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**One of those days

Chapter 4**

Even though it wasn't overly late, the night had become increasingly demanding, especially given his royal high and mighty had yet to call for us. Instead, we'd spent the evening harassed by the noble masses, from the good, the bad and the ugly.

Currently, it was the latter who had accosted us, trapping Argy and myself between the silver drink fountain and the hors d'oeuvres, from whence escape was practically impossible.

Momentarily considering whether my shoe toxin could relieve us from the situation, a faint gust of air from beyond sent a noxious waft from the voluminous folds of her gown to strike like daggers within both our nasal passages, and I concluded that any pharmacological marvel that caused excremental excitement would possibly have been lost on the poor dear, who appeared to have already naturally succumbed to such effects within her robes some time earlier.

Gritting my teeth, I murmured a running commentary to my silver companion regarding etiquette, knowing the keen ears would pick up my quiet words and comply.

“This is the Countess De La Marque. She's a tiresome old windbag, but her husband owns vast tracts of wheat-producing land, so make sure you suck up to her voluminously!"

The tiresome old windbag in question placed a hearing horn to her ear, and shouted crankily “What's that, my dear? I didn't quite catch that!"

Smiling falsely, I shouted into her ear trumpet “Countess, you're looking fabulous today!"

Beaming, her wrinkles doubled up on themselves, creating a visual spectacle that on other occasions I might have found fascinating, in an Escher-esque way.

“Why, thank you, dear. You're looking simply delightful, also. I must ask, how is your father, the Countess?"

I caught the slight start of the dragon as he turned a confused eye towards me, so I shrugged imperceptibly, hoping he'd catch the movement and not question further.

Sure, my family had its idiosyncrasies, consorting with large scaly reptiles notwithstanding, but even after dealing with this particular one for so many years, it still left me cringing.

Short version of a long story, my father, in his youth, had made such a name for himself within the Thieves Guild that a few decided it might be in their best interests to join forces and eliminate the competition, so to speak. After a number discovered themselves on the long end of dad's short sword, things kind of hotted up for him, to the point where quite a hefty price was placed on his head.

Being the ingenuous one, rather than tuck tail and head for the hills, he did what any self-respecting, fabulously wealthy thief-assassin would do.

He “joined" the nobility.

Of course, that was easier said than done. One doesn't just 'become" one of the snobby bastards on a whim. You are either inbred into it, did something deserving of royal favour to receiver a charter gifted from the king, or married one of the bastard ingrates.

Since Dad was bred from gutter snipes, and his particular set of skills made the likelihood of his receiving a royal knighthood any time soon even more unlikely, he did the one thing which no one could have foreseen.

He married Count Southgate, became an instant blue blood, and almost sent the monarchy to its knees.

Now, don't mistake his intentions for anything but what they were. Dad's idea of bedfellows falls very much with the opposite sex. It was purely a marriage of convenience. The Count was ninety six years old and as cunning and sly as my old man, which made it a match from heaven.

The fact the Count himself was desperately broke, not to mention hooked on near every unhealthy vice known to mankind, only made the lure of accessing my father's wealth even more enticing. The extra benefit of “fucking with all the back stabbing noble bastard's minds", as the Count eloquently put it, was just the icing on the cake. Given the chance, he eagerly agreed.

So, Dad became the Countess Southgate, the Count spent the last few years of his life in a self-medicated ecstasy, and everyone benefitted.

On his death, Dad inherited the lot, married my mother, the new Count Southgate, and everyone lived happily ever after.

Ha! As if. Life is never that easy.

Opposition came almost immediately to their unholy union. Firstly from the church, where the archbishop demanded the king disavow the marriage immediately, as “an affront in the eyes of the Lord".

He was soon given the opportunity to directly register his complaint with God himself, after falling to his death from the bell tower of his own cathedral, naked and strapped tightly to a squealing pig, in what was later judged to be a rather amusing suicide.

This did nothing to halt the tide of opposition against my father, and as the retaliatory death count rose, so did the howls of protest to the king, culminating in what my father later called, somewhat endearingly, the “night of a thousand stabbings."

