Dragon Fire

"Can miles truly separate us from friends? If we want to be with someone we love, aren't we already there?" —Richard Bach

Many times, Belle considered turning around and going back to the dragon. The sadness in his eyes haunted her, it had been so close to despair, and the pain that coupled with the grief in them had shredded her insides. But her father needed her; and besides, she would go back—the dragon was her dearest friend. So she kept on, pushing herself hard to be home before nightfall, the memory of the last time she’d been in the forest after nightfall a looming specter.

As the dim, grey light waned and the rain fell harder, the unseen sun slipping below the horizon, she burst wetly through the front door of the little cottage she and her father shared. Her sisters startled at the sudden appearance of this grandly dressed, sopping wet stranger.

“Belle!” Her three sisters crowded around her, asking questions, demanding answers, begging for her story. She hushed them, soothing and assuring, and asked them to wait until she’d seen their father. He struggled to sit up to greet her, tears of relief in his eyes.

“Belle, my Belle, you’ve come back! My clever girl, you escaped that monster—” he was broken off by a fit of coughing, so intense his frame shook with it.

With worry edging her features, she lifted a cup of tea to his lips. “No, Papa, it wasn’t like that at all. He let me go—really, he’s a good person.”

He patted her hand, placating. “Belle, my love, you don’t need to explain to me. I remember how it was. What matters now is that you’re home, safe and sound.”

She frowned, but obediently agreed.

By the end of the week, Belle’s father seemed well on his way to recovery, enough so that she could slip out to go to town and pick up some much needed supplies.

“Belle! You’re back!” One of the townsfolk—the baker—called out in greeting. She smiled, and nodded, before continuing on her way. A sigh of relief whooshed past her lips. She loved her sisters dearly, but all three of them could be horrible gossips. Belle dreaded what would happen if the story about the dragon got out. Fear would be the reaction—no one would have forgotten the great Magic Wars of two hundred years ago, when dragons and wyverns had attacked the northern villages at random—and aggression, as well. No one wanted a dragon’s nest anywhere near their village. She couldn’t stand the thought of her dragon being hunted down like a monster.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts; she didn’t notice the man that watched her. He was a tall, darkly handsome young man with arrogant eyes the color of cornflowers. Guy Poulinrey scowled as she hurried past him, completely oblivious to his presence. He would show her; he thought with a smirk, that he was the best man in the village. Especially once he brought back the head of that dragon her father had ranted and raved about, and her sisters had wept over. Wouldn’t she be pleased then, with such a trophy to grace the entrance hall of their home?

Belle yelped as a hard arm seized her around the waist, and whirled her around to trap her against a hard body.

“Guy! Let me go!” she shrieked, struggling against his hold on her. Would the man never quit?

“Well, now, Belle, what kind of way is that to speak to your betrothed?” he asked, smooth voice silky with salacious intent.

“Guy! How many times do I have to say this? We are not betrothed! We never were, and we never will be! Now, put me down!”

Frowning again, he let her down, but kept a hold on her wrist. “Belle, when will you understand that you can’t marry anyone else? We’re perfectly suited, me and you. You’re a beautiful woman, Belle, and I’m a decent looking man, yes? I can more than adequately support you, so you’ll never want for anything.”

“Except for equality, decent conversation, and love,” she returned in biting tones. “I am my own person, Guy, not some bauble to dangle on a man’s arm. Farewell!” With that, she yanked her arm away from him, and marched down the muddy street with all the poise and dignity of a queen.

He watched her go, grinning at her show of spirit. She’d come around, he was certain, and see that he was the best choice. Women always did what he wanted them to, when he wanted them to. Belle would be no different.