The princess grew up as most princesses must. She learned swordplay and diplomacy as easily as she did her stitching and dancing, and was as formidable a foe on the battlefield as she was across a chessboard. The king and the queen were very proud of their daughter, and the queen very rarely remembered her first child, the terrible Lindworm.

Because the Lindworm did indeed become a terror. When the princess—and, the queen supposed, the Lindworm—was ten, it was first sighted in the countryside. From there, news spread quickly until it reached the ears of the king and the queen. A hushed inquiry found that the midwife kept the beast and attempted to raise it as best she could, but she was old when he was born, and so she had passed away. It ate sheep and cows, but it left humans alone. Other than scaring them with its ferocity and size, it left the kingdom's citizens largely unmarred. For many more years, the king and queen were able to happily ignore the Lindworm.

The start of the real trouble arrived when the king wanted to announce the princess as his heir apparent. She would inherit the kingdom when he decided it was time to step down, an idea which had very little opposition. In fact, no opposition was heard in the kingdom until the very day of her coronation. Just as the priest held up the circlet the would mark her as heir apparent, a great gust of wind blew it from his hands.

Her back was to the disturbance, but the princess saw the shadow fall over the assembly. The king drew his sword, and the queen went pale. Here was her dream shaken into reality, and she had warned nobody of the possibility.

Instead of striking her daughter down, the Lindworm opened his great maw and worked his jaw, trying to force words out through a mouth not designed for human speech.

"A kingdom for me before a kingdom for you!" he bellowed, sending those in the audience scurrying for cover. The princess groped for the dagger she wore at her side, and tried not to think that it was woefully inadequate for fighting off beasts.

"Who are you to offer such an insult?" she asked, holding her dagger steady. "Who are you to demand a kingdom?"

"A kingdom for me," bellowed the Lindworm again, flexing his talons. It seemed to the queen that at any moment he might choose to tear apart her daughter, her perfect child. Tears in her eyes, she forced herself to stand and place herself between them.

"Return in three days' time, Lindworm, and we will have an answer for you," the queen said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. They could find an answer in that time, she was sure of it; and, if not, then it would give their military enough time to prepare a defense.

The Lindworm inclined his head once and took to the skies with a flutter of feathers.

"Mother," the princess protested once everything was cleaned up and put away. It was decided that her coronation could not continue without risking further interference from the Lindworm. "Mother, why would you promise something like that?"

The queen wept into her hands, as she had done ever since she made her promise, and could give neither her daughter nor her husband an excuse.

"I suppose we could offer a reward for the beast's head," the king mused. The queen screamed and placed her hands over her mouth. She made her husband promise not to kill the Lindworm, but could not confess the truth as to why he couldn't.

"He is somebody's child," she said, sounding mournful. The princess threw her hands up into the air and scoffed.

"Then we might as well give him the goblin kingdom, mother! If he demands a kingdom, he might have that one." She meant in in jest, although she did not truly wish to rule over the goblins as her mother did. Still, she did not like the hopeful gleam in her mother's eye at her words.

"Yes, daughter, I think that is a marvelous idea."

"You cannot be serious, darling," the king said. "I know of your promise to the goblins, but do you truly think that this Lindworm will be a suitable governor?"

But it turned out that the queen was serious, and when the Lindworm returned he was crowned as King of the Goblin Kingdom. The princess was very unhappy that this occurred during her own coronation as heir apparent, but her mother would accept nothing else. The newly crowned king did not stay for the feast, choosing instead to fly directly to his kingdom.

The king, queen, and heir all hoped that was the last time they would see him, but it was not to be. While the princess learned of her duties as an heir, the Lindworm was learning of his as a king. Contact became less and less frequent between the two kingdoms, and the humans living on the border found it almost suspicious. However, nobody was quite concerned enough or willing to venture into the goblin kingdom to see If anything was wrong.

When the princess turned twenty-one, she began to think of love. It wasn't forefront in her mind until she accompanied her father on a visit to their neighbor's and met that kingdom's princess. The two fell quickly in love and their parents, seeing the benefit a strengthened alliance would bring, quickly drafted a marriage contract. The other kingdom had three other children in line for the throne; they could spare one princess, and the Lindworm's sister was happy to have her.

The wedding was meant to happen when they all got back to the first kingdom, but as they crossed the borders, the Lindworm struck again.

"A bride for me before a bride for you!" he growled. "She must go back."

"I love her," the heiress argued, brandishing her sword. She felt better prepared this time, and the actual Lindworm did not seem as large as the one in her memory. This time, she felt confident she could take him. "I love her, and who are you to make such a demand?"

"Ask our mother," the Lindworm snarled, and the princess almost dropped her sword. She did not get the chance to ask what the beast meant, for in the next moment he carried away her bride's carriage. There was no use giving chase, although the princess longed for it; the beast was too fast, and could cover too much ground.

