“Why do you love me?” she asked, her voice rasping in her burnt throat.
He put a hand gently to her face and wiped a hair from across her eyes. She could feel rain on her bald scalp and knew that she had little hair left. “Because I choose to,” he said. When he blinked, two tears fell on her cheeks, painful yet blessed. “I chose to long ago, long before we met. When my father sent me to win you, I loved you already.”
“You’ve made a poor choice, you see,” she said. How harsh and horrible her voice sounded in her own ears. “Nothing but a dragon.”
“I knew that from the beginning.” All the sorrow in the world was in his face. “I have watched many dear to me fall prey to the Dragon’s fire before. So yes, I knew already, Una. Yet you are my chosen love, the only one for me.”
She turned her face away. “Others have told me as much. Their words were empty.”
“Look at me, Una.”
She would not.
“Una!”
Slowly, though the sight of his tearstained face burned more than fire, she raised reddened eyes to his.
“My words are not empty.”
A sob caught in her throat, and she gasped at the pain of it, then gasped again when she realized that tears filled her eyes. They gathered and spilled, trailing excruciating paths down her blackened cheeks, yet the relief of tears was greater than the pain. She felt his arms tighten about her, and he pressed his cheek against the top of her bald head, letting her cry softly.
“My Prince,” she said at last, her voice catching. “You know I cannot love you.”
Aethelbald leaned back and brushed a tear away with a gentle hand. “Let me enable you to.”
“No, I cannot!” she said, shaking her head. “I cannot love you. I have no heart . . . none.”
“Then let me give you mine,” he said.
“It would burn away inside of me!” She wanted to cover her face with her hands but found she could not move her arms, could not even feel them anymore. “Everything inside me burns now. Everything is fire and ash.”
“As long as you are a dragon, yes.”
“I cannot help what I am,” she whispered. “I would if I could. I tried to kill the Dragon as I was told. I know he must die before I can be free. But I could not kill him. And now I am . . . now I am dying.” She closed her eyes. “It is too late for us, my Prince.”
His voice came mellow and soothing to her ears. “As long as you are a dragon yourself, you cannot hope to defeat the King of Dragons. The fire in you must die first.”
“I am dying,” she said. She could feel the minutes of her life flitting away. “I will be free soon.”
“No!” he said, his voice thick with tears. “No, you cannot die while still a dragon. I will not allow it!”
“There is nothing to be done,” she murmured. “I cannot change what I am. Even if I kill myself now, I cannot change what I am.”
“You must let me do it,” he said.
“What?”
“You must let me kill you, Una.”
An evil voice screeched through her memory. “You know what he did, little princess? He took out his sword and tried to run me through!”
“You must let me, Una.”
She felt her breaths coming harder, and each one was agonizing.
“You would kill me?”
“I submitted to him, and he tried to kill me!”
“I kill you to save you,” he said. His eyes pierced her with their tenderness yet also filled her with fear.
“I trusted him, and he betrayed me!”
“I am dying already,” she whimpered, and more tears stained her face. “Must you kill me?”
“You will die as a dragon if you do not let me help you,” he said.
“Trust me, and you will die instead a princess.”
“I trusted him!”
She tried once more to move but could not find her limbs. “All right,”
she whispered. “Do as you must, my Prince. I . . . I trust you.”
Gently Aethelbald lowered his face to hers and kissed her on her charred and blackened mouth. She closed her eyes and felt she could not bear such exquisite pain or beauty.
He laid her down in the sand. Each movement and shifting of her limbs was agony, but it would soon be over. He stood over her, and behind him dragon smoke churned in an angry sky. With a metallic ring he drew his sword. She trembled where she lay.
“My Prince!” she gasped. “Will it hurt? I am afraid.”
“It will hurt.” His voice was heavy with sorrow, yet his eyes were full of love. “Death is painful.”
Gazing into those eyes, so deep, so kind, she took in a last breath.
“Do it,” she said.
His sword was swift and sure. In a flash of silver, he pierced her through the breast, deep inside. She screamed as she felt the blade entering deeper, down into the furnace that was her soul, ice-cold amid the flames. Down into the darkest fire it penetrated, and the flames fled before the blade. She felt herself slipping away. Out of a heavy, twisted body, she glided into light, cool air.
Dragon claws tore at her back, pulling her, restraining her. She felt the blade twist inside, screamed again in agony.