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Siksta breathed out an inward sigh as she narrowed her eyes. Everyone in the court held their breath as the sunlight sparkled off her golden scales. The dragonborn angled her head again. The barest tilt as she debated the case before her. She sat upon her thrown, back straight as could be. She was every inch the definition of royalty. Her dress, the way she looked, even the somewhat cold attitude she had.

There were times when she wondered what her populous would say if they knew the truth. That their queen was actually a dragon. That she had been ruling over them for... oh she lost track of how long. Time had a different meaning when one lived for centuries.

But yes, the matter at hand.

A land dispute between two farmers. Something most would see as neither royal nor regal. A matter beneath her. However, it was a matter that fell under her watch. They were from her province, after all. Not to mention that the case itself was... intriguing.

She let her gaze trail over the farmers again. Both were dressed in what had to be their finest clothes. Freshly washed, but had that lingering hint of grime to them. That aura of dirty that only came with a life of hard work. Both stared at her, torn between looking away and meeting her gaze as she examined them. They were nervous, but neither that level of fear a liar would have. Nor did they have the confident air about them of an accomplished charlatan. No, these were honest farmers with an honest problem.

Or perhaps not so honest.

"So," her voice rang out over the court, "a land dispute, Olin."

"Yessum," the bent opossum started, worrying the edges of his hat. "Family's been working the same plot for as long as anyone can remember."

"As has mine," the barn cat started.

The barest lift of a finger silenced him, "Lyndon, you have been given your chance." His mouth snapped shut with an audible clack. "Good. So, the matter is over a track of land." Siksta's gaze drifted to a map and two documents on her table. "Here." An elegant claw tapped the map. Both farmers tried to stand on their tip-toes to see. "You may approach."

Heads low, they approached the dais. Trying not to be in awe of her form. Even in this anthro form, modeled after the dragonborn folk, she towered over most mortals. Even as intimidated as they clearly were, she could feel Olin's eyes dart over her. Practically reading the opossum's thoughts. The simple farmer having a whole new awakening on things that he longed for her to do to him. It was a look she'd seen countless times in her life. Judging by the way he fidgeted and how his eyes roamed... she would wager he wanted to be stepped on, then ridden until something broke.

She'd file that away for later. Perhaps.

"By these deeds, the boundary between your farms was this creek, is it not?"

"Yes, Highness." Lyndon supplied quickly.

"Huh?" Olin blinked, eyes crossed, then one drifted to the map before the other did the same. "Yessum, but..." he frowned, "That ain't where the crik is." He stepped forward and tapped the map, "Got heavy rains while back. Changed up the land some. Washed out all this." He waved his hand over and around the map.

Lyndon stepped in too, "Yeah, but headmaster came out and checked over. Our grampa's agreed on the marking sticks."

"Then rained again, and they were washed away."

She could see that an argument was going to start over this and held up her hand. Even that bare motion as enough to command respect and silence. "Then it seems we need a way to judge the borders. Something that will neither wash away nor change with the ebb and flow of the seasons." She angled her head forward and let her voice drop lower. The guttural draconic crackling through the room. Each word twisting and bending ambient magic through the sheer force of her words and will. Manicured talons traced runes over the map.

A mist began to rise and swirl from the map. She let her fingers dip into it and draw. The mist rolled over the edge of the table and filled the room. Members of the court held their breath, anticipating what was to come. The farmers were stunned into silence, jaws clenched tight.

Sunlight dimmed, then the mists began to glow. Siksta took a breath and steadied herself. Her stomach clenched as the mists swirled. Colors beginning to form in the silvery depths.

With a lurch, the mists parted and revealed the ground so far below. "Interesting," she mused, "So that's your lands." She angled her head, not looking at the farmers as she examined the plots. So much fuss over so little. Mortals were funny like that though. It's why she did her best to both understand them, and guide them to something better.

"It's always so much easier to see the picture from here." She rose from her throne and stepped forward. Her court gasped and muttered as she seemingly stepped into the air. Just an illusion though, little more than theatrics for a scrying spell. "Your house?" She indicated to a sturdily built home.

Olin nodded, "Yessum," he stammered. Then eyes widened, "Them my kids..." He started to wave, but then stopped, "They can't see us, can they?"

"No," she mused to herself more than anything. "From what I remember..." she waved her hand and his lands shaded a deeper blue. "Meanwhile, your lands are..." Lyndon's began to shade a lovely, rich green, "Am I correct, Lyndon?"

