She bowed her head, her hair hanging down to her lap. “I required no promise from him.”
“But he took one from you. Such a noble soul, wouldn’t you say, this Prince Lionheart of yours?”
“He is,” she said. The air was thick and bitter in her nostrils.
“Then that leaves only one alternative,” the Dragon said. “You, little mouthful, are not worth a promise. You are not worth his heart.”
“I – ”
“Either he is not what you thought, or you aren’t,” the Dragon said. “What other choice could there be?”
“I trust him.”
“Then your trust is misplaced, for he has forgotten you. He no longer owns his own heart, for he gave it to another and keeps hers in return. Did I tell you how lovely his betrothed is? I saw her the day I first met your prince. She came from the gardens to drag him away when he fainted for dread of me. Plucky little thing, she was. Beautiful too.”
“I – ”
“You know what I think?” The Dragon snapped his wings, and Una cowered down before him. “I think you are worth far less than you fancied yourself. Not what he mistook you for, are you? Look at you – a crying, sniveling wretch, dirty and ugly. A princess? Hardly.”
Una pressed her forehead to the stones, squeezing her eyes shut.
“He probably realized his mistake the moment he was away. ‘Foolish fellow,’ he said to himself. ‘Why, you don’t even know that girl! What made you think such a passing fancy could be real love?’ ”
“I trust him,” Una whispered.
“As soon as he saw that lovely girl in Southlands, one of his own people, his old friend . . . Ah! Then he knew what love was meant to be. He could trust her. She would not be so stupid as to give her heart to a stranger.”
“He – ”
“A stranger who would dispose of it as soon as it best convenienced him.”
Una gathered herself together, clenching her hands against the burning pain that pulsed from her fingers, up through her arms, and into her head. She tried to stand, couldn’t, so instead she forced herself to look up into the Dragon’s huge face.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“Don’t you?” The Dragon leaned down until his breath whipped her hair across the stones. “But what would you say in the face of proof?”
“You have no proof. You are a liar.”
“Am I?” His voice dropped to a low, insidious hiss. “Be that as it may. But look you here and then tell me if I lie.”
He raised his gnarled hand, turning it upward, clutching something. Slowly his claws uncurled, and Una saw what he held in its center.
An opal ring, the stones gleaming with inner fire, reflected the light from the Dragon’s eyes.
Una could not speak.
“Oh, princess,” said the Dragon, “if he could only see you now. How he would count himself blessed to have escaped so weak, so puny a creature as you! How he would congratulate himself on having made the right choice. Your heart or his life. Some men might have dithered, but your Lionheart is a man of resolve. Isn’t he, Una? Strong and steadfast of purpose.”
The great hand closed once more, and Una’s vision filled with smoke. She closed her eyes, her knotted fists scraping against the stones beneath her.
“Poor little Una,” said the Dragon. “You are heartless now, aren’t you? No better than a dragon yourself.”
She crawled backward, and he let her go. She inched her way from his looming presence until she could stand again. Then, shoulders rounded, she retreated to her dark bedroom, closing and latching the window behind herself. The dragon poison whirled in her brain, dizzying and horrible; Una could not think and could not breathe.
“Leonard,” she whispered. “Why don’t you come?”
She fell upon her bed and cried as she had never cried before. With each tear that fell, Una felt her soul shrivel.
–––––––
Fidel surveyed his troops in the gray of early dawn. Hardly more than one hundred men remained from the garrison at Ramgrip. Combined with the regiment from Dompstead, they made a brave front as they lined up for battle on the hills outside Sondhold. General Argus sat on a big horse beside the king, disapproval etched in every line of his face. They were no match for the forces from Shippening.
A messenger rode up and saluted his king and commanding officer.
“The duke’s men are gathered just over the next rise,” he said.
Argus nodded. The information was not new. He turned to the king and said in a low voice, “We’ll be routed, sire.”
“Perhaps,” Fidel said.
“They are more than twice our numbers,” Argus said. “Sire, you know we cannot hope to win.”