Not really a thousand, obviously. That was more an estimate, rather than a dedicated figure. I mean, there are only so many times you can stick a knife into a body before it's hard to keep count, especially when the night took a turn for the busy. With a final tally of twelve dead butt sniffers, multiplied by, say, a hundred sticks each… Well, it's quite a lot, even on estimation.

At this point, the then very young and newly crowned king's patience finally ran out, and he called on those nobles still remaining, along with my father and his new husband, to attend him at the palace, where he put the pair on the dais in front of the massed witnesses and demanded with a scowl “You, Countess! Do you take this man as your husband, of your own free will, in sickness and in health, etcetera, etcetera?"

Resplendent in a stunning white lace gown, my father grinned broadly and said “Of course, your Majesty!"

Scowl deepening, the King then asked the Count himself “Greaves, do you marry this person of your own free will?"

The Count, having indulged himself quite spectacularly that afternoon, gave him a dreamy smile, swatting vaguely at motes of dust on the air, and said with a drug-addled slur “I like what you've done with your eyebrows, Murial!"

Nodding sagely, the king turned to those assembled and said into the deathly silence which followed “I have now pronounced this pair husband and wife. If anyone opposes the union, speak now so I can ensure your complaint is handled promptly and in the most effective manner!"

In the chambers corner, the head executioner let out an evil sneer from beneath his black half mask, the sound of the sharpening stone loud as he ran it along the edge of his beheading axe, whetting the edge to razors keen.

When no one opposed, satisfied, the king said “This union is sanctioned by my royal self, and I will hear no further complaint on the matter! Not if you value your head remaining affixed to your shoulders!"

In the intervening silence, it was only my father and his new husband who heard him mutter beneath his breath “and heaven help us all!"

And that was it, really.

Of course, it didn't stop the underlying snobbery from continuing, nor the occasional retaliatory murder, but as the peace was kept, fundamentally and superficially anyway, the king pretended to ignore it.

Brought up as the daughter of a cross-dressing assassin thief, I just cringe when someone thrust it in my face at these engagements, even if the thrustee wasn't being especially vindictive about it.

“Oh, Father is fine, Countess. He sends his regards, of course."

Smiling even more broadly, if that was possible without her face tearing, she gave a giggling laugh, finally turning now shrewd eyes on Argy, who looked suddenly nervous beneath the vampiric gaze.

“Now, your friend here is most interesting. A dragon, I understand?"

Trying not to roll my eyes, I swallowed my immediate response, which involved telling her no, he's a bloody cocker spaniel, I gestured for Argy to step forward. “Yes, ma'am. He is, indeed, a dragon, as you can see from his wings and tail and general draconic demeanour. He is a representative of his people sent here to ask our assistance in some troubles his kind are having in his homeland."

“A dragon ambassador? How remarkable! We will have to discuss this in more detail at a later date, Sir Dragon, but the pleasure will have to wait! I see his royal kingship has summoned you for a more… discreet… discussion!"

Turning to follow the direction she indicated with her hearing horn, I watched as the Royal Chamberlain weaved through the throng of nobles towards us. Sighing despite myself, and unsure whether to be more relieved or worried that our audience finally approached, I rested a hand on the dragon's shoulder as the Chamberlain paused before us, hawk like countenance belying the forced smile on his face as he bowed most perfunctory. “Countess, Sir Dragon, his highness would appreciate a moment of your time if you can spare it?"

Appreciate, my arse. I knew a royal command when I heard it. Consider the sparing immediate!

Nodding politely to the odious Countess, who gave me a sly wink before turning to screech at a nearby startled Duke, I beckoned Argy to follow as we accompanied the Chamberlain past the throne dais, pausing at one of a set of private meeting rooms beyond. After a discreet knock, he nodded at the muted reply from within, and opened the door to allow us to enter.

King Roderick the fourth, Duke of the Eastern Marches, Commander of the combined Brigadiers, dominatrix of the black clad flagellates, and so forth, stood at the large arched windows staring moodily across his domain, or what little could be seen through the heavy rain sleeting against the frosted glazing. At our entrance, he turned slowly, regarding us with dour eyes even as he held out his empty wine glass for a refill, hurriedly provided by an attendant page. His nonchalance was legendary, although my trained eyes did catch him start almost imperceptibly as he took in Argy's reptilian appearance, a break in the usual mask he presented most would have missed.