His fur was bristled, but he nodded shakily, "Y-yes..."

"Which means," she cut him off and traced where the colors swirled and mixed, "is the dispute." Her eyes darted back and forth, judging on how big each parcel was. Not to mention reflecting on family size and what could be reasonably tended by each family. Though it would be impossible to judge how large or small each family may become overtime, or what might change over time. "This," she drew sharp gesture with her hand, "seems only fair."

The blue and green roiled and melded into a smooth, teal color. Following the contours of the land and gently sweeping back and forth to account for unworkable areas. "Are we agreed?"

Olin started slowly, "Yeeeah. I mean, that accounts for your back area. All rocky back there, not good for much."

"And that area is better fer what you grow." Lyndon narrowed his eyes and looked over the map.

Siksta let out a silent sigh. Of course they were agreeing with her. Why would they come this far then argue with her choice? There were signed enough about the land, but she was not a farmer. Why she could barely tend to her own gardens. She did wish that they would debate some, convince her why one needed more than the other. Help her make an informed decision.

Ah mortals.

"Then it is judged, offered, and agreed upon." Her hand snapped around sharply and fingers snapped with a sharp crack. Everyone jumped as the mist blew away and light returned. The scene vanished in a snap, leaving them standing in the court. The renewed sunlight drifting in to shine over the dragonborn. Glittering off her scales as she gazed down her muzzle at the assembled mortals.

Siksta rolled her head and hummed at her scribe, "Mark the new boundary." She waved her hand dismissively, "Court is adjourned for now."

Robes swished as she turned and left. Most of the court was used to her rapid departures, but she could hear some mumbling and stumbling. All while her trusted retainers announced her departure and other such news. They were well trained and she trusted them to handle everything. Do the paperwork, handle the farmers, and tend to the nobility.

Ugh. Nobility.

If there was any one task that she couldn't stand, it was that. A bunch of people that were no better than everyone else, yet believed that they were special due to some birthright. They all tracked their lineage back countless generations. Yet she was the only one that truly knew most of them. Knew the secrets behind their family name. Knew where they came from. And knew where they'd be going. It was all some petty thing in an effort to feel that much more important. Honestly, the likes of Olin or Lyndon were far more vital than any of those back there.

Partly why she hadn't taken any of them as her lover.

Oh there was the odd noble that caught her fancy. Generally more a working type or had some special something to them. Those that just postured and posed? Well, they learned the folly of trying to woo her into bed. Sometimes she would allow one the minutes of effort it would take them to find their own pleasure. Though many times they had found her ire once they began to boast in court. She was the ruler here and her servants were astoundingly loyal.

Siksta rolled her head and sighed, that mental clock ticking lower. She had magic enough to change her form. More than enough to keep her in a dragonborn form for hours. Days even. Yet it was a waste. Not something she'd do unless she had no other choice. No, better to be the 'mysterious' and 'reclusive' Queen. One whom only came out for important functions or her daily court.

Though most of her time in Dragonborn form was spend elsewhere. She hesitated by a window, peering out into the courtyard below. It was a nice day so the yard was full. Foundlings, children adopted into her household, were at task alongside the staff. All learning from tutors, seeking both mental and physical stimulation. These were her children, her successors. When her Queenly form would grow 'too old' it would 'retire' and take on a new one from 'among her successors.' Funny how that could work and had worked for centuries. Though, as much as she loved her Foundlings, none were truly hers.

Her hand fell to her stomach as she looked over them. A quiet sigh lifted from the golden one as she leaned against the wall. For centuries she had been barren. She had tried countless times with many partners, yet none bore fruit. Dragon, mortal, magical, it didn't matter. Neither doctor nor wizard could figure why. So she'd dedicated herself to helping others. Raise them as her own.

Yet she still longed for a brood.

Siksta pushed herself off the wall with a weary sigh. She'd have to retire to her chambers before long. Becoming a dragoness in the castle halls often lead to issues. Least of which was trying to cast a spell while trapped.

"Hail, Sunshine."

She knew that voice. The slight raspy voice that was somehow respectful yet irreverent at the same time. "Hello, Dreamer," she hummed her reply. The tall, crocodilian lizardfolk fell into step beside her. His muzzle twisted into that permanent grin of his. "What brings you inside on such a day? You're often ankle deep in the muck." She started to walk, but paused as she looked him over. He was clean, spotless even. Fresh change of clothes, green hide almost shining, even his orange-ish scutes seemed to glow in the light. "Tell me, is something wrong with my garden?"

