Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and in infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine. Mizjoely, it-is-never-twins-watson I blame you both...

PREVIEW: IN WHICH OUR HEROES ENCOUNTER "A MINOR PROBLEM,"

Molly emerges from the inferno, coughing, sputtering. Dragging herself along on her hands and knees.

Behind her she can hear Mary swearing up a storm, tugging desperately at her horse's bridle and trying to lead the damn creature away as Deephelm Palace burns to the ground around her.

The lady knight is not, alas, being entirely successful in that endeavour.

For Agra, being- like her mistress- entirely unresponsive to common sense, is digging her heels in, whinnying and pawing the ground so desperately that she's nearly wrenched herself out of Mary's grip. (She's also nearly wrenched Mary's arm out of its socket.)

The horse is rearing back on her hind legs, clearly about to make a break for it, and if she runs off then there goes Molly's lance, her shield. Her casting wand. Every trick and charm and weapon she has in her arsenal, every chance she has of defeating the dragon she was sent her here to vanquish-

And if that happens, well then she won't get paid, which is rather a problem.

(Of course, if that happens then poor little boffin Prince William will also remain the prisoner of Sherofax The Terrifying for another three years, which is also rather a problem, but Molly is really more concerned about the not being paid bit. She likes doing exotic things like eating. And having a roof over her head. And paying back the loathsome Viscount Magnus what she owes him so he won't send her beloved Aunt Martha back to the flesh house.

She's somewhat quirky, like that).

And at being the case, she thinks, she's not going to allow Agra to disappear off with her life's possessions, she doesn't care how bloody upset the horse is. She may have somewhat underestimated how much damage her fire spell would do to the draughty, entirely wooden Deephelm Palace but that's no reason to let the entire day go tits up, now is it? No, of course not.

She is simply going to have to get the horse to calm down.

So she gets to her feet. Gingerly approaches the panicked animal. "Easy," she murmurs. "Easy, girl..." Holding her hands out in supplication she lets a flash- just a spark- of magic ignite between her palms and then sends it bobbing towards the shying horse.

The effect is instantaneous

For Agra immediately drops back onto four legs. Shakes her mane out and starts nuzzling her nose into Mary, whinnying in greeting. The little globule of magic melts into her coat and she kicks her hind legs out, sprightly as a new-born foal. Surprised by the abrupt movement- and probably weighed down because of her chainmail- Mary nearly slips in the mud, barely catching herself in time. The lady knight shoots Molly a stern look.

"You didn't see that," she tells her.

Molly can't hide her answering grin. "Can't imagine what you're talking about," she says innocently and Mary nods. Straightens her cloak and scabbard.

Agra's reins are still in her hand, thank Mab.

"Let's keep it that way, shall we?" she says and before Molly can argue she looks around, takes in the smoking ruin of what was once Deephelm Palace and shakes her head.

The look she throws Molly is sheepish.

"I fear the firespell was not a wise choice with which to illuminate the building," she says wryly. "I believe the phrase I'm looking for is oops."

Molly shakes her head. "I doubt asking me to do a firespell will ever be a wise choice, Mary," she points out. "After Min Hadyn, and Londresse, and Dyflin, I should have learned my lesson and struck it from my repertoire- I've nobody but myself to blame for this."

And she shakes her head, looks around at the smoking husk which remains of the palace.

It looks so awful it's almost impressive- And if that doesn't describe her life in a nutshell then nothing will.

It hits her then, the stress of the day. The exertion of it. With a tired sigh she scrapes her hair off her face with her free hand before approaching Agra and starting to fish through her saddle-bags.; After letting her feel around for a moment Mary takes pity on her. Reaches into her leather jerkin and pulls out the small flask of honey-whiskey the young dragon-slayer is looking for before handing it to her.

"Get some of that into you," she says.

With a grateful nod Molly takes it and puts it to her lips, surveying the wreck she's made of her target and reminding herself, forcefully, that things could be worse...

After all, she and Mary and Agra are still alive. Now that she thinks about it, the Palace had turned out to be miraculously free of life, something which, with her history of fire-related oopses she feels incredibly grateful for... Prince William was clearly not in the Palace- In fact, nobody appeared to have been in the palace except a massive, glittering hulk of leather and dragon-scales which she presumes was Sherofax, judging by his the wing-span she saw moments ago as he took to the air...

So yes, Molly tells herself forcefully. Yes, things could have been worse. Much worse.

At least you can be reasonably certainly you haven't flambéed a member of the royal family...

And it's just as she's thinking this- and other, similarly soothing thoughts- that she hears a pitiful little moan and her day goes from oops to completely bloody apocalyptic.

For to her right she hears coughing. Sees a shape appearing through the smoke. It too is on its hands and knees, crawling as she had.

It looks to be about the size and shape of a man.

With the skill of long practice she calls her casting wand to her from her saddlebag while Mary pulls out her sword. The other woman takes point and starts walking towards the newcomer, her broadsword held before her, her stiletto blade tucked nearly into her leather-bound fist. Molly lets a warning spark of magic dance along her wand's edge, the light of it illuminating her face and making her look mysterious. Powerful. Badarse.

Before he can get near them however- for this close she can see that the newcomer is male- the man drops to the ground. Lets out a pitiful little moan.

He mutters something which sounds suspiciously like, "Mummy is going to kill me..." And then he flops onto his back. Huffs out another breath. By the time she and Mary get to him he's no longer moving- In fact, he appears to have passed out.

With trepidation Molly approaches him and as she does she learns four facts about the newcomer:

Fact the First: He is heart-stoppingly handsome.

Fact the Second: He is entirely naked, save for a dusting, here and there, of magic and dragon-scales.

Fact the Third: Though he appears to be human, a pair of spindly, ragged leathern wings hang from his back, splaying out beneath him and making him look like nothing so much as a bat, caught on a carriage window-pane...

It is, however, Fact the Fourth- his identity- which causes her to stop and Mary to start swearing profusely.

For she recognises this man, would know him anywhere. She was after all, given his portrait by Lord James when she was dispatched here on her rescue mission. The man before her is Prince William, and judging by the wings on his back it would seem that his little stay with Sherofax the Terrifying may have been more complicated than either Molly or Mary were made privy to-

"He's got a nice arse, at least," Mary announces thoughtfully. "So, you know, there's that."

Molly would normally have agreed with her- pleasing male backsides being in rather short supply in her line of work- but she's too busy panicking about what to do next to appreciate her friend's fine taste in rear ends.