Lady Mary stared out of the window of her bedroom tower. It'd been three years since her mother's death and it seemed the dragon that stalked their lands had grown dissatisfied. The smoke rose black in the distance, the indication the dragon was awake and hungry. They had discovered after the fact that her mother's blood was what it had been after the whole time, that in her mother's veins was some sort of holy blood that dragons craved. The legends had implied this sacrifice the dragon had stolen would satisfy it for another century at least. When the time came though, it was likely one of Mary's children or grandchildren would be sacrificed to the beast.
She turned away in revulsion.
The legends had been wrong. The dragon returned mere years later, set on burning villages and devouring man and livestock alike. They were only lucky it had yet to poison the rivers and springs yet.
The solution, of course, was to dangle her as a prize for the lucky man who killed the dragon. Mary had known growing up she would likely have little choice in who she married, but to be used in this manner? To send so many men to die for her? It was outrageous!
Perhaps some noblewomen might enjoy the attention, the blind devotion her mere name could invoke, but the thought only sickened her. It had been hard enough to accept her descendants would be sacrificed to that monster for the rest of eternity, but now the idea she had bid nearly half a hundred men to their deaths made it unacceptable.
It was, ultimately, their own fault to waste their lives, but Lady Mary had a human heart. How could she not feel pricks of guilt as being held as some prize when she knew she wasn't the delicate noble woman they expected, and she hadn't been since her mother died. No, if any of them did return, they would likely be disappointed by the scars covering her toned body. She knew that women, especially noblewomen, were expected to stay fair and soft; she wasn't either of those things.
The practical side of her also questioned why keep throwing men at it when that didn't seem to help?
It didn't matter anymore; after tonight, she would slay the beast and free her land from its tyranny-and above all, avenge her mother.
Her father was unwell, as he often was when the dragon was around. She figured he'd be well enough by the banquet that night. She returned to her vanity and let a maid apply the makeup that covered the prominent scar that ran across her nose. A memento of the night her mother died. Couldn't let these brave young men know they were fighting for damaged goods.
With her dress on and wimple in place, Mary descended the stairs to her own office to ensure the banquet preparations were complete. On her way there she passed Lord Vergil, likely back from a ride.
Lord Vergil was her father's newest, and youngest, advisor, apparently an expert on dragons. Despite his almost otherworldly beauty, as she had never seen a man so young with such pale silver hair, he had no interest in anyone, preferring to spend his time in the library or riding and 'researching' the dragon. Mary was skeptical he was an expert as he refused to tell her anything she didn't already know. The few times she had secretly followed him on his research trips she'd lost track of him immediately, and so she suspected it was merely a cover to get out of the castle. He usually avoided her, at most, fixing her with a condescending glare.
That moment was no different. She offered a polite, "Lord Vergil."
To which he merely looked and continued on his way.
Mary frowned and continued on her way. She didn't understand why her father allowed an advisor to treat his only daughter with such disrespect… but then again her father was unwell so often. She rarely saw him anymore.
Her father's bouts of hermitic isolation in the wilds had continued even past the initial attacks, but he would return from them pale and unwell. She tried to coax him into returning to his job, as running a castle was no easy feat, but he staunchly refused. He had never been the same since mother died.
As she managed the staff and other duties her father's steward couldn't, Mary wondered if part of her resentment towards the knights that kept dying was the fact her job would be immensely easier with a husband. Then she would only have to worry about the women's duties. Honestly, she could do without the responsibility at all, but the only way to be rid of them would be for her father to die before she married, and Mary didn't want that. He was the only family she had left.
Distant cousins she loathed notwithstanding.
Mary was pleased to hear all was going well with the banquet. It seemed her father would be present for at least a short time, which was a relief. She wasn't sure she could give the rousing speech her father often gave. Nor could she offer herself in a way that would inspire anyone. It was difficult enough to sit there and let her father send these men to their deaths. If she were to actually bid it herself?
Finally, it was time to enter the main hall.
Mary composed herself, checking her appearance once in a mirror. She was pleased the candle light hid the fact her eyes were two different colors. It made any poetry ode to them funny at least.
She held in a frown. She really shouldn't laugh at the poetry written for her. But it was either laughing or crying. And Lady was done crying.
…
Already in the Main Hall, leaned against a wall, was a knight in a bright red tabard over plate armor. On his back rested a large sword, almost too large to be a cavalry sword. The steel of the sword had a unique red tinge. He only glanced the lady's way because everyone else did. He was more interested in the food that was supposed to come soon.
She was pretty, he wouldn't deny her that, but if looks could kill… What was she so upset about? They were the ones about to risk life and limb for her land, not her. She'd just have to sit pretty and wait for him to return.