"No no," he rumbled, "Just came to tell the Golden one that I had a Dream."

Now that gave her more of a pause. Skjall was a druid, and a fine one at that. She had long trusted him to care for her gardens. Something he did with glee. More than that, he was an odd case. A lizardfolk who had been 'borrowed' by the fae for some years. Trained as a druid in their most unusual way. When he spoke of Dreams, she tended to listen. "Pray tell, what did my Autumn Tree dream of?"

He stepped in close and stretched as best he could. Trying to bring his maw nearer her ear. She leaned to listen, and found his hand at her stomach unexpectedly. His hand pressed right through the illusion of her clothes. Most would have stopped, their hand hitting that illusionary barrier. Their minds fully expecting, and even feeling, the cloth. This druid had always been an observant one though. Calloused hands scraping her fine belly scales, "I Dreamt of a sun surrounded by a multitude of stars. Yis."

Breath caught in her throat, "What do you mean?"

Skjall rolled his head and thought a long moment. Teeth ground as the lizardfolk tried his best to articulate his dream. "It was cold, dark, longest dark of a season." Something to do with the solstice then? "A grand tree stood at the fork of a river, waiting among flowers. The Sun rose, but not to the sky. She stayed low to the grown, warming and melting the frost. Her brightness came to the Tree and they began to dance."

To articulate his point, he swept around and took her hands in his. The druid doing his best to imitate a courtly dance. Yet between his own lack of grace and knowledge of dance, he ended up nearly falling. Siksta caught and held him, making the druid laugh. "Sorry," he grunted as he found his feet. "Then," Skjall angled his head and hummed some, "The Sun rose to the sky. Brighter, fuller than before. World spun beneath, days, weeks spinning along. Then, from her radiance, more stars appeared." A pause, "Yis."

Her instinct told her that the druid wasn't explaining everything to her. There was something there. Some part of his dream that wasn't mentioned. Yet, that creeping need pushed the voice aside. "So what you're saying," she draped an arm around his thick neck and stroked, "is that the great on the winter solstice, the great Autumn Tree on the River of Dreams will somehow come up with a way for me to bear young? Something which I..." she fell silent as a lump formed in her throat.

"Yes!" he clapped his heavy jaws with a grin.

She'd tried countless times. Consulted with wizards, druids, clerics, healers of all walks. That seed of doubt lay in her core. Yet...

If anyone could figure out a way, perhaps a druid trained in the tricky ways of the fae could. She rolled her head and looked down at him, "Skjall, this isn't some trick to get into my bed chambers is it?"

His muzzle screwed up and he grumbled, "No. Is easy enough when you say that door is open, Yis."

Very true. Skjall had been her partner in bed many times before. He had a passion not found in the lizardfolk. A lust for life, and some very interesting sexual interests. Likely given by the fae. Not to mention stamina enough to keep up with her. He still had that lizardfolk bluntness and honesty. She was just glad that he hadn't approached her in court with this proposal.

"True enough," she sighed and stepped away, feeling the magic start to fray. "I need to return to my chambers. My form is beginning to fray. Not to mention that the solstice is some weeks away."

Maw clapped, "Yis, need to check. Dream again, find all that needs to be done." He hopped up and gave her nose a kiss.

Before she could invite him to join her, and perhaps they could dream together, he simply launched himself out the window. Siksta sighed, shaking her head as screams echoed from below. Looking out the window, she saw a greenish eagle with an orange crest pull out of the dive. All while those in the yard below uttered curses directed at the druid.

Days crawled into weeks. Siksta found herself in a constant state of distraction. Her daily court appearances were often cut short. Hew loyal steward and his staff took care of most of the kingdom. She kept to herself in her chambers, if only to revel in the feel of her draconic form. Massive foreclaws tracing her belly. Imagining how it might look swollen with a clutch. It was amusing, though sadly so, that dragons could breed with anything. So her having a brood fathered by Skjall wasn't impossible.

"Your Highness!"

"For heaven's sake, Ulrik, I have made up my mind!" she snarled, flames licking at the corner of her maw. The hare on the other side of the curtain stiffened audible. "I," she took a breath and tried to center herself, "I apologize."

His chair creaked, "It is forgiven, Majesty. Is everything alright? You have been... distracted these last few weeks."

