Two Charming

    "Oh dear.  Here comes another one."
    At Alexandrasha's words, Trudie looked up from her spinning, her right index finger poised mid-twirl.  Drop spindle and distaff wavered mid-air before clattering to the stone floor.
    "Oh, bother," she exclaimed and clapped wool, spindle and all under one arm.  Standing, she wiped lanolin-oiled hands on her apron and looked out the castle window to the distant figures winding their way up the approach.  The Charming rode a white charger (of course), and his armor gleamed in the sunlight like a tinker's polished kettles.  Most likely he was named Dirk or Lance or something equally martial.
    "He's big at least."  Trudie managed.
    Twin puffs of smoke churned from Alexandrasha's nostrils.  "Not so big as the Charming before last.  Compared to him, this one is positively puny.  What are they feeding Charmings these days?  No muscle, no muscle at all."
    "Seat's all wrong, too."  Claws as long and sharp as butcher knives settled the silver spectacles on the end of the dragon's snout.  "I'd have him unhorsed with the first wing buffet."  She sighed, singeing the masonry in the process.  "And I cannot abide a Charming who abuses his servants.  See there, Damsel, how his man follows like a dog on a leash?"
    Looking closer, Trudie indeed noted that a long rope tethered the yeoman to the destrier's saddle.
    "I've quite had enough," lamented Drasha.  "What's a poor dragon to do?  Is this the best the modern world can offer my darling Damsel?"
    Saying a very un-damselish word, Trudie slammed the shutters.
    "Maybe he'll go away."
    Alexandrasha favored Trudie with a long, disappointed gaze.  A crystal tear trembled at the corner of her copper eye.
    "No, not the kicked puppy dog look.  Please, 'Drasha!  You're not being fair.  He's an oaf.  You saw so yourself."
    The tear wavered. "But it's tradition, dear."
    "Bother tradition!"  Trudie stomped back to her stool. "It's archaic, this Charming and Damsel business.  I'll choose my own husband, thank you."
    "If only your poor mother could hear you now!  She'd be twirling in her grave--"
    "Mother is safe and well and ruling Pendarna, as you very well know."
    "--and your father, too.  Positively rolling!  And my own ancestors!  To think, I devoted three and one-half of my centuries to your family only to raise an old maid.  The shame!  Why--"
    "All right, all right!  I'll play along."
    The lamentation stopped mid-stream.
    "Thank you, Damsel.  I knew you'd see it my way."
    Trudie sighed.  "Couldn't you just eat him?"
     After Drasha's predictable outburst (dragons do not dine on intelligent creatures, Damsel), the dragon shooed Trudie to her quarters to don a suitably damselish gown.  Trudie peeked from the tower window high above the keep itself, but found no trace of her wooer.  For a moment, her heart soared, maybe Drasha had made a dietary exception, just this once.  But no, charger, knight and yeoman broke free of the tree cover.  Trudie was not to be so fortunate.
    With a resigned sigh, the princess turned to her wardrobe.  She knew just the dress--pink trimmed with a green that reminded her of dead frogs.  Perfect!  Now, if that little "go away" cantrip she'd been practicing worked ....  Well, someday Mom and Dad and Drasha would see the light.  Trudie intended to make her own way in the world, thank you very much.  And she didn't need a Charming to do that.  But, for now, Drasha offered her sanctuary from the vipers nest of court as well as a first-rate education.  No place in Pendarna offered a more thorough library.  In the meantime ....  Trudie sprinkled a bit of crumbled yarrow and rue in a circle around her, squinted her eyes tightly, and concentrated on picturing herself as undesirable as possible.  At the same time she chanted the three Tones carefully.  At last she opened her eyes.  She didn't feel any different; time would only tell if her little spell had worked.  Straightening her shoulders and jutting her chin in an expression that boded ill for any wayward Charming, Trudie escaped down the servant's staircase and out the scullery door to the overgrown garden that lay beyond.
 
 

