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Mrholenie was in the library of the royal residence, writing with quill and ink. On the desk where she leaned, there were open books and a lit candle, despite the ample light streaming through the ogival windows. One might deduce she was studying, as members of the nobility must be educated in good habits such as reading and studying printed sources. What was she studying? There were many possibilities: perhaps she was summarizing her favorite story, as I had to do in primary school; perhaps she was studying matters of faith, as my maternal grandfather used to do whenever I visited his house… Well, who am I to say exactly what she was doing? It is not our concern, for now.

The space she occupied bore unmistakable traces of the medieval and Renaissance eras. Shelves of two sizes, some as tall as a dragon, others twice that height, held books of various sizes, scrolls, and an assortment of gadgets reminiscent of the wonders imagined by Da Vinci in the 15th century. There were also low lecterns with a few open books, as well as stacks of books with diverse covers and bindings.

The queen seemed too engrossed in her activity to have dismissed nearly all living souls from the premises. Only a few servants remained, fetching the books Her Majesty requested, maintaining a silence suitable for undisturbed study. Occasionally, Mrholenie would ask a servant to return a book to its proper shelf and retrieve another volume with sufficient information to complement the ideas she was inscribing in ink upon the paper. In the background, a dragon played the harpsichord at the queen’s request, helping her concentrate on her studies.

Her activity was slightly interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in," said the queen, returning to her work.

The door opened, and the footsteps of a massive dragon, a titan, one might call him, echoed inside. She turned and saw her enormous husband, holding in his mouth one of those trays with ropes at the ends for easier and more comfortable transport. His expression radiated pure love and affection for his mate, and on the tray sat a cup of the finest porcelain, from which steam rose as if from a hot beverage.

"Good afternoon, dear," the queen said to her husband. "What brings you…? Oh! For me?"

Hurikán placed the tray with the cup on the desk, which Mrholenie half-cleared to avoid accidents.

"Of course, my queen," replied the king, giving his mate an affectionate lick that made her laugh from the ticklish sensation. "Don’t worry about me; I already drank my tea before coming here. Will I be interrupting if I keep you company?"

"Not at all," Mrholenie said, taking a sip of what appeared to be red tea. "What made you decide to join me?"

Hurikán paused in thought for a moment. By chance, Mrholenie glanced at her husband and noticed his expression had shifted slightly to one of concern.

"Well," the king began, "I received a report from the escort I assigned to Vietor when he left for the Portum Mountains this morning, and honestly, I wanted to clear this worry from my mind. What better way than to be in the company of my beautiful queen?"

"Oh, Hurikán," Mrholenie softened. "But tell me, what was the report?"

"It’s a bit complicated to explain," Hurikán said, doing his best to remain calm. "He said the Prince of Cascadia had arrived at the Portum Mountains after fleeing the iron birds."

Mrholenie considered her response. A few days prior, her husband had explained the incident involving the beasts that attacked Stymphalia, but the queen seemed to take things with remarkable composure. Did she truly understand the concept of "peace"? Well, I am no one to judge.

"I see," said Mrholenie. "Have you spoken to Vietor about this?"

"That’s precisely why I’m worried," Hurikán admitted. "I’ve been gradually discussing the matter with him these past few days to make it easier for him to digest. Yet, he seems to refuse to accept it, even though the heralds have been warning the entire kingdom since the day we mentioned he was invited to participate in the oratory. That’s why I fear something bad might happen, especially with this new report about Renard’s wounded son appearing at the Portum Mountains…" A heavy sigh escaped the king’s mouth.

Mrholenie understood her husband’s state. She walked over to him, pressing her body against his and emitting soft, comforting purrs. Hurikán, grateful, began rubbing his head against hers, trying to dispel the worry that plagued him.

"Listen, Hurikán," Mrholenie began, "I know your duty as the supreme Primordial King is to safeguard Veternia and the Twelve Kingdoms of Optimus Terra. And I know you also have a duty as a father. Tell me, what worries you the most?"

"My son," Hurikán finally admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "I worry about my son, my most treasured possession—our most treasured possession."

"Do you fear something will happen to him?"

"Ah, do I fear?" Images flashed through Hurikán’s mind like a barrage of cruise missiles. "My worst nightmares come every time I lie down. With this whole business of the iron birds, I fear Vietor might suffer something terrible; or worse, that I might lose him forever. I’ve prayed to the Lord for him, yet my mortal spirit remains trapped in this prison of worry."

