Damsel was asleep on the warm cliffs of her cave when she heard them storming inside, the rattle of their chain mail echoing against the walls. Bleary-eyed, she followed the light of their torches as they drifted through the corridor, and she counted the sounds of footsteps and voices. A knight, his squire, probably ten or so soldiers pressed into service. She’d heard these numbers before.
She saw the squire first, a young man with torch alight, dressed in mail and helm, shield high. For a long moment, Damsel watched him, wondering if he could see her yet--until a hand against her back made her shiver. The one who had taken her was awake, too.
“Demon!”
A broad bass voice, hearty and righteous, preceded a stout old knight with a massive broadsword and beard to match--one of the mountain lords, no doubt. With his eyes turned upward, he pointed the sword towards the cave’s ceiling and bellowed his proclamation.
“Though you are not of our world, you know the tongue of man,” he intoned. “Know this: I am Sir Alton Garrickson, Lord of Castle Gwallawg. My sword is wrought in the fires of Harald’s Forge. My good men have trained in the arts of war within my hallowed castle walls. And on this day…”
He lowered his sword, eyes wild in the torchlight, and pointed.
“...we shall have your head, beast!”
The men-at-arms had turned the corner, bows out, each nocking an arrow with expert precision. It would be a volley then--a new tactic after the others had failed. The archers turned up their bows, a precise arc.
It was aimed directly at Damsel.
“FIRE!” Alton boomed, and with a twang of the bowstrings the arrows took flight. Damsel receded, following their arc with her wide eyes, clawing and scraping at the ground beneath her.
And then, with one swipe, the attack was over. The hand swept past, knocking every arrow out of the air, and the armed entourage suddenly found itself taking a step back.
Damsel turned back, eyes wide as the hand turned. Damsel crawled into it, sinking her claws playfully into her owner’s skin as the woman cast off the dark gray robe that had been covering her. Her skin bare before the invaders, she stood, tall enough that her ankles were over the men’s heads, long red hair covering her breasts and running down her back. She placed her fingers on Damsel’s head and stroked, whispering the spell that brought the torches around her to life.
She stared downward, round face smirking, while Alton’s mind scrambled for words. After a long moment, he found only two.
“Princess… Brayna?” he squeaked.
“Your memory still works at least, milord, even if your arrows don’t,” Brayna said, and with a hand on her hip she glared at the tiny squire. “Tell your boy that it’s called a vagina, many people have one, and it’s not proper to stare even if one can fit completely inside.”
The lord turned to the squire, raising a hand and sending the young man scurrying behind the archers. Damsel grinned, flashing a row of sharp teeth down at the men as Brayna’s long fingers ran down her body, embracing all of her.
“Apologies, Your… Quite Highness,” Alton said, dropping into a courteous kneel--and motioning for his men to follow. “When last I saw you, you were--”
“Shorter,” Brayna said.
“Quite a lot.”
“Less capable of lighting a torch with but a word.”
“So far as I knew.”
“And you thought me captured.”
Alton raised his head, frowning. “By the look of it, you still are,” he sneered, practically growling at Damsel.
“She is called Damsel,” Brayna said.
“It is a dragon, Highness!” Alton shouted.
Brayna pulled Damsel closer, pressing the dragon to her chest. She nuzzled her snout against the soft, warm mound, her pointed tongue flicking forth with a submissive lick. With a smile, Brayna closed her hand around Damsel, pressing her into her breast, her thumb rubbing the beast’s muscular haunches.
“She is harmless,” Brayna said. “A creature of the caverns, yet one that the lords of this kingdom have yearned to make a trophy.” Pulling the dragon higher, Brayna kissed Damsel on the head, her soft lips covering her whole head and horns. “If I have used dark magic, it has been in the service of her protection--whether you like it, little lord, or not.”
Damsel rumbled a low growl, almost a purr, as she felt Brayna’s warm breath against her scales. She rolled onto her back, waving her legs in the air, and Brayna obliged with small kisses to the underside of her belly, a little lick that ran from the base of her tail to her chest. Her claws closed around the princess’s lips, pulling her close, and Brayna let out a small giggle of delight as--
“This is disgusting.”
Damsel’s claws released. The hand lowered. Brayna gazed out over the tips of her fingers. “Begging your pardon, milord?”
“I shall return on the morrow with a hundred men,” Alton said, holding his sword in front of him. “We will slay the beast and save you from the spell in which it has--”
“She,” Brayna said.