   "Curse and damnation!  How much further, Varlet?"  Helm D'Amoriay, Seventeenth Prince of Pyll, Defender of Vostnu and All Around Good Guy, snapped up his helm's visor, craned around (or at least as much as sixty pounds of steel allowed him to crane) and glared at his guide, who had had the temerity to stop by the side of the road  and pluck at something in the grass.  Helm gave the rope a vicious jerk.  "And stop scrabbling in the dirt.  It doesn't suit my image at all."
    The scholar, what was his name?  Tobias?  Timothy?  No ... Thomas!  That was it.  The scholar loosed a regretful sigh and heaved to his feet.  "But, Sir, 'tis a fine specimen of hellebore and--"
    The yank on the rope brought the man stumbling against Snowfire's haunches.  The destrier laid his ears back and snapped at the irritant while Helm jerked the rope again.  "Prince!  Call me 'Prince'!"  Helm allowed himself a satisfied smirk as Thomas was reduced to gasping and gurgling for air.  Gods!  How he hated scholars--always pointing and poking and learning, thinking they were better than blood of the realm.  The world would be well rid of them.  And this one!  Helm snorted at the other man's chubby frame, ink-stained fingers, wispy brown hair and watery gray eyes.  What a waste of manhood.  But he did possess one attribute Helm did not--knowledge.  Knowledge that would lead him to the prize--the princess's dowry.  So, he'd enticed the scholar from his studies (at dagger point, of course) as soon as he'd learned that Thomas knew of an available damsel.
    There was no doubt, Helm thought as they continued their climb, that he could woo the princess and make her his.  He was, after all, a big, strapping hunk of male with bulging biceps, strong-hewn thighs and manly chest.  With hair long and golden, eyes as blue and innocent as forget-me-nots and a voice like warm honey, he certainly had no trouble luring maidens a-plenty to his hive.  This damsel would be just as susceptible as the ladies back home.
    Back home, of course, being the problem.  Beautiful, murky, swampy Pyll, the land of his birth.  It lacked enough dry land for any suitable farming, the animals foundered in the stagnant water, and the mosquitoes grew so huge you could saddle them and ride them into battle.  Their only export and sole profit-making venture was the manufacture of green slug oil they sold to the Scalian pashas, who magically transformed it to use as perfume for their harems.  The green slug oil stench hung over Pyll like an olive drab cloud.  Come to think of it, it was a cloud.  And lucky, lucky Helm:  he had inherited every last smelly acre.  Not for long, though.  He had a plan.  All he needed was a dim-witted princess with enough gold.  He'd wed her, bed her, steal her dowry and run.  Maybe he'd run clear to Scalia himself.  He rather fancied himself as a pasha.
    He spent the next several minutes reading his own fortune to the miserable Thomas.  At last the castle loomed before them.  Helm tossed the rope to Thomas.  "I've no more use for you.  You may go."
    Thomas gaped down the treacherous mountain slope.  "But how am I to return to Leandor?  You promised me passage!  I can't climb down the mountain alone."
    "Be off, and be thankful I do not use you as dragon bait."  Helm rattled his lance at the unfortunate scholar, who wisely scurried off into the surrounding brush.  Turning to the business at hand, Helm rapped the butt of his lance three times on the drawbridge.
 

    Thomas, freed at last of both duties and leash scuffed through the meadow behind the keep and prayed for another route down.  He'd been right to withhold information from that lout, Helm.  Well, the knight would soon find he'd bitten off more than he could chew.  As for the dragon, well, Thomas was certain she could chew anything she managed to bite.
     A frightened bleating erupted from the briar thicket just ahead.  Thomas jumped, then ruefully shook his head.  A lamb caught in the brambles, he thought as he watched the hedge shake alarmingly.  Oh, well, he was scuffed and scratched as it was.  He began forcing his way through the thicket.
    "Ouch!  Hold still!"  A sharp female voice shrieked from deep within the bushes.  "I'm trying to help, you stupid beast."
    Thomas scrambled faster, tripped over a fuzzy white and black lamb, and wound up tackling the tall, gawky girl who knelt at its side.  The lamb, ungrateful wretch, lurched free and scrambled over both humans in its haste to escape.  Thomas found himself looking deep into cinnamon colored eyes at the same time his hands became aware that they rested somewhere in the vicinity of the girl's chest.  A flush heated his face all the way to his receding hairline.  He snatched his hands away and sprang back on his heels.
    "I'm sorry.  I--I--"
    "Help me up, please."
    "Of course.  How thoughtless of me.  I--"  Thomas accepted the girl's hand.
    The girl--no, woman, he saw--perused her briar-tattered, mud and grass-smudged skirt and smiled  "Well, that's one less worry.  You can let go of my hand now."
    Thomas dropped it like he'd been stung and cursed the silly grin spreading across his face.  He hadn't behaved this way since he'd been a giddy youth of fourteen.
    "It's very soft."
    The woman continued to brush at her skirt, smudging it further, and didn't look up. "What is?"
    "Your hand.  You must work with the wool."
    She glanced at him this time and straightened.  "I dye, spin and weave.  How did you guess?"
    "The lanolin.  From the wool.  It softens the skin."
    She looked at him with new respect.  "Lanolin."
    "I'm a scholar," he explained.  "Thomas Langley."
    "Oh!  I thought ... well, no matter.  You must be here for the library."
    "Library?" He'd forgotten all about the library.
    "Over ten thousand manuscripts."  The woman smiled at his stunned expression.  "Don't tell me you didn't know."
    "I...I'd forgotten."  He wondered if he could talk her into sneaking him in there--just a few hours--while Helm of Pyll got toasted by the dragon.  "Um, do you work at the castle?"
    "I do some work there."  She appeared to have lost interest again and began rubbing furiously at her stained dress.
    "Could you, maybe, show me the library?"
    "I don't know....Why should I?"
    "It's what I do.  I'll make sure your masters don't punish you."
    She looked up.  "Oh, I shouldn't worry.  You like books, then?"  He nodded and she smiled.  "That's good.  So many people never read.  They think a person's looks or station or holdings are everything, but a pretty person without a brain is just plain, I say.  Plain boring, that is.  I've read everything we have."
    "You?"  Thomas didn't quite believe her.  A sheep girl?
    "Certainly.  Donato's Treatise on the Batvian Swallow to Alchior's Arcanum Magicum."
    Thomas' jaw dropped.  "You have a copy of Alchior's Arcanum?"
    She favored him with a smug smile.  "Copy?  We have the original."
 