But not all was lost; four days later, the fastest courier delivered the news that the carriage and its inhabitants were deposited safely where they had come from. The princess was relieved but angered anew.

The queen had avoided her daughter ever since she discovered what happened during the journey, but she could not evade her forever. When the princess finally cornered the queen, the queen knew all hope of keeping her terrible secret was lost and that she would have to finally confess.

"He said that you were our mother," the princess said, crossing her arms. "But that cannot be possible. I am an only child, and besides…"

She didn't feel the need to say that the Lindworm wasn't exactly human, as her mother looked ill enough already. The queen didn't need to be subjected to such cruel rumors.

"Summon your father," the queen said weakly, "and I will tell you both the truth."

The king was summoned to a small, cramped room where they would not be overheard. The queen related her tale, sparing no details. She told her husband and daughter of the goblin witch, of the roses, and her terrible, arrogant mistake all those years ago. And she also confessed that the Lindworm was the eldest of the two twins, and should, by rights, be married first.

For the first time since she was a very small child, the princess felt tears well in her eyes. The king remained where he sat, shocked into silence by his queen. For her part, the queen felt much better after revealing her secret. She had no delusions that they might all be a happy family—the Lindworm was still a beast, after all—but she no longer had to lie.

"I suppose we'd better find him a bride, then," the princess said sullenly. "I do not wish to be separated from my love for too long."

"What a grand idea, daughter. I am so pleased that you agree," the queen said. She wanted nothing more than for both of her children, human and beast like, to be happily married.

And so a call was put out for any available princesses. Great care was taken to disguise the nature of their suitor, and no demands were named in regard to beauty or accomplishment. The Lindworm had only specified a bride, after all, and who was to say he understood human concepts of beauty? Plus, it would widen their search considerably.

A princess was found, and the Lindworm was summoned for his wedding day. Her veil was thick and heavy, meant to obscure her view as much as it was to obscure the view of her, and the ceremony was performed on the border of the Goblin Kingdom. Shen she lifted her veil, hands trembling, she screamed and fainted dead away.

The Lindworm growled and carried her off in his talons, but for several days all was silent in the kingdoms. The princess released a breath she didn't know she was holding, and set out to find her own bride. Surely, now that he was married, the Lindworm could not make the same demands.

The princess set out with her guards to collect her fiancée, but was met at a crossroads by a familiar feathered beast.

"A bride for me before a bride for you," he demanded.

"None of this, now," complained the princess. "You have your bride. It is not my fault if she displeases you."

This seemed only to provoke the Lindworm's ire, and he roared at his sister until she relented. When she returned to her castle dejected and utterly humiliated, another call was sent out for another princess.

This one was still more difficult to find, as many people wondered what, exactly, happened to the first. Neither the king nor his heir could answer to this because neither knew, although they suspected the worst. The princess remembered his sharp beak, which seemed more than capable of rending flesh. Several weeks passed and the search was fruitless.

But a second princess was found, and this time it was agreed that she would not take her veil off until she was safely deposited in the Lindworm's castle. She seemed of sturdy stock—very barely a princess, if the truth must be told—and less likely to faint than the last.

At last, at last, thought the princess, I might collect my bride. She set out again, with the same group of guards and a wedding present for her reviled brother, should she meet him on the road again. This time, the princess got closer to her fiancée than before, but still, the Lindworm stood in her way and would not let her pass.

"Not this again," she groaned when she saw his form swooping down from the sky.

"A bride for me before a bride for you," the Lindworm confirmed, snapping his jaws. The princess screamed her rage at him, but returned home empty handed all the same. She begged her father and mother to find the Lindworm a new bride, for it had been months since she last saw her own. The same calls were put out, and when nobody responded they were put out again. The second time, they did not demand a princess. A marchioness, or perhaps even a viscountess would be respectable enough, surely.

But the nobility had heard the rumors, and the rumors had a long reach. Nobody was willing to relinquish a daughter to the grasp of the Lindworm, and so the princess sank into a deepening despair. Who would want to marry the Lindworm?

Finally, a reward was offered, and a young baroness offered her hand in marriage. Her family was poor, but she was beautiful and more brave than even the last princess. She felt confident that the stories were exaggerated because she also had a kind heart. The reward gold certainly made her more compliant as well.

But like the previous two princesses, the baroness was married to the Lindworm and then not seen again. And like her previous attempts to reclaim her fiancée, the princess was turned away once again. "A bride for me before a bride for you" started to haunt her dreams, and her hatred for her brother only deepened with her grief.

The king tried one more time to find a bride—any bride—for the Lindworm. The nations he had previously been friendly with were now suspicious of him, and the kingdom of the second princess threatened retaliation if she was not returned.

Truly, it seemed that all would be lost.