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thrumming that she recognized as dragon.
    As her father guided her to the stake, Rozlinda’s mind continued to explore realms beyond her ordinary senses. How funny, she thought, with a real temptation to giggle, if the dragons were drawn not to her blood but to the enormous amount of hralla in it.
    But that made no sense. Hralla came from Dorn. Hralla, dragon eyes, versuli, mother stone. Hralla, dragon eyes, versuli, mother stone. It became a song in her mind. . . .
    “The dragon!” The call rose all around like a flock of startled birds.
    “That’s quick,” said her father. “Let’s get you chained up, love. Don’t want anything to go amiss at this stage.”
    Jerrott had the long chain already threaded through the loop at the top of the stake, and he and her father wrapped it round and around, lightly binding her arms to her body and her body to the iron.
    Not a real chain
, she reminded herself. It was as delicate as one she might wear around her neck. Just a symbol. But as a distant shadow took fluid shape, so like a bird but not, Rozlinda strained against her bonds.
    “Courage, Princess.” It was the merest whisper, but it came from Jerrott. A break with protocol, but so welcome. She met his eyes.
    Thank you. Soon.
    The lock clicked. Her father and Jerrott retreated. All the men retreated to be as far away from the dragon’s bite as possible. But she saw Jerrott pick up his spear. If the dragon tried to eat her, he’d defend her. Even so, as the beat of mighty wings pulsed through the air, ghosts of princesses past, princesses chained here in truth, shrieked warnings.
    The horns!
    The scales!
    The vicious teeth!
    Rozlinda clenched her hands. She would not shame herself.
    But the beast grew larger and larger. Could a bit of blood be enough? She could see that horned head now, and the crimson-and-gold eyes, fixed hungrily not on the bloodstained rock, but on her! Rozlinda tried to break free then, and found she couldn’t. Even such fine chains held tight.
    She clutched the iron rod behind her as the beast circled over-head, blotting out the light and beating down stifling, acrid air. Dust swirled to choke her, to sting her eyes. She closed them, screaming in her mind.
Eat and be gone! Go away! Go away!
    She heard the crunch. Felt it in the rod as if the whole rock trembled. Perhaps she heard distant cheers and trumpets of delight, and then the air calmed.
    She let go, blinking dust from her eyes. The dragon still circled but up high, as if waiting for something. For more?
    Please go.
    As if obeying, it beat its wings and soared, but then curved back, flying lower—heading straight for her!
    Spears arced up from below, but the knights and men down there were too far away. Jerrott was braced to throw, but waiting.
    Throw now
, she screamed in her mind.
Throw now!
    The dragon’s mouth was a crimson maw, its gray teeth curving blades. Rozlinda fought the chains again, but knew she was about to die.
    Then the dragon collapsed across the top of the rock with a thud that shook the earth. Coughing in the storm of dust, Rozlinda stared at wicked talons only feet away, then up at a small mountain of crimson, green and gold scales.
    She was saved.
    Jerrott had saved her!
    She turned to thank him, but he stood, frozen, spear still in hand.
    Who, then? Who?
    Who, she suddenly realized, would she have to marry?
    A man appeared on the fallen dragon’s neck. It was the man from her vision—the one with the bone-white hair and the pale amber eyes.
    His voice rang out in the suddenly silent air. “I claim my princess bride.”

Chapter 3
    The king silenced the hubbub with a grim roar. Amid settling noise and dust, he asked, “Who are you, sir, and what are you doing?”
    The man climbed nimbly up to the peak of the dragon mountain. “What does it matter who I am?” he called out in a strong voice, meaning to be heard by all. “Am I not the savior of the Virgin Princess?”
    He spoke in a slightly guttural accent,