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When discussing the topic of princesses in dragon-guarded towers, most stories focused on the glory and chaos of single combat, the brave warrior's struggle against impossible odds. That had always excited Cataline when she was a little girl sitting on her nursemaid's lap, the vision of a valiant knight dressed in burnished mail riding through smoke and fire to slay his evil opponent.

Living out a kidnapping by dragon was a wildly different experience, as Cataline's primary concern was the long, sinister silence between the dragon's visits. The beast rarely spent more than a day or two in the crumbling remains of a tower it called home, stopping in only to either drop off some small prize it had taken from who-knows-where, or to deliver her rations. Supplies taken from wagons, the charred remains of livestock, and mouthfuls of river water dumped into a makeshift basin. It was shocking how fast hunger and thirst beat down her revulsion at living off burnt horse and watered-down dragon saliva.

Thanks to the relative absence of the dragon, Cataline had managed to explore the entirety of the tower within her first week. This was partially because her jailor seemed to only care that she stayed in his lair, not where she went or what she did within said lair. At the same time, there was also very little for her to explore within the tower.

It was a worn, crumbling shard of rock that jutted precariously from the surrounding crags like a splinter in the mountainside. Whatever nation erected this fort, whatever border or passage it was meant to guard, both had been lost to history like smoke on the wind. Any flammable material within view of the tower had been reduced to cinders ages ago, as nothing lived anywhere near the tower. No green growth, no bird song, Cataline had once left a strip of mystery meat out on a windowsill in the hopes of drawing in something, but not even a fly dared to approach the tower.

Even the dragon's hoard proved to be disappointing and disturbing in equal measure. The lowermost halls of the tower were, as far as Cataline could tell, flooded with the literal ransom of kings and queens. Gold, jewels, tapestries, and reliquaries, enough wealth to buy three kingdoms was piled from floor to ceiling, completely neglected by its keeper. Deformed coins, cracked gems, rotting silks, and crumbling chests lay fused by rust and decay in a mass of tarnished glory.

Was this the fate of her ransom, if it ever came? Would the price of her life be added to this depressing heap, gathering dust in the cellar of this ruined keep? Even magpies had a reason to steal loose coins and jewelry, as this drew in mates. All this dragon's hoard seemed to attract was decay and foul smells. It all raised a question in Cataline's mind, why bother kidnapping her at all? If wealth wasn't a priority for the beast, then why kidnap young royals and demand wagon loads of gold for their release?

The general lack of books, art, conversation, or anything else that might even remotely stimulate her mind, meant that Cataline spent the better part of her days on this problem. Ideas came and went, the beast obviously wasn't buying anything with its decrepit stockpile, or eating any of it, since the creature lived entirely off plundered livestock and game. It didn't furbish its skeletal tower with the riches or use them as a status symbol, in fact the beast seemed to care little for the value of its hoard overall.

Once out of sheer boredom Cataline had taken to throwing coins off the highest point of the tower, trying to track them as they disappeared into the crags below. She'd managed to whittle a hefty coin purse down to nothing after a few hours, only to look up and realize that her fire-breathing host had been circling the tower for some time. The old stories spoke of the terrible wrath and greed of dragons, how removing even a single stone from their illustrious hoards could bring a nation to ruin.

As the beast descended, Cataline froze with terror, although it felt like her heart was trying to tear itself free and escape. In a rush of screaming wind and shimmering heat, the dragon hurtled down toward the tower like a bolt of lightning. Only to flare its wings at the last possible moment and slow its descent into a gentle, almost noiseless landing. It made no threatening motion or sound, it simply crept down into the lower levels of the tower, slipping through the loose stones like a serpent crawling into its den.

The longer she thought, the more this all seemed like arbitrary madness, as every solution she dreamt up was quickly destroyed by the quiet, neglected decay that surrounded her. This problem consumed much of her waking hours, for lack of anything else to focus on, and eventually drove Cataline to more drastic action.

The beast had never spoken a word to the young princess, and in fact seemed to be incapable of speech, but it clearly possessed something resembling rationality. Wolves didn't kidnap shepherd's daughters and hold them ransom for mutton, this had to be a planned action. So, one night while the serpent slept, Cataline crept down into its sleeping chamber and, lit but nothing but cold moonlight, watched the creature. She sat, legs folded against her chest, back pressed against the frigid stone of the half-crumbled stairwell, green eyes fixed on the beast's sleeping form.

