The throne room was filled to the brim with nobles of various sorts. The ladies shifted their weight, their magnificent dresses billowing and swishing around them like carefully controlled waterfalls. The men stood proud with their plumed hats and velvet tunics, pompous and pretentious with their snubbed noses and critical eyes. Standing in the center of the room on a dais before an extravagant red velvet and gold throne was the prince himself, resplendent in his billowing white shirt over which hung a floor-length red and gold robe, matching the exquisite seat behind him. His brown, almost black, hair was long and carefully brushed away from his face, allowing the audience a carefully manicured view of his face, aquiline nose and crooked jaw included. He had a kind face, but he was all business as he shifted his weight on the dais, his lavish robe making a silken sound as it swished back and forth across the flat marble platform around his feet.

Down the aisle marched his knights, two rows several men deep, each line led by his most trusted soldiers. The first line was headed by the shorter of the two men, his dirty blond hair catching the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows at the ceiling. His blue eyes were calculating and agile, skimming the crowd before resting on his prince as the lines reached the end of the walk and halted. The second line was led by the taller of the two knights, his black hair and harsh features a stark contrast to his comrade. His light greenish-gray eyes ignored the surrounding masses, making the crowd subconsciously desire for his attention as something that mattered, and he watched his prince as he came to a halt. Both men bowed, followed by the rows of knights who followed them, showing respect to their sovereign.

"Rise," the prince ordered gently, brushing his robe away from his left side as a spry figure bounded up onto the dais beside him. The young man appeared the same age as the prince, but he was noticeably more excitable, and he was well-known as the prince's most trusted adviser.

"Your Majesty," the young man whispered loudly, drawing himself up beside the young man who ruled him but whom he had grown up alongside since birth.

"Yes, Stiles?"

"The navigators have completed the routes you requested," Stiles replied urgently, offering the scrolls to the prince. Nodding, the royal took the scrolls and his adviser melded into the shadows behind the throne, standing loyally beside his liege and best friend.

Unrolling the scrolls, the prince's brow drew down as he concentrated on the map as the crowd stood in expectant silence, the knights standing like statues before him. When he finished examining the papers in his hands, he dropped them to his waist and sighed to himself, a sound so quiet only Stiles could hear him. Raising his eyes, he pasted a smile on his face which didn't reach his eyes and addressed his soldiers.

"As is the law, I am required to married by my eighteenth birthday to solidify my place as king," the prince explained, his voice raising so everyone gathered could hear him easily in the vaulted throne room. "Unfortunately, due to political and governmental affairs, I am unable to procure my queen for myself. That is why I have called you here today, sir knights." His brown eyes rested on the two men at the front of each line as they intently watched him.

"I would request a volunteer from among you to journey many days from here to gain my princess. I require a brave knight to save a fair maiden."

Before the words passed far beyond his lips, the dark-headed knight stepped forward, bowing his head. "I wish to volunteer, Your Majesty."

The knight beside him cut his blue eyes jealously over to the taller man and followed right behind, stepping up to his side and bowing his head in a similar fashion. "I would also wish to offer myself to your service, My Prince."

The prince smiled slightly, fully aware of the power-play between the two men, but he covered his thoughts well. "Thank you sir knights. I accept both offers. You will travel many miles from here to the Land of the Wolves."

The black-haired knight shifted his weight uncomfortably but the movement went unnoticed by the general assembly as the prince continued. "Fair Princess Lydia resides in the tallest tower of the deserted ruins of Martin Castle. This castle is protected by a foul beast of a dragon with two heads, one which spits poison and another which throws fire.

This will be no easy task and would typically be a chore I would take upon myself, so I trust you to undertake his endeavor with the utmost respect."

The knights bowed in unison and replied, "We shall, prince."

With that, the prince waved his hand, sending them away and dismissing the crowd before turning and marching from the room through the rear exit, away from the noblemen. His loyal adviser followed as closely behind as he could manage around the flowing robes. Once they were safely into the dank darkness of the tunnels, the prince shed the robes and leaned back against the wall for a moment, taking deep breaths.

"You're sending them out there to die, Scott."

"I thought I told you not to refer to me by my first name. There are people who would kill you if they heard you talk to me in such a manner."

Stiles waved him off and snorted, "We've been best friends since long before you got these stupid clothes. Besides, there's no one here but us."

Prince Scott sighed and closed his eyes and a moment of silence ran out between them. "They have little chance of killing the dragon and getting the princess, but if they do..."

He opened his eyes and looked over at his friend in the dim torchlight. "If they do, I will have my queen and will be crowned king in a month's time. The people will respect me for being responsible for killing that terror, and the princess is beautiful enough I can live with her. What is love in a political marriage anyway?" He shrugged noncommittally and sighed once more. They both knew he didn't want to marry for politics, but, as the prince, he had little choice.

Stepping to the stone window, her strawberry blond hair caught up in the breeze and blew away from her face as she peered out across the charred wasteland that had once been her home. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek at the thought of her parents being dragged away across the burnt up remnants of the shire they had built. The dark shadow of the dragon descending through the billowing black clouds, settling to guard her as well as to make her a prisoner in her own home, still burned in her memory and made her shiver.

Lydia smoothed the fabric of her golden gown and looked out across the charred remainder of her family's castle and prayed her parents were still alive somewhere. All she could do was hope. The bitter old sorcerer who had captured them and imprisoned her here was a nasty man, and she doubted her parents had survived him, but she still prayed they had. Her imagination dreamed up an entire existence for them where they escaped him and lived on the run in the wilderness until, one day, she could be freed from her accursed prison to join them.

The air grew suddenly hot, and she sucked in a breath as the fiery head of the dragon appeared in the air outside of the tower. She really couldn't hate the beast, for it was only trained for a specific purpose and had been rewarded greatly by the sorcerer for agreeing to guard the princess. Dragons were noble beasts, but this one had been corrupted somewhere down the line and was fighting on the wrong side. She believed everyone had a right to their own wrong opinion, and she held no grudge against the beast.

"The princesssss dreamssss not of essscaping doessss ssshe?" hissed the dragon, its yellow-green eye blinking as it smiled a menacingly toothy grin at her.

Shaking her head, she slipped back out of the window and into her room where the dragon couldn't see her as well. "I have no hopes of escaping this dreaded place," she replied firmly, moving away from the window. The dragon snorted and a gust of hot air blew into the room, blowing parchment across the floor and causing Lydia to hold onto her skirts to keep herself from being lofted away.

"Good girl," the dragon hissed before slithering away, the castle rumbling as the lizard crawled across its roofs. The deafening beating of its wings signaled its departure, and Lydia glided back to the window sill to watch the dragon fly off across the fields, going hunting for its dinner. Sighing to herself, she rested her elbows on the stone and gazed out across the burned fields that had once fed her and offered her a place to run and play with the other children in the small kingdom. Now it was merely a charred crust of a memory she still held on to.

"One day...maybe..." she whispered to herself, a lone tear running down her cheek in the path of the first.