“--IN WHICH YOU ARE ENSORCELLED!” He turned with a flourish, his crimson cape trailing behind him as he raised a hand, shoulders thrown back, ready to lead his men from the cavern.
But before he could take another step, the passage was blocked--by a foot as large as a horse-drawn wagon. His eyes turned, following the wide contour of her thick leg, up her thighs, past places where his eyes dared not glance--at her glaring eyes, staring over her looming breasts and her handheld dragon.
“Your weapons or my fist--one or the other shall drop in a moment.”
Alton’s will broke instantly--the broadsword crashed to the ground with a loud clank. The men-at-arms laid their bows gently across the ground, hands shaking as they lowered their quivers on top of them. The squire, for want of something original to do, just lay on the ground himself.
Brayna smiled.
“Now then,” she said. “Harald’s Forge, was it? Point me there.”
* * *
It was just a few minutes before Brayna was in her earth-colored robe again, emerging from the darkness of Damsel’s cave into the light of the early morning. Ten minutes after Alton pointed out his distant castle, she had crossed the hilly countryside, drawing stares from merchant and farmer-peasant alike as her long strides crossed the landscape. The curtain wall of the castle had repelled the barbarians of the west for generations; Brayna stepped over it with only a bit of stretching.
By the time Alton and his entourage caught up to her at the castle, she was crouching over what remained of the forge, powdered brick raining down from one fist. When she saw the lord, she opened her other hand--and dropped a ball of twisted iron and broken sword hilts as big as a man.
Alton looked around at the gathered crowd. Not one guard or soldier was resisting--but neither were any of them so much as wounded. She had torn the forge apart and harmed no one.
“Your forgemaster makes dining ware now,” Brayna said, pointing a long finger at Forgemaster Harald. “Toys for children. Something. What matters is that his craft should be turned towards a peaceful end.”
Alton spat in the dirt. “You know nothing of statecraft, mere princess that you are!” the lord bellowed.
“I haven’t been mere in some time,” Brayna said lightly.
Her giggles seemed to inflame Alton further. “You… you’ll see your own subjects torn to pieces by the barbarians of the west!”
“Then I shall take their weapons as well,” Brayna said, shrugging. “Nothing you little people can do can harm me. If I have to protect you from each other as well, then my shoulders are big enough to carry that burden.”
Alton was dumbstruck. He kicked the dirt, dropping to a knee in respect. “Milady,” he said.
“Highness,” Brayna corrected. She placed a nail under Alton’s chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. “I like being called Highness now.”
Alton coughed. “Highness,” he said, “in time, you’ll see that… what you are doing is folly, so much so that I dare not speak of it in full before your subjects. I… do hope you shall come around.”
Brayna let his chin go and rose, letting the assembled guards, peasants, and royals take in her full height. She ran a hand down her dress, flattening it out--and giving her plump breasts a squeeze, as if to taunt them. “Your counsel has been heard,” she said, curtsying. “Know this, my people: your princess is safe. Send no man to ensure my rescue--it is I who rescues now.” And with one swift step backward, she was over the curtain wall again, her booming footsteps fading to memory as she left the castle behind.
* * *
They were back inside the cave, safely concealed from the prying eyes of any peasants in the area, when she spoke again.
“All right, pet, release me, your claws are starting to almost sting.”
Damsel let out a snort of delight. Her claws had kept her bound between Brayna’s breasts, concealed where she couldn’t be even recognized as a lump beneath her clothing. Instead, Damsel curled around, one claw playfully reaching around the breast and batting at Brayna’s nipple.
“Oh!” Brayna laughed--Damsel could feel her goosebumps rise against her scales. “You wicked little lizard, you.” Her hands cupped over her breasts, pressing them tightly together and pinning the little dragon between them. Damsel squirmed and snorted, fighting for air, biting playfully at her owner and knowing full well that she couldn’t hurt her.
When she released, Brayna had Damsel by the tail, drawing the dragon out from her dress. In the torchlight of the cave, Brayna’s eyes met the dragon’s--yellow sparkles in the monster’s eyes, green in Brayna’s. The princess had saved her life once again.
“We’ll tear apart every forge in this kingdom if it means you’re safe, my beautiful little silver dragon,” she whispered. With a warm smile, she planted a tiny kiss on the dragon’s snout. Damsel felt the heat rising to her face, felt a twinge of smoke leaving her nostrils.
“Back inside then,” she said, dropping Damsel into her palm, her hands curling possessively around her pet dragon. “We’ll have to find something fun to do until the next time Damsel is in distress.”