It was motionless, not even appearing to breath as its great frame curled against the far wall, away from the many drafty holes and cracks that adorned Cataline's back rest. It almost seemed cramped in its drawn-up form with wings, tail and limbs drawn tight against its underbelly. Although given its massive size the creature would seem too large for anything short of a country barn. Its scales shone like burnished copper in the moonlight, a massive suit of armor that covered the beast from barbed tail to horned head.

As she catalogued the many spikes, points, and otherwise dangerous edges that dotted the creature's gargantuan frame, she looked back toward the head and found one of the beast's ophidian eyes locked on her. The pupil, easily larger than her head, glowed orange like the heat of a winter's fire, yet the rest of the creature's heavy frame showed no signs of life.

"Have you finally come to question me, little dove?" Its maw never moved, but the words still purred and crackled in her mind like a low flame.

"How are you-"

"Quiet."_The sheer weight of the invasive thought crushed Cataline's words back down her throat. _"There are forces that exist beyond you, sensations you do not know, realities that elude you. That understanding lies well beyond a mortal's fleeting lifespan."

"If you can speak to me, then you must know I have other questions." Her voice wavered with each word, fearing the beast might silence her again with the weight of its mind.

"Ah yes, the ransom, that answer lies well within your grasp, little dove." The dragon sounded amused, like a nursemaid explaining to a curious child why flapping their arms wouldn't let them fly.

"The answer you seek is simple, I stormed your father's fortress, plucked you from its walls, and will keep you until I am paid my due, because I can." If the beast sensed Cataline's discomfort and confusion, it showed no outward sign.

"I...I don't understand." Cataline felt smaller, almost physically, as she muttered.

"Naturally, what does the sheep know of the shepherd and the wolf?" The beast inclined its head ever so slightly toward the princess. "It is simple, why do kings and lords hoard wealth and wage wars?"

"To protect themselves, to maintain their states. Wealth raises armies and castles, which defend claims and protect lands." The princess replied like repeating a mantra. It was the same mantra repeated by all the old stories, that kings wielded their wealth and power with righteous, benevolent intent.

_"Naïve little dove. Of what strategic value is fine silk? Does gold trim add strength to steel mail? If men like your father seek security why strut around in brocade and jewels?"_The dragon's tone was mocking, but also leading, as if trying to guide Cataline to a specific point.

"No, no little dove wealth and armies exist only to display power. That is the great game of kings, to seize as much as their grasping hands can hold and raise it aloft for the whole world to see."

"That is not true, my father uses his power to protect the people of Brelia! From bandits, our enemies, and even from creatures such as you!" The words had barely died on her throat before her mouth went dry and her muscles began to tense. Attempting to shout down a dragon would have been unwise for a fully armored knight, and she was a half-starved adolescent in a tattered dress.

The dragon moved its head with agonizing slowness, turning until both of its piercing lantern eyed were locked on her tightly huddled frame. As it drew in a lazy breath, Cataline felt the air leaving her body, bracing for whatever horror came next. After what felt like an eternity passed, the beast released a whuff of hot, dry smoke across the chamber. The cloud choked her dry mouth and stung her eyes, but that was the worst of it.

"I could very easily kill you." The dragon stated, in a calculating tone. "I could kill you, and the father who failed to protect you when I came would never know until his ransom party came back with your charred remains."

For a brief moment, Cataline stopped breathing altogether.

"I would prefer not to, of course, I consider you to be a...what is the word? Investment? Yes, you are an investment into the kingdom of Brelia. So perhaps you should curb your insolence for both of our sakes?"

As terrified as she was, Cataline was now too deeply invested in this conversation to stay completely silent. This was, as far as she knew, the only conversation any human being had ever held with a dragon and she aimed to make the most of it.

"I will...remain respectful, but I still have questions and you seem in a mood to answer them." She used her most courtly tone and bowed her head low, trying her best to genuflect without unballing herself.

_"Very well, I haven't had a good conversation in ages. Not that this is a good conversation, I just find your ignorance mildly more amusing than tiring."_She didn't think it was possible for a dragon to smirk. Clearly, she was wrong.

"What would you like to know?"

"I want to know what your role in this 'great game' is."