She could sense him reach for the curtain, then stop. Her castle lay tucked against a mountain. In fact, it had been built out from the mountain itself. Various store rooms and the like lay within caverns. Her own bedchambers were one such cavern. Separated from the suite by a heavy curtain. She lay upon a sea of thick cushions, tail curled up against her own privates. Idly massaging as she thought about tonight.

Normally, the curtain would be open and Ulrik would be free to enter and leave. He knew nearly all her secrets, and had been her lover on occasion. Though he'd begged her forgiveness and stopped visiting after he found his mate. So she kept her playtime private, lest she tempt him.

"I have been," she admitted. "Though that might change by the morrow."

She heard him shift, "Does it have to do with that Ayrrenth? I've told you that you should never have allowed him to stay within your boundaries."

A moan was hidden behind her snort, "He is largely harmless. Unless something has changed?"

"No," disappointment dripped from those two letters. "Aside from something recently with some other troublemaker, he's been quiet." The chair creaked, "Might I ask what happens tonight?"

The tip of her tail snaked across her lips. A quiet hiss escaping her lips as she teased herself, "Aside from the dull feast?" Should she tell him? No. While she was certain he knew that she didn't have any children of her own, it's not something she'd ever expressly told him. "I would rather keep that private for the moment."

Ulrik sighed, then she heard something. A little, shuddering intake of breath. The dragoness flared her nostrils and inhaled. Just beyond the curtain, she picked up the familiar aroma of Ulrik. Flavored with a hint of sweat and... well it seems that he was either peeking or listening in. Very naughty, but also very much something she knew that he enjoyed.

Her tail snaked across her lips and pushed in. The dragoness lifting a leg with a silent gasp. Head rolling as she let the tip whip around inside her.

"Your majesty!" Ulrik gasped, then caught himself and cleared his throat. "Your majesty," he tried to keep his tone even and calm, despite how his scent spiked. "There is a note from Skjall." Her head perked, tail stilling. "It took us a little to decipher what he said, but it appears to say." He stopped, breath coming in short huffs. The scent of male arousal and semen drifted through the curtain. Likely caught within a kerchief, "Grove Dream. Two hours before Sun Rising."

A low, frustrated growl came from the dragoness. "It seems that I will be attending the Feast. Though I will be excusing myself."

"Of course. Shall I leave the note for you?"

"Please, and thank you for your time, Ulrik."

The nearly silent sound of her Steward fastening his belt chimed on the other side of the curtain. "Of course, Your Majesty. With your leave."

"Of course." She could imagine him hurrying off. Perhaps to organize things, or perhaps to find his mate for some release. Siksta waited until she heard the door latch. Talons flicked out and a simple spell made the curtains draw. There, on his chair, was the note. The same spell drew it to her, glittering claws gently holding the rough parchment. It was Skjall's rough handwriting. The same message written in several languages, as was his habit.

The dragoness hissed, "Fuuucck," and huffed. She'd been hoping to avoid her anthro form today. But all things be as they may. At least she had several more hours before she had to don it.

Which she did with great reluctance once the Feast time came. While she wasn't one to shirk her duties as Queen; she she so hate some of the events they 'asked' her to attend. Still, she did her job, but sometimes it was just the bare minimum.

Show up in her finest outfit. Her gown as false as her dragonborn form. Though none here would notice. They were too wrapped up in the feast itself. Ready to stay up all night and greet the sun. She was expected to come, bless the party, say a few things, then return with them to revel. They did it every year. Every year she would slip off for some time, one of her Foundlings would have the honor of the morning ceremony. Every year some of the invited lot would grumble and grouse that she wasn't here. Then, in a few weeks, it would be forgotten.

Siksta had done this dance so many times, she could let her mind wander. Come in, greet the nobles, greet the guests. Have a few dances, say her speech, and that was it. She did find herself growing more distracted as the evening rolled on. The Moon only giving the scantest of light. Though that was hardly a problem with the skilled mages in her employ. Lights of all colors danced and bobbed about the party. Some occasionally spinning and throwing off effects as one magic-user tried to out-do the other. It was amusing, so long as they didn't get out of hand.

Yet the dragoness didn't find herself enjoying the little shows. No, she was too distracted. Counting down the hours until she could excuse herself. Once she could, she slipped out with such deft skill that none would notice her. Not for some time.