I missed little, of course, and the wry quirk which then met his lips revealed his knowledge of my attentiveness.

Bowing deeply, I offered an honest “Good evening, your Majesty", noting that the dragon had dropped his head markedly in his own show of respect. The quirk deepened as I rose to regard our liege again, as he nodded in return, dry smile widening slightly as he raised his glass towards Argy and said softly “Good evening, Camilla. It's been too long since you graced us with your particular form of… excitement. The things you do bring to us are really rather remarkable."

Snorting softly, I chuckled and nodded again. “Yes, Sire. I just seem to have these things fall in my lap at the most inopportune moments."

A smile flit across his features as he replied “At the same time, I find myself another noble short, I understand. Still, that fat fool isn't one I will especially miss. Your father has passed on some rather disturbing information regarding our mutual deceased friend and his little enclave of traitors, for which I find myself again indebted. Your assistance in… cleansing these particular individuals was also appreciated, Camilla. However, you can understand I find myself in somewhat of a difficult position."

Argy shot me a confused look, but I shrugged imperceptibly, hoping the dragon would pick up the gesture. Human politics were confusing enough, without the need to explain it in front of royalty, and I hoped he'd hold off any questions until we had a little privacy later.

I didn't share the dragon's confusion, however. I knew exactly what difficulty his royal high and mighty was referring to.

Most people assumed the king ruled, and his subjects obeyed. Great in principal, but in reality, about as far from the truth as one could imagine. His highness found himself walking a tightrope of intrigue and espionage, muddied with the occasional attempted assassination, which threatened to have him fall off the wire altogether. It was his skills in balancing the different parties that kept the kingdom aloft, and finding himself indebted to a single family, even one as staunchly neutral as my own, wasn't something he felt comfortable with.

Damn Dad for throwing me into this mess, I swore silently, realising that my father had planned this from the moment he understood Argy's goals. Sometimes, I wish he just filled me in on the gory details, and let me walk into these situations aware of the risks, instead of stumbling around in ignorance. More training, I suppose, letting me get used to handling things like this alone.

Swallowing my angst deep, I kept my expression neutral and bowed again, buying some brief moments to process the possibilities.

“Perhaps I can offer an opportunity for his Highness to relieve his mind of such thoughts?"

Feigning curiousity, the king waved for me to continue, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Turning to Argy, I introduced the dragon to the king. “While his name is somewhat unpronounceable in our language, I would like to introduce the ambassador from the silver dragon kingdom, who has kindly agreed to acknowledge the name Argyros in our interactions. It seems their people are having some difficulties with their larger, antsier cousins, and he would like to present himself to your convenience with a proposition for mutual exchanges."

Giving the dragon a frank stare, his highness chuckled briefly, surprising us both by extending a hand and grasping the tentative clawed paw of the dragon.

“I believe what Camilla is inferring, that there may be some mutual opportunities in assisting you in your quest to assist your people, and in doing so resolve some of the debts I find myself pledged to her father. Is that right, Cam?"

Nodding wryly, I gave my neck a rub through the sweaty, clinging fabric as I replied “Yes, sire. That pretty much sums it up, for sure."

Argy released the hand, giving the king a toothy smile, which I was relieved to see didn't faze him, although the wide eyed Page waiting patiently behind with the carafe of wine at the ready nearly dropped it from shaking hands. The Chamberlain, however, didn't bat an eyelash, and I held no illusion that had the dragon presented any cause for real alarm, the soldiers stationed behind the many tapestries lining the wall would have filled him with more arrows than a pin cushion held needles.

Living up to his ambassadorial title, Argy bowed again and spoke. “Yes, your Majesty. I will be frank, as you've offered the same courtesy in return. My people are in dire need. Without your help, they may perish at the hands of the reds and blacks. I place myself on your mercy."

As he dropped low, I muttered “Don't overdo it, dragon!" catching the slow wink he threw towards me before rising again to regard the amused expression on the kings face.