"Me? I am the ideal. The king of kings. My role is to set the game and enjoy playing with the pieces."

"Meaning?"

"Your kind plays at glory. I am glorious. Your kind grasps at power. I_am _power. Your kind clings, desperately, to what little control you can scrounge up. I control everything beneath my wings. Do you understand?"

"So you're, what, an arbiter?"

"Very good! The little dove can be taught after all. Yes, if your kings claim to be ordained and blessed by a higher power, what does it mean when I can decide who reigns or who falls?"

"Meaning the treasure and the ransom is just tribute."

"A lord taking taxes from his vassals. A god taking tithes from the faithful."

"And what about the tower? If you're as powerful and wealthy as you claim, why live in a place like this? You could have a proper castle built to your scale."

"Your kings build castles to protect their soft, fragile bodies from harm and to display their capacity to acquire. I have no pink flesh to be damaged by the elements, I am_the elements. I do not have to build to display my power, only tear down what seems unbreakable."_

The riddle of the broken tower and the abandoned gold had just become horrifyingly clear to Cataline. The gold could turn to ash and the tower could crumble to dust, all that mattered was how the dragon acquired them.

It was frightening to consider yet impossible to ignore, the beast was making a certain kind of sense. Taxes from the fiefs were paid to the lords, lords paid taxes to a king, and kings paid ransoms to dragons. Even as she insisted that her father was a just and honest ruler, she knew what happened to anyone who refused to pay their dues to him. And if this dragon was not entitled to her ransom, was her father's own claim to power just as weak? She resented this idea and the creature for giving it to her.

"We don't hate our lords or gods."

The only response the dragon gave was to let out a hard, barking sound that shook the tower and rattled Cataline's bones. It seemed the beast found her question both hilarious and beneath a retort.

"...a god can't be killed."

"Oh a god can very much be killed, your temples are built on the bones of dead gods and dead worshippers. To die is to be forgotten. But I see your simple meaning, little dove. I can be unmade by mortal hands the same as any king or peasant. The primary difference is that a humans can die from contaminated water and insect bites, while it would take a force of hundreds to threaten me."

"So the old tales of knights slaying dragons in single combat are-"

"Amusing, first and foremost." The dragon did not appear or sound amused by the concept of a lone human slaying one of his kind. "But no doubt fictional. I doubt the teeming masses of peasant conscripts and siege engineers needed to slay a dragon ever had the capacity to tell their stories. The advantages of having the wealth and power to dictate which stories get to be told. Now, return to your tower and let me rest. This conversation no longer amuses me."

Pressing the creature any further seemed dangerous, talk of dragon slaying clearly agitated him. Understandably so, if they had been discussing the finer points of assassinating royal families, she would have been uncomfortable as well. It was strange to feel such a sense of understanding toward a fire-breathing death beast that had abducted her from her own home. Of course, she knew the dragon was a threat on her life, the beast had claimed so just a few moments ago.

Cataline waited, quietly and still on the steps, until the dragon had fully sunk down into its sleeping position before creeping back upstairs to her tower, taking pains to ensure she moved as silently as possible. She didn't bother collapsing into the pile of stolen blankets and old straw she used as a bed, as she knew there would be no sleep for her tonight, just restlessness.

The next morning came, grey and lightless, as if the sun itself was waiting in anticipation of what the day would bring. Cataline sat, numb to the cold and the dank of the tower, processing the bizarre conversation she just had with her kidnapper. She thought back to the family castle, to the finely woven tapestries and the gold-trimmed display armor. They had made growing up in a drafty castle feel like something from a fairy tale, but like all fairy tales the grim realities of the world were setting in. Tapestries depicting glories that never happened, dress armor that had never seen combat, all covering the cracks and crevices in the castle stonework. It was sobering to think that one conversation with a thieving monster could teach her more about ruling a kingdom than anything, or anyone, in her own home.

It was at that moment she looked up and saw the thin plume of smoke on the horizon, just beyond the edge of the rocky crags. She might have mistaken it for a wispy cloud if not for the brief opening in the overcast sky. As her host was still asleep a floor below her, this smoke had to come from people moving through the mountains. Whether they were a ransom party or a rescue party remained to be seen.

Yesterday knowing people were coming up the mountain would have thrilled her, but it was difficult to feel excited after last night's discussion. If she was being ransomed, then a cartload of taxes taken from the peasantry at sword-point was rumbling up the pass. If she was being rescued, then the army had likely been mustered, and a lot of people were about to die for her.