At that moment, the queen’s tail slid between the king’s hind legs, coiling like a docile serpent around a branch. The sensation seemed to calm him; it was good, after all, that the Lord had made him a suitable helpmate.

"I see you still need to learn the art of leaving everything in the Lord’s hands," Mrholenie’s voice took on a sensual tone. "You may be a good father, but the Lord is even better at it."

"Is it really that easy to forget the matter and let things unfold as they should?" Hurikán seemed convinced, though a part of his spirit insisted he must continue watching over his son as he always had.

"Of course!" Mrholenie smiled encouragingly at Hurikán. "Let the Lord guide you in making the best decisions for your son. Let Him act. From what I’ve seen these past few days, you’ve put all your effort into keeping Vietor safe. But are you sure your efforts alone will suffice?"

Hurikán sighed. It was wise to recognize the situation he was in. I have been taught that "without love, everything is futile." Yet life, a most effective tool wielded by the Great Master has forged in me the following paraphrase: "All effort, no matter how great and dedicated, will leave you utterly unsatisfied unless placed in the hands of a higher being." I do not say this to urge the reader to change their life; I only explain, based on my worldview, the king’s state. However, if the reader finds something of personal interest in these words, that will be their decision and no one else’s.

Returning to the scene at hand, Mrholenie’s snout drew near her husband’s amid seductively romantic purrs. Was this a trick to make the male open the doors to the chamber only married couples may enter? Hurikán might have thought so, but heeding his wife’s advice, along with the reflection it prompted (kings should be puppets to none, not even their own family), he surrendered to the overwhelming sensation.

Their snouts touched, and soon the two shared a passionate kiss, forgetting everything around them. But not for long. At that moment, Vietor appeared in the library, interrupting the rising passion between the two monarchs.

"Here I am, Father," announced Vietor, slightly uncomfortable at disturbing their intimate moment. "Have I interrupted?"

"Don’t worry about that," said Hurikán. "In fact, I summoned you here because we need to talk. I hope you won’t feel upset by what we’re about to discuss."

Vietor braced himself. Why should he feel upset? After all, he cherished his family’s parent-child relationship. Yet his father’s words "I hope you won’t feel upset" suggested a topic that would likely affect the prince negatively. Still, Vietor was bound to honor his parents in all things.

"Son," Hurikán began as they all took their seats, "you’ve surely noticed that these past few days, I’ve been watching over you more closely than usual. Perhaps because of the condition I mentioned during breakfast, or because you’ve always had an escort, which I hope doesn’t bother you."

Vietor nodded, assuring the king it didn’t.

"Well," Hurikán took a deep breath, "I think it’s time to tell you the full truth about this matter."

Vietor affirmed he was ready to listen, upholding the royal family’s code. With that, the king began speaking. He explained the meeting he’d had with the other monarchs in Estinfalia, summarizing the key points. He recounted the intruders’ attack and how they had cruelly slain the guards. He confessed to visiting Vietor as he slept, sprinkling tears over his body and bed as if watering a flower.

A growl of rage and frustration rose from Vietor’s throat. First, an ominous premonition; then a troubling warning, or warnings, since the king had declared a state of maximum alert, and notices had been posted across the kingdom. And now, the supreme confirmation! Now he knew what was truly happening in Optimus Terra! It had been a gradual revelation. There was no excuse for disbelief,this was the king speaking. What was he to think now? Why such a "Dominus Loquetur"? Sokol had motivated him, but the prince had never imagined what such motivation might entail. Would it apply to that warning? Clearly, fate delighted in playing with mortal emotions!

Hurikán was quick to notice Vietor’s reaction. Just as the prince seemed about to react more violently, the king swiftly embraced him in his lap. There, Vietor’s growls intensified until they became stifled cries. The king soothed his son as best he could, while Mrholenie offered her support.

"Don’t distress yourself, Vietor," Hurikán said lovingly, as no better phrase came to mind. How the king wished to move the world for his son, even for himself! Yet, what is a mortal being in the vastness of the universe, or even the multiverse?

The king continued holding his son, unsure what else to do. Vietor could only find solace in his father’s embrace and the warmth of his scales. Sometimes, a father’s hug is all a child needs.

Perhaps words wouldn’t suffice, so Hurikán tried physical comfort. He gently licked his son’s scales, as if to say, "Everything will be fine, don’t worry," fearing further agitation. The only words he could muster were:

"Son, as long as you have me, you have nothing to fear."

