers, filling the room with its pale fire, then back at the glittering sky. He desperately scanned the dark skies for even a hint of the moon's presence, but it was not there, not hanging before him as it should be, nor far to the east or west. There was no other conclusion that he could draw. The moon was in his bedroom. Nerian had stolen it for him. He felt the rough velvet of the drapes slide through the scales of his fingers as his arms dropped to his sides. "You stole the moon," he heard himself murmur.

"For you, my prince," Nerian said sweetly. "And now it is time for you to give your gift to me."

Dazed, Athele nodded. His mind was numb. He stared at the impossible sphere illuminating the room in its eerie glow, making the shadows strange and angular as he walked back to the bed. Nerian was unfastening his cloak, the dark fabric spilling to the floor around his ankles. "Come on, prince, up on the bed," he said.

Athele nodded again, climbing onto the soft coverlet, lying back. "What are you going to do?" he asked. Perhaps he would be lucky. Perhaps the stoat would use his mouth again. Or maybe, just maybe, he would want to see what a dragon felt like buried inside him. But no, that was hope against hope. No thief who could steal the moon itself would ever allow himself to be dominated in such away. All the prince's illusions of control and mastery of the situation were swept from him, any lingering traces banished by Nerian's confident, triumphant smile. The stoat did not answer, but unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor, revealing a lithe but wiry frame. He was surprisingly lean, and his furred chest was raked with scars, old and new. He unfastened his trousers and let them fall around his ankles, baring to the unearthly light his furred sleeve from which was rising, already, a slender shaft. He nodded to Athele meaningfully.

So. The thief meant to take him after all. Athele's heart was pounding. He scooted backward, pressing his wings up against the headboard of the bed, shaking his head. "Please," he heard himself say. Instantly he detested himself for it, for betraying his sense of honor, the sanctity of the word of a dragon, to say nothing of that of royalty.

"Now, Athele," the stoat said, still smiling, "you promised. You need to come down here, closer to me, and lie back. You can trust me. I will not hurt you."

Athele eyed the stoat uncertainly. The thief's erection was full now, jutting up before his belly, darkly colored in the moonlight. It was a slim shaft, true, but very long, poking up past the stoat's navel. But the prince had no choice. Slowly, the grip of dread squeezing at his stomach, he crawled back down the bed toward Nerian and lay back again. He could feel his chest rising in short, anxious breaths.

Nerian crawled forward onto the bed, still wearing his shoes. "Relax, Athele," he purred, and his fingers curled around the dragon's ankles, lifting them, raising Athele's knees toward his chest. One hand released; Athele felt soft fingers brush smoothly below his tail across the scuted curves of his rump, where none since he was very young had ever dared to touch him. He suppressed, barely, what would have been a most unprincely whimper of fear. The fingers brushed again, slowly. "Relax," Nerian said again, and then he lifted Athele's ankles higher again, his smiling face appearing between them.

"Look at the moon," the stoat suggested, and Athele turned his head to stare at the sphere next to him, its light entrancing, seeming to swirl and swim deep inside it as if it had currents. There was a pressure under his tail. He tried to ignore it, take his mind away, let it drift on the strange undulations of moonlight next to him, and then he felt himself give, accept Nerian's push, and there was deeper friction and movement, the warm rod of the stoat sliding within him. He heard himself give a low groan, and felt, to his astonishment, his own erection unexpectedly arising, pulsing within him, pushing up toward the part in his scales. He could not understand this development; the stoat must be... somehow bumping up against it inside him, forcing it out. There was an intensely pleasant pressure from within that only increased as Nerian pushed. His eyes widened, and he turned his gaze away from the moon back to the stoat, giving a startled gasp.

"There, you see?" said the stoat, not smiling anymore, but gazing down at Athele's face. He leaned forward, that pressure pushing farther within Athele, whose erection continued inexplicably to rise, to begin to ache, even without contact, and when the soft fur of Nerian's muzzle brushed against it, it strained, sending clear droplets spattering across Athele's chest, and he groaned again, louder, teeth clenched at first, then his snout opening with the groan.

Nerian moved with easy, practiced rhythm within him, making the pressure and pleasure roll in steady waves, punctuating the crests of those waves with silky, hot licks of his tongue up the dragon's shaft, and at each lick, Athele could feel himself squeezing instinctively around the invading rod, his fingers digging into the bed sheets. He wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, if the noise would not summon the guards or valets; he desperately hoped it would not. Nerian growled above him, his hips giving shorter thrusts, something soft bumping against Athele's rump and tail as he did so, and then the stoat curled down, engulfing Athele's cock between his jaws. The dragon heard himself cry out, felt himself squeeze hard around Nerian as he streamed into the stoat's hungry jaws.