"Would you care to know the source of that smoke, little dove?" The dragon, moving with disturbing silence, had crept up the tower steps behind her as she sat watching the horizon. Cataline managed to hold back the urge to jump out of her skin, but the words echoing in her mind did cause her to shudder.

"I know what it is, people." She muttered.

"Yes, but what manner of people? Aren't you the least bit curious?" The dragon hissed in response, bringing its head low and close to hers. She could feel the unnatural, stifling heat radiating off its scales as it drew close.

"Do you have some, mysterious dragony method of knowing about anyone who approaches the mountain?" Cataline asked sharply. The dragon let out the same humorless, growling chuckle from last night and lifted its head toward the sky.

"Even if I could not smell their repugnant stench from here, I noticed them marching toward_my _mountain three days ago. Like most vermin, they've been moving between hiding places and sleeping in caves." The beast rumbled.

Cataline's concern turned to creeping dread as she realized how much awareness the dragon had over its domain. How could a mortal even dream of challenging a monster like this?

"So, I ask again little dove; do you want to know if your father is craven, or a fool?"

The princess did not respond, she simply pulled her knees in against her chest, and tried desperately not to care about the answer to that question. She wanted to know who was coming to her rescue more than anything, but she did not want to give her captor the satisfaction. Instead, she sat quietly, stewing in her anxiety and hoping the beast would become bored with tormenting her.

"I suppose your opinion matters little, in the grand scheme of things. If they keep the same pace as the last few days, your rescuers should be here by noon." Cataline felt her chest tighten as the serpent turned and slithered down into the bowels of the tower.

"I will be returning to sleep, wake me at your peril." The beast hissed the thought into her mind as it disappeared from view, but the creature and its rest were the last things on her mind. It had become pointedly clear to her that escaping from this tower would not be the end of her nightmare, far from it.

Even if the dragon was laid low and she was whisked home on the saddle of some armored knight, how could she live peacefully with what she had learned today? Or with the knowledge that this monster likely wasn't the last of its kind in the world? At the same time, simply jumping from this tower was not an option, as letting such a fiend outlive her was unacceptable.

An idea started to form in her mind, an awful, desperate idea, but it was the only one she had. The princess turned to the stairs and slowly, deliberately, began to pick her way down the steps toward the treasure hoard. She took pains to ensure not a single stone or cobweb was disturbed as she crept past the sleeping dragon, who laid in the corner of its chamber, rumbling quietly like a distant storm. Once the sleeping beast was behind her, Cataline slipped down into the treasure room and began to carefully root through the decrepit piles for something she could use. After shifting through the largest pile of degraded coins, the princess found what she was looking for: a sword. A ceremonial weapon more than likely, as the hilt was encrusted with precious metals and stones, but the short blade still looked sharp enough for what she had in mind, so she made her way back up the stairs.

As she reached the dragon's floor, she noted every feature of its serpentine body and dull thrum, finding nothing out of place. As far as she could tell, the dragon was still resting like a contented house cat. She clutched the handle of the blade so hard the ridges of the grip almost cut into her skin. She inched forward, balancing a need for stealth with the violent tension building up inside of her.

Before Cataline came within striking distance of the dragon, its fiery eye shot open and fixed directly on her, radiating heat and malice in equal measure.

"What, precisely, do you hope to accomplish with this, little dove?" The creature hissed.

Cataline said nothing, only driving forward with the little might she had left to drive the blade into the exposed underbelly of the dragon. The sword flashed, scraping against the iron-hard scales of the beast before unceremoniously clanging against the stone floor.

"...no..." She raised and swung again, and again, and again, each blow deflecting harmlessly off the scales of the beast until the tip of the sword broke clean off.

"Ah, what a shame."_The dragon's tail flicked out with blinding speed, its razor tip stopping just short of Cataline's face. _"Now, I'll have to pluck one of your eyes out."

"What?" She barely managed to get the word out, fear had her heart in a vice grip.

"You've struck a god, little dove, punishment is called for." Cataline stumbled back from the dragon's tail but the barb followed her movements perfectly. The dragon raised its massive head and turned until it sat level with hers, one massive, searing eye meeting hers. Escape was impossible, her gambit had utterly failed, now she was at the mercy of a fickle monster who was prepared to blind her in retaliation.