'It's actually refreshing to meet someone not hiding behind prolific hyperbole, my scaly new friend. I believe Camilla's family has seen to your comforts to date. Allow me the time to discuss these matters with my staff, and I will talk to you again about them in the near future."

Bowing again, I tapped the dragon on the shoulder, indicating the meeting was over. A little confused at its briefness, he took my lead and bowed again, as we left in the company of the Chamberlain, who shut the door behind us without a backward glance.

All the tenseness left me then, replaced by a wave of exhaustion which left me slumped against the cold stone of the hallway, the concerned look from the dragon increasing as he approached more closely.

“Did we achieve anything there?" he asked candidly, and I laughed harshly, rubbing my face free of the sheen of perspiration coating it.

“I can't fucking believe my father, Argy, the secretive bastard! Shit, if I'd known my mission to Fat Bastard's hell hole was undertaken for his royal highness there, I might have saved myself a few grey hairs, not to mention scars, and stuck my knife in him the moment I arrived. Damn him to hell!"

Confused, the dragon muttered “I didn't understand a lot of what went on there. Human conversation is confusing! Everything is hidden in false courtesy and waffle!" and I patted the muscled neck gently.

“It's what wasn't said that was the killer, even literally. Let's grab some drinks, find ourselves a quiet spot with fresh air somewhere the Countess De La Marque won't track us down, and I'll try to explain it all."

“She did smell awfully bad" Argy muttered and I laughed again, beckoning for an attendant to bring me a drink.

Apart from his love of intrigue, his highness second love was, of all things, horticulture. He kept a glassed arboretum containing specimens from all over the Kingdom and beyond, and most diplomats knew to bring him something interesting if they felt the need for informal pandering. Me, I just found it useful for the occasional private conversation and, in extreme and dire situations, a good place to stash a few bodies in an emergency if things became difficult elsewhere.

Argy provided the security, ensuring we wouldn't be overheard. Our casual retreat from the party had, on the surface, gone unnoticed, but I knew there were few in the room uninterested in details of the brief meeting we'd had with the king. Keeping them in the dark as long as possible benefitted us all.

Perhaps the dragon's presence scared off the more persistent, but after a few left hurriedly upon viewing my glare, we did achieve some peace, the quiet solitude of the greenery only broken by the background hiss of rain striking the glass far above us.

I'd managed to secure a flagon of half decent wine, grabbing the carafe from the tray of a startled page, who obviously had expectations on distributing it elsewhere. Giving the lad a wink, he rolled his eyes in return, smirking as I palmed to him a small silver coin with the muttered advice to bring me several more in the immediate future. Two glasses joined the wine, and I poured a decent measure into each, passing one to the silver dragon, who gave it a dubious look on receipt.

“I'm not sure…" he began, but paused as I scoffed off my own, heedless of my less than dignified appearance in front of the other, distant courtiers, and followed it with a generous second glass.

“Gods, sake, Argy, just drink it! It won't kill you. Besides, there's nothing more pitiful than getting plastered alone. If you don't drink, you're going to make me feel like an idiot, and I've already had enough of that today, thanks!"

Thank the Gods he wasn't going to argue further, but I hadn't expected what he did next. Admittedly, I miscalculated the anatomical differences between us, so “taking a small sip" wasn't exactly feasible with a long muzzle. Still, dumping the entire glasses contents down his upturned snout was a surprise.

For both of us, really, as the liquor hit his sensitive throat, set off a coughing reflex, and resulted in the eruption of a twenty foot high blast of flame to scorch the greenery overhead!

“Fuck!" I swore helpfully, batting at the scorching embers settling onto my finest clothes from overhead, as Argy continued to choke and splutter up sparks beside me. Finally regaining his voice, he said hoarsely “Another?" holding out the glass for a refill that this time he took more tentatively.

As a side effect, the spectacle further ensured our privacy, as most in the area had beaten a hasty retreat to a place where a fire breathing dragon was absent.