"It’s not that, Father," Vietor said. "It’s just… I don’t feel ready."

"Ready for what, son?" Mrholenie asked.

"All this time, I’ve been praying that no harm would come to our kind. But now, hearing this news and seeing notices plastered in crowded places, all I can do is hope the Lord intervenes, if it’s part of His plan."

The queen was about to speak, but Vietor continued:

"Yes, Mother, I know we discussed this in the chapel. But I don’t feel capable of enduring such a trial. I survived the Second Iron War, but only because you never left me unsupervised, and I didn’t know the world as I do now."

"And we will never leave you unsupervised, son," Hurikán asserted.

"Yes, Father," Vietor tried to explain, "but back then..."

"Humans killed each other," Hurikán finished with him.

"And that’s exactly why I’m worried," Vietor said, tense. "I’m not prepared for a war between humans and dragons."

The kings and prince remained embraced for a while as the parents searched for words to calm Vietor. Finally, the queen spoke.

"Vietor, dear, have you considered that you wouldn’t be the only dragon in this situation? Even if others don’t express their feelings as you do, many are just as fearful of what may come. Even we, the monarchs, are as worried as you!" She looked her son in the eye. "But this much we dragons know: no race in Optimus Terra has endured life’s hardships as we have, and you know why. What do you think allowed our survival through events like the Great Famine?"

Vietor pulled away from his parents’ laps. He looked into their faces as a glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. A thought crossed his mind—was he behaving like a fool? They had already told him twice not to succumb to negativity, the second time like a hammer blow. If there was a third, he risked earning a humiliating title. Let us hope that, as this story unfolds, Vietor learns to master adversity, and that this conversation is the last he needs.

"I hope in the Lord to learn this lesson," Vietor finally said.

"And we have faith you will," Hurikán added. "Besides, remember tomorrow you’ll go hunting with Fekete. I don’t want His Majesty to see you pessimistic, my son."

"It’ll pass, Father. I’m sure of it."

"Better start today, my little Vietor."

The family embrace resumed, now filled with an atmosphere of hope and peace. Afterward, Vietor thanked his parents for their warning and comfort. Before leaving, Hurikán added:

"By the way, Vietor, I was going to scold you about the hunt today. Remember Fekete’s invitation? It’s tomorrow. But I’ve been thinking, and it seems the Lord wanted you to go to the Portumos with your friends. Had this situation not arisen, I wouldn’t have grasped the gravity of the matter. Perhaps the Lord is telling us something with Rosée’s arrival in Lichtburgo. So no, I don’t feel the least bit upset, if that’s what you’re wondering." He changed the subject. "Son, tell everyone here to step out for a moment. Instruct the others that no one is to enter or approach the library until we say so. After that, do as you please, but don’t wander far."

"Gladly, parents," the prince replied simply.

The royal order was obeyed. Everyone left the library, leaving only the king and queen. Once the door closed and a brief silence passed, Mrholenie continued.

"Now, where were we?" Her voice carried a mischievously fiery tone.

"Let me remember… Ah, yes!" Hurikán caught on.

"Did you enjoy that sensation?"

"Well, I felt my worries stay on the ground while I soared through the clouds."

"And would you like to keep flying a while longer?"

Hurikán didn’t think twice, and soon a sly grin spread across his snout. A king is subjected to constant situations where worry and stress may seize him—why not take an escape in the company of his beloved? There was no reason to refuse.

Immediately, the two dragons resumed the kiss their son had interrupted. It took them a moment to rekindle the heat that had filled the air. It was good everyone had left the library, this moment was theirs alone.

To stoke the flames, Mrholenie’s tail slid once more between Hurikán’s hind legs, transitioning gradually from a lazy serpent to an epileptic viper. It was merely preparation for takeoff. I know this may seem unexpected to the reader, but please understand, I am not like others. Not wicked, simply different.

Sensation overwhelmed the monarchs. Neither seemed concerned, especially Hurikán. Regardless, he needed this. The pleasant tingling made him feel wonderful, a rapturous mix of euphoria and the thrill of flight. But he couldn’t remain like this forever. They had to climb higher. He wanted to climb higher.

When the flames grew fiercer, Hurikán rolled onto his back with Mrholenie atop him, knocking over a small bookshelf with his tail. The minor "accident" drew laughter from the royals, like mischievous children caught in a prank.

"Oops," Hurikán said, glancing at the shelf.

