He expected the great oak door to open to his hand, but the woman in the carved chair was something beyond his experience. She was beauty personified, delicately drawn in pastel hues – save for eyes of obsidian blackness.
Her smile smote his heart like a blade of the finest Toledo steel and he reeled.
“Sir Edmund Coldheart, Dragonslayer Royal. At your service.”
She drew him to her with one slender white hand.
“My lord,” she breathed.
And he knew he had found his heart’s desire.
His infatuation was a sorrow to the slender dragon queen, but she ate him anyway.
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