The Grove was within her personal gardens. Skjall, and other druids before him, had taken care in crafting the several acres into a wonderland. Even now, in winter, it was beautiful. Some people had left the Feast to come here. Walk the paths. Some even finding little corners to... warm up. Her feet found the path she was looking for and ventured deeper. Brush and trees grew a bit thicker here. The very air hummed with vibrancy, waiting for spring time to unleash its glory. It was more than just any ordinary grove. This was one cultivated by generations of druids. A center of natural energies. Most would be turned away. Why even she might find herself lost if she were unwelcome. Now? The plants almost seemed to bow away from her. The stone path free of snow and somewhat warm underfoot.

Passing through a screen of brush, she found herself in a rather large clearing. Trees, bush, and vines making it feel almost cavernous. A cave of lush, warm, green. Not even the chill of winter dare touch this place. She rarely came here, out of respect of her druids, and still found herself in awe as she stepped in. Each druid added their own flare to the Grove. For Skjall, it looked like someplace straight out of the Faewilds. A lush clearing bathed in perpetual twilight.

"Beautiful, Yis?"

"It is," she looked around for the druid, yet couldn't see him. "Where have you been, Tree?" Siksta started to walk about the glade. Admiring it, stopping by the crystal clear pond to gaze into her reflection.

Something stirred within the depths. Skjall drifted to the surface until just his eyes were above the water. "Consulting the dreamers," he bubbled with a grin.

"In the Faewild?" she angled her head as he nodded. "Would explain why you were gone for so long."

His grin faded, "Gone? But..." he surfaced to count on his fingers. Stopping when he ran out. "Eh, Fae are tricky. Not too tricky with me though."

She returned his smile and sat down on the plush moss by the water. "And what did the dreamers tell you?" Siksta rolled her head, breathing already starting to pick up. Why she hadn't been this eager for something carnal in a long time. Don't get her wrong. She was always selective and caring with her partners. Yet few had offered her such a thrill. Quaff a potion, have sex, wait to see the results. No good? Ah well. Cast a ritual, have sex, wait. While months weren't the same to her as it was to mortals; there was still something about being made to wait.

The water barely rippled as the druid rose from it. He stayed low to the ground, practically slinking forward on all fours. Siksta's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. Naked, dripping wet, and basked in silvery light. She swallowed, "Should I..."

Before she could ask if she should drop the spell, his hands swept on her. Passing right through the illusion that still covered her form. A deep, rumbling purr shook from the lizardfolk as he casually cradled her thighs and spread them. Large, broad head dipping through her glamoured gown. She dismissed it with a gasp. Skjall ignoring the strands of light as they shattered. His focus on the finest scales on her body. That wonderful cleft that lay between her thighs.

She gasped as his broad tongue pressed to her golden nethers and licked. The last few days had been near torture for her. It felt like she had been coming into season. Something she hadn't done in many an age. Her hips jerked and thighs quaked as the lizardfolk boldly pushed his head between her legs. Looking at her with the same excitement that the nobility had for the feast.

"Rrrnggnnn..." she almost growled, teeth gritting, as the male sampled her. Her legs wrapping eagerly about his thick neck and broad shoulders. Back arching with a breathy gasp as his tongue explored her. Hungrily diving past her entrance to sample the deeper reaches. Both reveled in the feel of her tunnel as it gripped his tongue. Squeezed him, urged the male deeper, begged for more from him. The altered dragoness shifted, squirming on the moss as he ate her out. His thick tongue eagerly plunging into her and lapping at her core.

For the first time in what felt like centuries, Siksta was blushing. Her body heaving and arching, grinding into her lover eagerly. All while his tongue continued to explore her. Those rough hands soon joining in exploring her. They roamed over her thighs and up. Across her hips to her sides. Exploring the shape of her belly before going higher.

It was easy to get lost in it. Her body lifting and heaving as the druid had his way with her. His eager rumbling only thrilling her deeper. That deep, hard rumble that could make water dance on his back. He seemed to focus it on her. Letting his chest thrum against her tail as the noise shook out into her.

She didn't know how long they'd been out there. Minutes, hours, could have even been days that he feasted on her. Yet all too soon she arched off the moss and cried out. Flames roiling from her maw as pleasure swept over the Queen. Her entire form thrashing with the intensity of her orgasm. Golden form trembling as she lifted from the moss.