"Don’t worry, my love. There is a time for everything under heaven." Mrholenie’s voice made it clear they were about to cross the threshold mentioned earlier.

"Don’t tempt me, Mrholenie," Hurikán murmured, enchanted.

"I already have you…"

"Tempted," the king’s voice was nearly a sigh. "Well then, let’s do it, darling."

Mrholenie was more than willing to help her husband shed the burdens of kingship and, in the process, free herself from worldly cares, if only briefly. Slowly, she descended between the king’s hind legs until she reached the coveted sanctuary. The moment she did, Hurikán released a growl of pleasure. He began to feel gloriously weightless, as if already far from this troubled earth.

From there, the two monarchs loved each other with a fire rivaling Tartarus itself. The queen rode Hurikán as he lay on his back, both surrendering to the moment like clouds drifting on a gentle wind. The library filled with passionate growls, though they tried to remain discreet. There was no room for wanton indulgence, they knew why they were doing this. The world was exhausting. They longed for heaven. Was this an application of the phrase "creating a little heaven on earth"? I leave that to your judgment, dear reader.

Hurikán felt mere static mounting wasn’t enough. Burning like Hephaestus’ forges, he lavished his queen with caresses, using his tail, legs, and occasionally his wings. Being larger than his mate, he struggled to reach her scales with his tongue, but he tried nonetheless.

Their breathing grew heavier, their caresses more intense. Their growls evolved from dissonant sounds into an intoxicating harmony of passion. Could they be heard? Hurikán had been clear, so no gossip would dare repeat Cam’s sin against his father. No matter. All they desired was to ascend further, until they reached glory.

Words began spilling from their mouths, slurred like drunkards’, though not a drop of forbidden liquor had touched their lips. A single word, drawn out and stammered, clarified as they neared climax, mingling with impassioned moans.

The monarchs’ cries threatened to escape, not just from the pleasure between their hind legs, but from the sheer joy of sharing this flight. Thus, their moans resembled a child’s stifled sobs. They were closer and closer to ecstasy.

Hurikán seemed the first to approach. Craving fiercer flames, he wrapped his hind legs around Mrholenie’s waist, holding her in place. The queen, meanwhile, fought the urge to claw her husband’s chest scales, resisting fiercely, only to relent by frantically licking the spots she wished to ravage, occasionally nipping gently with her teeth. Suddenly, the long-awaited moment arrived. The slurred words finally made sense.

"Nnnngghhh! Mrholeniiieeee!" Hurikán moaned, restraining himself from crying out louder.

"H-H-Hurikáaaan! Aaaaahhhh!" Mrholenie joined him in rapture.

A deep roar erupted from the king’s mouth. Almost instantly, a scorching sensation flooded the queen’s core, like a revelation of glory mixed with a fiery embrace that, though brief, felt nearly eternal.

Then came the descent. Though swifter than the ascent, it was undeniably smooth and enjoyable for both dragons. Gradually, their passion slowed, replaced by tender licks and caresses that left fiery trails on each other’s scales.

At last, they were earthbound again. The monarchs panted, exhausted from their shared flight. They locked eyes, smiling before bursting into affectionate, satisfied laughter.

"Ah, Mrholenie," Hurikán gasped, "thank you for the journey."

"You needed it, darling," the queen replied, romantic even in exhaustion.

"That cup of tea was a good idea. With Vietor, I have enough to be happy. Don’t you, precious?"

"My love, it wasn’t necessary. It’s not mating season."

"Sweetheart, better safe than sorry," Hurikán confirmed, relaxing his hind legs. "You know, it’s good to do this now and then. I felt utterly free from my duties as king. Didn’t you, darling?"

"I’d say… you’re right. I also felt that freedom, leaving my troubles below to ascend to a carefree heaven."

"How I wish these little moments could last forever!"

"Yes," Mrholenie sighed. "Sadly, we live in a dark world where nothing is eternal."

"But there will always be a ray of light to guide our path to eternity."

"You’re right."

Hurikán and Mrholenie shared another passionate kiss. To accommodate their size difference, Mrholenie dismounted, feeling the warm sensation seep from her sanctuary. Hurikán responded with affectionate purrs and caresses. Soon, the queen’s head was level with her mate’s, allowing their lips and tongues to meet more comfortably. How exhausting it was to enjoy such blessings! Now, all that remained was a short, pleasant nap after their kissing ceased; though I hope the monarchs don’t forget the announcement they promised to make.

Well, life is short, even for dragons and fabulous beasts.