I chased the drink down with a second, and then a third, dropping to a marble bench placed amidst a small pocket of dense greenery. The rest of the space was quickly filled with silver dragon, as Argy squeezed his bulky wings into the area, arching them upward to curve over us as he settled on his haunches in the limited space. The page I'd bribed earlier came through in spades, bringing us several larger glass jugs of wine, heedless of the dragon hovering nearby as he gave me a cheeky wink as he departed.

“Good kid, that!" I mumbled, my fifth drink slurring my speech slightly as I sighed and leaned back against cold polished stone, choosing my words cautiously over my imminent inebriation as I tried explaining the complexities of the court to the patient dragon.

“OK, let's see if I can get this out right. Dad has enough pull with the royals to put his highness in a bit of a pickle. Nobles spend their lives trying to undercut each other, and gain the most standing in the eyes of the King. They fight and bicker and metaphorically, but in general not physically, back stab each other in their attempts to gain royal influence, thereby increasing their standing and, ultimately, their personal treasury. The problem with this, is everyone is out for their own self-interests, which one would think isn't beneficial to the kingdom, but thankfully often keeps the meddling bastards from fucking things up even worse. At least the status quo is kept, as the King, as well as the Royal Chamberlain who is his right hand in most things, tries to ensure that no specific individual rises above anyone else."

Sighing, I rubbed my eyes as Argy nodded, quick to polish off his own drink, this time directly from the carafe. I thought about admonishing him as to the drink's potency, then thought to hell with it. A pissed dragon rampaging through the greenery certainly couldn't complicate matters any further than they already were.

“So, we end up with a hornet's nest of intrigue, locked in its own twisted status quo. This has worked for generations, as when someone gets ahead of their peers, they are quickly slapped down to their place. Then, Dad comes along so spectacularly to fuck the system up. Rather than suck up to everyone, he gives them the metaphorical finger, and does whatever he feels necessary to achieve his goals. At the least, they expect him to pander to their sensibilities and pretend he cares what they think. Instead, especially in the early days when he was younger and less socially-minded, he tells most to go fuck themselves, which while not politically correct, did at least bring in a breath of fresh air to fumigate the rancid lot."

When the dragon nodded his understanding so far, I continued. “Now, while technically no royalist, Dad also has a bit of a soft spot for the new King. Consider it backing the underdog syndrome, but when his father died so quickly, he was thrust into the position with little else but his wits, which thankfully sufficed. The ex-prince was young enough not to be ingrained with stupid like his father, but has enough smarts to know the ass kissers from the whatnots. In turn, he took a shine to Dad, again getting the sense that he will at least give it to him straight, even if he disagrees with his opinion. The unfortunate side effect of this is that this increases Dad's standing markedly with the King, which all the other nobles don't want a bar of. Bad enough the upstart buys his way into nobility in the most insulting way possible, but when he starts having the King's ear, the limit of their tolerance is reached."

Moodily, I scoffed another glass, deciding to screw the consequences of ludicrously excessive alcohol that evening. “Now, in this recent debacle, not only did he provide the throne with invaluable information regarding Fat Bastard's treason, which will undoubtedly have connections with some of the vagrant backstabbers over there, he then throws you into the mix as a bargaining chip. The King, and the nobles, will all understand that the chance of opening diplomatic ties to your people would be more than worth throwing a few hundred luckless soldiers at your enemies. The King benefits indirectly too, as it gives him an opportunity to pay off some of the perceived debt he now owes my family. But only to a point; my family still strides further ahead in the kissy sucky ranks."

Sighing, Argy dropped his head close and nodded. “So, I'm the scale in the honey mix?"

Grinning suddenly, I patted his cheek and said “If you like. I'd be more inclined to think of you as the roast lamb in the meat sandwich, between Dad and the King on one side, and the rest of those pricks out there on the other."

Rolling his eyes, Argy stretched, cricking his neck audibly as he muttered “Oh joy. My people are dying, while these mud larks try to each gain the most benefit pretending to aid them. Are all you human's so complicit?"

Mood suddenly more sober than my body wanted to admit, I threw an unsteady arm around his neck and said “I did warn you not to trust anyone. You either are used, or use someone else, in this court. Pretty fucked up society we have here. On the bright side, I reckon they might actually do something to help your people out. Just make sure you don't trust them any further than you need to, as there will always be a catch somewhere in everything they promise."