Dante was more interested in her father, the man who would pay him. Noblewomen were usually no fun.
As talk picked up, he overheard a few of the men in conversation. Said men were unsubtly staring at the noblewoman.
"She's even more beautiful than rumors say," one of them said.
"That's the sort of woman to slay dragons for," said another.
"I can't believe one of us might marry her…"
"What do you mean by that?" Dante interjected, surprising all three of them.
The man who said it blinked. "Did you not know? The man who slays the dragon will wed Lord Arkham's daughter."
"Really?" Dante asked.
"You were going to fight the dragon without knowing that?"
"Well, yeah," Dante said, "It's just a dragon. I only heard about the gold." He thought about it, "Which I suppose is probably her dowry." He thought back to Enzo's cryptic words. "Damn Enzo!" he cursed. The man was probably whoring it up in some brothel with the money he thought Dante would be bringing him back. Which Dante probably would because he'd bought that old keep from him. Damn his sense of honor.
The others didn't confirm or deny. Dante groaned. He really wasn't looking for a wife at the moment, and he didn't want to waste her dowry. But he wasn't about to walk out then, there was another reason he'd taken this job after all.
He glanced towards the back of the hall. Maybe he could figure something out with the sour faced lady. She seemed the type to part with money easier than her hand in marriage. The gold would likely be warmer than her embrace anyways.
The other men were trying to work up the courage to ask the lord's daughter for her favor. Fat lot of good it would do them. Men too timid to talk to a woman would never have the nerve to face down a dragon. He'd show them how it was done.
Dante wandered up to the high table to speak with the lady.
Up close, he had to admit she was more than pretty. With delicate features and soft looking pale skin, he could easily imagine what she looked like under all those pesky layers of clothing. Her eyebrows looked dark, so he imagined long dark hair beneath the wimple as well as a well generous figure under her dark red kirtle. Dante was partial to red. Other features were harder to see because of the candle light. Like the color of her eyes.
She looked at him like he was scum she'd wiped off her show. She said nothing, which according to custom meant he could say nothing to her. Well, if he was merely a knight, that was. But as much as he loathed to pull the his-father-card, the truth was his father was something of a big deal. Not that she needed to know that. He was fine letting her think he was just rude.
"So," he started, "boring party. When's the food coming?"
Her eyes flashed with anger. "Are you eager for your final meal?"
Even her voice was attractive.
"Just how many times have you done this whole song and dance?" Dante asked, "You seem to know exactly how to sit so men will risk their lives for you."
Her set mouth was answer enough.
"Well, fear not," he continued, "the dragon will soon be no more."
She laughed without humor. "I've heard those words before. Arrogance does not quench dragon fire."
"Well, My Lady, You've never heard them from me before."
This statement didn't impress her. Dante shrugged.
"And who might you be?" she asked, looking down her nose. The elevated platform her seat and table were the only reasons she was able to do so. He couldn't say he disliked looking up at her. It wasn't a bad angle. He'd have to check how she looked under him to be sure.
"Sir Dante," he introduced easily, "I don't just give out my name to anyone." He didn't really want to marry her, but had a feeling bringing it up would get a good reaction from her. Besides, getting a look at her, he wouldn't mind at least part of marriage to her… With his most charming grin, he added, "But I figured you ought to know, considering we'll be getting hitched once I get back."
"Sir Dante," she said, trying the name out. She clasped her hands together on the table, some great emotion making her tense. She wasn't shaken by his flirtatious words. "Have you ever slayed a dragon before?"
"Slay?" he asked, "No, I can't say I've killed one yet. But I've fought them, and I've killed other things," he answered, not willing to go into detail about the reason behind his confidence. Sure, Dante hadn't slayed a dragon, but his old man had, so how hard could it be?
At his words, whatever rapport he had built shattered. "I won't cry over your empty grave," she said coldly, "Leave before it's too late."
Dante narrowed his eyes at her, but left before his mouth could say something stupid. He couldn't really blame her attitude, all things considered.
While sitting and waiting was less dangerous, Dante could never have done it. Perhaps she was more hotblooded than she let on.
Finally, a scarred bald man with sunken eyes walked into the hall. Once more, everyone quieted. The man spoke, and Dante supposed this was Lord Arkham.
"Greetings, warriors," Lord Arkham said, his voice stronger than Dante expected. "Tonight I honor your bravery to do what others will not, and slay the wicked dragon that is ravaging our lands. The time of sacrifice is near and if the dragon is not defeated soon, it will take my beloved daughter as it took my daughter. Go forth–"
The lord's daughter was as disinterested in her father's pretty words as Dante was. Although now he had an idea where Vergil was. Crafty bastard.