As luck would have it, her spell failed at the same moment. As her dragonborn form writhed in pleasure, it began to expand. Limbs flowing smoothly as they grew. The golden dragoness still squeezing her thighs about the lizardfolk's head even as she grew. All but trapping his muzzle between her thighs.

Yet he didn't pull away. If anything, it only encouraged him to continue. That muzzle of his soon spreading her. A kiss, then a push. His wider maw spreading her privates open about it. Those exploring hands became more focused. Fingers moving from teasing her clit with soft circular motions. To his entire hand grasping her pearl and massaging it. Skjall easily and readily adapting to her far larger form.

Oh heavens. This was... oh heavens! "Sssss-skjall," she hissed out, body heaving as she looked down at him. Eyes lidded as she basked in the afterglow. Her orgasm prolonged that much more by the wily reptile. "Wwwwhat do you have planned?" she tried not to growl at him. Each lick and stroke sent jolts of raw, pure pleasure through her. She'd been with many of her druidic friends before. Some would change their shape to a male dragon. Others would use nature to aid in her pleasure.

Skjall just looked up at her with a smile. She felt him inhale before he pressed deeper.

Eyes went wide as she gasped, watching her druidic companion practically dive into her. As large as she was, many of her partners had easily pushed their entire arm into her. Trying to mimic how it'd feel to be with a male dragon. Yet, sadly, most arms did not compare with what a drake could pack. Never in her life had she had someone push their head into her.

Yet here she was. Watching with astonished pleasure as the lizardfolk pressed deeper. His tongue still at work, licking over her walls. Blunt snout rubbing her insides blindly. All while he pulled himself closer. One hand on her clit, the other on her entrance. Both feel wrapped about her tail to steady himself.

She could feel his own erection nudging her tail as he eased himself in. it wasn't long before his broad shoulders touched her entrance. The druid squirmed, twisted, and rolled his bare form. A form that was warm, and still slick from his swim. For the first time in centuries, she found herself speechless. Merely an observer as he squirmed. A low groan breaking from the dragoness as his shoulders pushed into her.

It was almost like having a male push his half-formed knot into her. While her entrance was made to grab and hold onto one, it wasn't built to take the girth. Still, she held her breath and hissed. Trying her best not to clench down as the male squirmed.

He twisted and bumped something inside her. A rougher patch often massaged by a male's ridges. She gasped, the wind rushing from her lungs. Siksta nearly went cross-eyed as he twisted. Imagining his grin as his tongue swept that spot again. Her walls clenched harder, massaging his entire form. Threatening to crush the druid, while at the same time trying to milk him like she would a drake.

"Haaaa!" she gasped out as his shoulders somehow worked into her. The male's body slipping deeper now. _Doesn't he have to breath?_A worried voice whispered in her mind. Worry began to gnaw before she remembered. Skjall could hold his breath a very long time. Surely he could do whatever he had to while inside her. Though whatever magic he was going to do was beyond her. Although at the moment, even simple Common was beyond her.

With the druid halfway inside her pussy, the dragoness could barely focus to breath. Her entire form was writhing on the ground. Wings beating against grass as she gasped and moaned. Practically howling her pleasure into the Grove. All while her walls continued to massage him. The deeper he went, the more excited she became. Which meant that she grew wetter. Only enabling him to go deeper. It wasn't long before she felt his torso inside her. Feet pressing to her tail as he pushed deeper. His entire body beginning to twist back and forth. Practically swimming inside her to get deeper.

By the Dreamers, this was nothing like what he'd expected. Skjall tried to huff, but there wasn't much air. Not that he needed it, not for some time. It was tight, and far hotter than he expected. Almost uncomfortably so. Though she was wet enough, perhaps he should have used that water breathing spell. He grinned to himself and rumbled. The deep thrum prompting a distant squeal and squeeze from his partner.

Deeper he pressed. Onward, he struggled. Writhing inside her like a living sex toy. All while focused on the spell he'd been taught. A powerful piece of magic rarely spoken of. Even more rarely used. His Master had even been wary of teaching him the magics. Yet she had relented, 'Just to see what would happen.'

He was hip deep in her now. Skjall's eyes rolled with a groan as her walls pressed his erection tight to his belly. The massaging and squeezing enough to make him shudder. The druid arched, huffed, and... his nose bumped something. A clenching ring of muscle at the deeper reaches. Already spasming, relaxing just a bit, as if expecting a drake to push against it. He arched, biting back a groan as her walls clenched. Each milking squeeze threatened to crush him. Yet the druid held his focus.