Nerian bucked, almost convulsing, atop him, hot strands of dragon seed drooling around his teeth to puddle on Athele's belly, his breath snorting from his nostrils, his grip around Athele's legs tight, sharp claws digging at the scales.

Athele tried to arch his back in climax, but it was impossible in this position. His wings spread beneath him, and he felt one bump against the smooth, polished surface of the moon, pushing it toward the edge of the bed. There was a crash, a wet sound, and the light went out.

He opened his eyes, the sound of his panting breath mingling with that of the stoat's, who began licking his shaft and belly clean. The movement inside him had stopped. "What was that?" he asked.

Nerian slid backward, pulling out of Athele, leaving a strange ache and a raw feeling. The stoat looked over the edge of the bed, the movement of his naked body against Athele's delicious and sensual. Athele wanted to put his arms around him, squeeze the mate to his chest. "Oh," he said. "You've broken the moon."

What? Athele leaned up and looked over. On the floor were the broken, curved shards of a glass sphere. One large piece cupped what looked like water, and a rock a bit smaller than the dragon's fist. The water in which it sat glowed brilliantly. He stared in bewilderment. He could not understand what he was seeing. "What?" he said out loud.

"No matter," Nerian said briskly, and brushed at Athele's chest with one hand. "It would have gone out in a couple of days anyway."

"What?" Athele repeated. Numb confusion whirled in his head. "The moon, it's... it's..."

"It's a trick," said Nerian. "Of course. Nobody can steal the moon, you silly prince."

The dragon's stomach sank. "You tricked me? But how? The sky, it... it's empty!"

The thief shook his head. "No," he said. "It's not. It's just that the moon's on the other side of this tower." He sat up in bed, watching Athele with an expression the prince could not read.

"That's impossible!" Athele protested. "My tower always faces the full moon."

"True, true," the stoat replied, nodding. "But, my dear little naïve prince, you are not in your tower."

Athele stared at him. He wasn't making any sense.

"Don't you see?" Nerian said, getting up. He began to pull on his trousers once more. "It wasn't the moon I stole. It's you. This room? It's a copy of your own. My associates and I built it over the past three days, bit by bit. It's not a very good copy, I'm afraid, but fortunately, the lights are out."

The prince felt his jaw hang upon. The room seemed to whirl. The thief pulled on his shirt. "And yesterday I drugged your wine to make sure you slept while I spirited you away. Tonight you awoke in a room facing not south as you are accustomed to, but north, away from the full moon."

"Why... why would you kidnap me? Do you want to hold me for ransom?"

Nerian chuckled. "Prince, I'm not sure your father would pay to get you back." He gave Athele a lewd wink. "Not after what you've done. No, you're just an irritating little problem he no longer has to deal with. No, I'm not going to ransom you. I just hate to see beautiful things put in cages, whether they be nightingales or naïve young dragons. And anyway, it was worth it for the challenge you gave me alone. You are a very sweet and pleasant prize, prince."

"Prize?" Athele struggled to contain his sudden fury and betrayal, welling up within him like an imminent gout of flame. "No! You promised to bring me the moon! You tricked me! You... you cheated!"

Nerian laughed, pulling his cloak up over his shoulders and fastening it once more. "Cheated? Of course I did, Athele. I'm a thief. I don't buy love." His eyes narrowed wickedly. "I steal it."

Athele seethed with rage, his fire surging within him to flicker in between his teeth and dance the shadows of them across the walls. "I'll tell him!" he snarled. "I'll tell my father just what you've done, that you stole his nightingale, the jeweled heart. I'll tell him you drugged me! You admitted it yourself! He'll have your head. He'll believe me, take me back home. I know he will."

The stoat shook his head, and for the first time, Athele saw in his eyes a look of sympathy, of deep pity. The look broke through all his fury like an icy lance. He was the prince of a kingdom, surrounded by wealth and power, privileged in every way. And yet somehow he was worthy of pity. Somehow it meant nothing.

"Oh, Prince Athele," Nerian said. "Your father would kill me a hundred times over if he could. Already he has murdered many of my friends who dare to fight him. He wants us all caught up in cages like you, his very kingdom but a pretty thing to hoard away. You call me a thief? You might ask what he has stolen from you. But you may go back to him if you wish."

He turned to go, then paused, and looked over his shoulder. "It is true what you say, that I cheated, that I tricked you. But I have given you more than the moon. I have given you the whole world."

And without waiting for protest, for cries of anger, for further questions from Athele, he left, not through the window, but through the bedroom door, opening it to reveal a rustic and unfamiliar tower stair, torches glowing in sconces on the walls.

He left the door wide open.