Tapping glasses with the dragon, I chuckled again and continued. “Now, I need to be royally pissed before I go back amongst those vipers. So, drink up and we'll see if that page can do anything further about keeping us properly supplied with booze."

He didn't refuse, and the night proceeded with a great deal more excitement after that.

I recall punching one young fool in the face after he made an inelegant comment about my family blood lines, sending him flying back to crash rather satisfyingly into the canapé's. Hey, I may be from a pack of gutter trash, but damned if I was going to let some two bit noble upstart slander it! When he made to draw his sword, the furious expression soon turned frightened, as Argy bent close, filling his visage with a snarling, quite angry dragon, who advised him that he was about to encounter a new definition of the word “conflagrate" if he didn't apologise immediately.

He did, and quite profusely I might say, too! Nothing like having a large, pissed off and visibly smouldering reptile encouraging your courtesy.

Other than that, things passed as an amicable blur, and I managed to get through without further incident; a tribute to my outstanding drunken patience and lady luck, I think, than common sense.

It was well into the early hours when we staggered back to the mansion, most of the journey a hazy fog that couldn't be totally attributed to the adverse weather. I remembered few details, and thankfully mostly avoided throwing up, although how wise it was not divulging myself of some of the excess alcohol might have been debatable.

After being admitted through the side entry by a disgruntled door keep, I waved off further assistance, content to let the dragon guide me to my room, where he turned his head politely as I stripped off and clambered onto my mattress, spread-eagled in my stupor. Within seconds I was snoring loudly, oblivious to all else.

As such, I didn't see him pause the moment, looking down at me indecipherably, before reaching down to draw the quilt over my prone form, tucking it in around me. Snubbing out the candle wick with claw tips, he padded quietly to his own room, the room left in darkness on his exit.

I mustn't have been that asleep long when a soft noise woke me. My eyes shot open, alert despite my alcohol-riddled state, and I cast about for the source. One of the drawbacks of my years of dubious training, I guess, sleeping with a hair trigger, but the instinct had saved me innumerable times, so I guess I could live with it.

While questionable, my senses suggested the sound had originated from the adjoining room, the partially open door left ajar when the dragon had exited earlier. Curious despite my sorry condition, I drew back the bedding, stepping uncertainly and somewhat unsteadily to the portal, and leant on the jamb to peer cautiously into the darkened room beyond.

The light was poor, illumination only provided by moonlight now streaming intermittently through the large bay windows. What little clouds remained scuttled past in the chill wind, the heavy rain from earlier in the evening only a distant memory.

I spied the dragon curled up in the corner of the room, bed forgotten, his wings wrapped around his form and his head hidden beneath, from whence the slight sound originated.

Species notwithstanding, I knew misery when I heard it, the soft sobbing evident even from within its muffled source.

I paused, undecided, a thousand thoughts flashing through my mind. I nearly left him there, alone; truly, I nearly did. But I guess the alcohol was still in control, or my moral hardness had slipped a notch, as I stepped across the cold stone flooring to his side. His sudden alert to my presence had his wing whip back, wide watery eyes regarding me in confusion as he wiped his face with a foreleg before he froze as I dropped beside him, curling against his hide.

When he made to speak, I muttered grumpily “Shut up, and just go to sleep, already!" closing my eyes and snuggling against his warm scales, disinclined to continue the conversation at that point for any reason.

Uncertain, he paused a moment, before wrapping a warm foreleg around my waist, drawing me close, and the wing returned to blanket my soon unconscious form as we both drifted off to a deeper sleep.

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Authors note:

Again, only a quick edit. If you see anything specific, let me know.

Damn, so much for a short, short-story. I'm getting into a bad habit of fleshing out things, rather than cut to the chase.

Or the nookie.

Or both.

Well, hopefully get there eventually.

And I drink too much in my stories. Might have to get the medieval version of AA on the case.

Anyways, the story starts to get somewhere now. Hopefully, things might get interesting soon.

Once everyone wakes up sober.

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