Blind, squeezed, and aroused beyond belief, he began to intone. His hands, trapped against his own body, swept up into the motions. Which also meant that they stroked the dragoness' g-spot. Massaging and teasing it with each graceful sweep and swirling curve.

Siksta went cross-eyed. Her entire world froze, lights dancing behind her eyes. Whatever Skjall was doing inside her, it was too intense. She could barely breath, let alone think about how deep he was. She'd barely felt him nose and then lick her cervix. Her stomach ached, egg-chamber leaping in readiness.

The dragoness somehow found her feet. Hind legs spreading as her entire body hunched. Some instinct drove her to crouch as if she were being rutted. Head and tail arched until they touched. Hips shook and rocked back. Driving into the imaginary drake. All while her lungs froze, locking away any pleasurable howls. The Grove was filled with the rattling of her scales and the deep, primal grunts coming from the dragoness.

Inside her, Skjall felt himself running low on air. He'd dove into her too eagerly. That half-lungful was quickly running out. Not to mention the effort of having to cast a spell. All paired with the sheer intensity of how hard she was squeezing him. To top it off, he could feel his own climax approaching. Gut tensed and clenched as he arched towards her. The last words of the incantation bursting from the male even as his body thrashed. Tip glancing off her g-spot as he peaked. Painting her walls and his own belly with his seed.

Something happened within her. That last little nudge sent her over the edge. Siksta arched, bellowing her pleasure to the night's sky. Flames raced from her maw, somehow being guided up and out of the Grove. Her limbs shook, locked as if waiting for the drake to finish.

Yet instead of the burning warmth of a male's seed. She felt something... cool. Comforting. As if the very essence of a perfect night were flowing into her. She knew the feel of Skjall's magic well enough to recognize it even through her haze. Eyes rolled back as the dragoness trembled. Her entire body shuddering with the intensity of her climax.

What would his spell be? She wondered as she tipped over. The world going black before she hit the ground.

She groaned as the morning sun warmed her scales. Eyes cracked open slowly, blinking. Siksta lay in the middle of the Grove, stretched out on her side. The dragoness lifted her head and looked around. It took a few seconds for her to remember why she was there. Though the rends in the ground from her own claws helped piece things together. "Oh... wow..." she huffed, "I must have passed out there."

Silence. Worry bloomed within her, "Skjall?" she sat up and looked around. Her gaze swept over the Grove, then her own body. There were no feet or tail dangling from her privates. No cum-covered Lizardfolk sprawled by her side. "Autumn Tree?" she called out, starting to rise. Only to sag back as her legs gave out.

"Easy now." A new voice made her twist around. A vixen with too-long of fangs, and impossibly long tail, and snowy white fur perched on a rock. Legs crossed casually as she looked down at the dragoness. "From what I hear, that spell takes a lot out of you. Well, it puts a lot in you too." Her muzzle split into an impossibly wide grin.

Her eyes narrowed just a little, "I believe an introduction is in order?"

"Of course, how rude." The vixen sprang from her seated pose and dropped into a deep bow, "Call me Willow. I am your Autumn Tree's teacher. I decided to come and look after his Grove for the time being."

Worry raced up her spine. "Where is he?"

The vixen drifted down to the grass and laughed. Her hand coming to rest on Siksta's stomach, "Oh I'm certain he's somewhere." Her muzzle split into that impossibly wide grin again as she gave the stomach a pat. "Won't say that spell is a once-in-a-lifetime affair, but..." she laughed.

Months later

Siksta lay in her lair, the dragoness exhausted after her ordeal. It was almost a year since the ritual at the Grove. She'd began to show weeks after the event. Her normally flat stomach showing a slight swell. Then gradually larger until she was nearly too big to move. Ulrik had taken over duties of running the kingdom. Rightly claiming that the Queen needed bed rest.

Yet here she was now. Curled around a half-dozen eggs. Each one gold and white, with the barest hints of green or orange in the shell. One lay against her breast bone. Its shell starkly different. A deep, rich green, brown towards the lower end, and with a brilliantly auburn stripe along the top.

Willow leaned against the entryway, "What do you think? Should we see if he'll hatch up now?"

Siksta nosed the eggs wearily, "We both know our Dreamer. He'll wake when he's ready." She lifted a wary eye, "Don't even think of spiriting any of my brood away."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mama. I know how vicious you lot are around a brood."