“Princess,” said the Dragon. “Shall we dance?”
Her free hand, the one not holding the lantern, was taken in his. He pulled her to him, one hand around her waist, and they were dancing. The other dragons danced around them, but she could not see them. She heard unreal music in her head, dizzyingly nightmarish. At first her surprise was so great that she did not think to struggle. By the time surprise faded, her feet were falling naturally into the rhythm of the song, and Rose Red could not think to break away.
The lantern dimmed to a mere glimmer.
“Your hand is so soft, princess,” said the Dragon. “So beautiful.”
“No . . .” Rose Red licked her lips behind her veil. “No it ain’t.”
“But it is. Have you looked at it?”
“No, and I . . . I ain’t goin’ to!”
“And you yourself,” the Dragon continued, his eyes running over her from head to foot. “You are beautiful.”
She realized that her servant’s dress was gone, and she wore instead a rich gown of midnight hues, studded with jewels that snapped like sparks. The veil covering her face was soft indeed.
The Dragon was very handsome, his face that of an ardent suitor. They whirled beneath the brilliant chandeliers, and Rose Red glimpsed only here and there the world around her. The Village of Dragons. But, she realized with a pang, also the Great Hall of the Eldest. So, the Eldest’s House was dragged still deeper into the Netherworld.
She gritted her teeth and scowled, though the Dragon could not see it behind her veil. “You look stupid in that getup,” she said. “You look like a fop and fool! I know your real face. You cain’t trick—” Her voice broke. Then she gasped, “Iubdan’s beard!”
She no longer danced with the Dragon. It was Leo who held her in his arms.
“Rose Red,” said Leo’s voice, “I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me.”
She stared up at that face she knew so well. Those same dark eyes, those same boyish features. Only now he was grown into himself, manly in bearing, his face more handsome because of the trials he had endured. Rose Red could not breathe. “I-Is it really you?”
“Of course it is, Rosie,” said he. “I’ve come back at last. Come back to face the Dragon only to find that you’ve done it already! You’ve saved my family, saved the kingdom. What a wonder you are, Rosie. Truly the best of friends. In fact . . .” His gaze pierced her veil, compelling and tender. “In fact, you are so much more than a friend to me. Won’t you raise your veil?”
His hand reached up and touched the edge of it, lifting gently. “Raise your veil and let me kiss you,” he said.
Rose Red felt the soft fabric moving, falling back from her face. She squeezed her eyes shut and wailed.
“NO!”
When she opened her eyes, the Dragon stood before her again. His mouth was set in a flat line, but after a long moment, he smiled a mirthless smile.
“Your secret is out, princess,” he said. “You are in love with Prince Lionheart.”
She stared at her feet, or at least at the edge of the long ball gown she still wore. A tear spotted its velvet bodice. “No I ain’t,” she said.
“Don’t try to lie to me,” said the Dragon. “I’ve known you for as long as you can remember. And I wanted you to love me.”
“You’re horrid,” she said. “Where . . . where is Lady Daylily?”
“Prince Lionheart’s lovely lady?”
“Where is she?”
“Your rival?”
“Hen’s teeth, you demon, tell me where she is!” Rose Red raised her fist as though to pound the Dragon’s chest. But she saw that cold smile on his face and turned away at the last moment. She pressed her knuckles to the side of her face and drew a long breath, like a sob.
The Dragon’s hand took her own. “Come with me, little princess.”
She was too weak, too exhausted by now to resist. She dropped the Asha Lantern, and it fell with a cold clatter on the stones and lay there, its light extinguished. As the Dragon led the girl away, the other dragons swarmed over the little lantern, fire dripping from their mouths, and when at last they parted, Asha was no more.
The Dragon led Rose Red across the Village, toward the edge of the chandelier light. Ahead, Rose Red saw a woman approaching, dressed in rich clothes. It took her a moment to realize that the woman was not Daylily; it was herself, reflected in a tall, black-framed mirror. The gown bared her shoulders after the fashion of Southlands; its midnight skirts billowed behind her like clouds. But her veil covered all her skin save for her ungloved hands.
Beautiful, golden hands.
She stopped before the mirror, gazing through the slit of her veil at that other veiled face.
“Lady Daylily can never rival you, princess,” said the Dragon. “Not as you really are.”
“You . . . you lie,” she whispered.
“Remove the veil and see if I do. Remove the veil and see yourself for the first time.”