Blind...

She still had the jagged and nicked sword clenched in her hand; the dragon's naked eye was hovering so close to her face she could count its veins. There was a moment of mutual understanding, the dragon's flicking tail stopped dead and for the first time, something resembling uncertainty seemed to cross the creature's face.

Both blades flashed, and for a brief moment, the tower echoed with screams.

---

Sir Roger had already been force-marching his soldiers thoroughly, even before that careless peasant had doused one of their campfires instead of smothering it. Any smoke trail, and trace of habitation, could bring the wrath of the dragon down on their heads. After ensuring the careless serf was flogged for his actions, Roger pressed the rest of the troops forward as fast as possible. If any harm came to the princess over the course of this mission, then his position among the nobility was forfeit, mistakes could not be tolerated.

With the corporal punishment out of the way, Sir Roger ordered his soldiers forward at double the normal pace. After leaving the ignorant peasant bleeding in the cave, no one argued with the sudden change of tactics. Roger mounted his steed, took up his lance, and made his way to the back of the column to ensure that the soldiers kept moving forward, and that his potential escape route was secured. He did his best to hide how nervously he was watching the sky, even keeping his face plate down to conceal his frantic glancing. For all his promises of glory and righteousness in this quest, he knew the devastating power of dragons and was under no illusions about how many peasants were likely to survive.

Disturbingly, however, there was no sign of the dragon prowling the skies overhead. Scouts had seen the dragon passing far over the mountain a few times during their march to the spire, and always with enough time for the company to find cover, but now the skies were empty, save for a rapidly disappearing cover of clouds. Everyone was on edge, tightly strung like their crossbows, waiting to fire at any passing shadow. So when the horrific screech echoed down from the mountain spire, men went mad, screaming and weeping and firing blindly into the sky in terror.

"Hold, hold damn you!" Roger rode forward into his own ranks, kicking and striking at his troops with the blunt end of his lance, beating the panicked serfs back into line. "I will not let your cowardice end this quest!"

The peasants slowly filtered back into formation, reloading their crossbows and rubbing their bruised backs, still shaking nervously. Roger maintained decorum as best he could, but that cry had terrified him to his core, and fear of the beast swooping down on his neat little line of peasants gripped the knight.

"I want you to run up this mountain, you cowards! The speed is our best defense against this demon now!" There was a moment of hesitation, but the soldiers complied, pushing themselves and their carts of siege weaponry as fast as they could up the mountain pass. Men kept their eyes locked on the sky, some stumbling over each other on the rocky terrain as they were distracted. For his part, Roger pulled back slightly further from the back of the column, and gripped the reins of his warhorse as tightly as possible, in case he needed to ride at a moment's notice.

But the eerie, oppressive quiet of the march returned once the echoes of the unholy screech died down. There was no shadow, no smoke, no serpentine form descending from the sky like a bolt of lightning. Smothering terror crept over the column again, even as they raced up the road toward the foreboding tower. Even as the column reached their destination, the lonely spire stood with no sign of any dragon or princess in sight. Siege equipment was hastily assembled, ballistae and small catapults and siege ladders snaked up toward the tower preparing for a battle. A battle that never came, even as brave Sir Roger let his entourage climb into the tower first.

There was a pause, then a nervous voice called out from the tower.

"Sir Roger, you...you need to see this!"

Roger, steeling what few nerves he had left after this experience, began to slowly climb up the ladder. He was struck immediately by the stench of blood and rank decay, and the massive pile of crumbling treasures in the first room. If it wasn't for the reek of death and the thin, red crust covering everything, Roger may have been tempted to stuff the crevices of his armor. Walking up the stained, crusted steps, Roger reached the next floor and was stunned by the strange and horrific scene before him.

His men, dumbstruck, starring at the gargantuan corpse of their enemy, the gnarled, slightly deformed hilt of a sword jutting from its punctured eye. The rest film that covered this floor and the floor below was evidently dried blood, as the red stains tracked up the dragon's muzzle to its seeping wound. The most shocking image of all, however, was the princess, laying against the dragon's side and caked in blood, both from the dragon's missing eye and her own. Her clothes were in tatters, she was emaciated, but the look of defiant contempt on her face was almost petrifying.

"Take...me...home..."