    "Foul wyrm!  Free the damsel or face my wrath!"
    "Oh, bother.  My damsel is free to do whatever she pleases."  Alexandrasha firmly planted her spectacles on her snout.  "Young man, are you sure you're a Charming?  You are not behaving at all correctly.  Get down off that horse at once and let me have a proper look at you."
    "Hah!  Fry me, you mean."
    "Certainly not.  It is not the done thing.  I insist you dismount."
    In reply, the Charming rattled his lance.
    Alexandrasha, to give her credit, hadn't intended to lose her temper ... it just ... happened.  Heaving a mighty sigh of disgust, a jet--nay, a puff--of flame escaped.  Ash floated to the ground.
    "Hey!  That was my best lance!"
    Drasha's tail whipped in vexation.  The Charming wasn't following the codes at all.  Tradition held that first they would come to terms, the Charming would prove his worth and, the Damsel willing, love would take its course.  Only someone hadn't done his studying.  Shocking, what passed for Charmings now days.
    Overcome with irritation, the dragon tensed her haunches and sprang.  Hovering over the screaming charger, she grasped the recalcitrant knight by the shoulders with sword-length hind claws, plucked him from the saddle and dropped him in a heap on the parapet.  He gave a most satisfying squeak, she thought.
    The charming clawed to his feet, gulped at the dizzying drop, and held a shaking sword toward her.
    "How much?"
    Alexandrasha perched along the rampart. "I beg your pardon?"
    "How much will it take for you to just fly out of here and leave me the princess?"
 

    "...and forced me to lead him to the princess."  The scholar stumbled a bit on the uneven footpath that led back to the castle, his eagerness outstripping his balance.
    Trudie stopped dead.  "Princess?  You're here for the princess?"
    "Well, I've always wanted to have a good conversation with Alexandrasha.  All those centuries she's seen.  Think of the knowledge!"  His face shone with enthusiasm.  Trudie thought it rather sweet.
    "Not many people know a dragon lives here.  How do you?"
    An interesting tomato color spread across Thomas' face.  The ground seemed to interest him inordinately.  Shrugging, he gave her a sheepish smile.
    "I know--legends and fancies and fairy tales are no fit occupation for a 'real scholar'--so I've always been told.  But, well, dragons are a hobby of mine.  That and herbs."
    "Ahhh.  That explains the lanolin.  And a doubt that Alexandrasha would appreciate being called a 'fancy.'  I assure you, she's quite solid."
    "Agrimony will take care of those scratches if you have some handy.  And ash root will get rid of the stains on you gown, too."
    Trudie looked at the dreadful pink gown, finally--and she hoped--permanently ruined.  "Let's not worry about the dress."
    Comprehension lightened Thomas' features.
    "You're not a simple farm girl at all, are you?  That's your dress, which makes you Princess Gert--"
    "Trudie," she warned him darkly.  "Just plain Trudie.  We never mention the 'G-word.'  Oh, heavens, don't bow!"  She looked down at him.  "Funny, you don't look like a Charming."
    "No, no.  Weren't you listening?  That would be our good Prince Helm."
    Helm.  It figured.
    Thomas snatched up Trudie's hand.  "Princess, I beg you.  I know I'm a simple man and I have no right, but you can do better than Helm of Pyll.  He--"
    "Oh, do get up.  Hmmmm.  And did this Helm also put that collar round your neck?"
    Thomas tore at his hair.  "I led him here.  How can you forgive me?  How can I forgive myself?  I traded your honor for my life.  Run.  Don't let him find you.  After he takes care of the dragon, he'll imprison you, maybe kill you.  Oh, I don't know.  He rants about your lands and dowry and how they'll all be his.  Please listen to me, Princ--Trudie."
    Trudie helped him to his feet.  "Of course I believe you.  It wouldn't be the first time.  Though usually the Charmings have purer motives.  For some reason they expect beauty as well as breeding.    Generally, they change their minds once they get their first look at me."
    "I'd think that would entice them all the more."
    Suddenly flustered at Thomas' earnest expression, Trudie turned away.
    "Well, my governess will make short shrift of your Prince Helm."
    "Governess?"
    "Didn't you know?  Alexandrasha."
 

    "Half," Helm offered before the wyrm could fry him.  "Of everything--castle, lands.  Gold."  He stopped expectantly.
    "Let me understand you.  You're offering me money to leave my Damsel to you?"
    The dragon was wavering.  Helm upped the ante.  "All right.  Three-quarters.  But that's my final offer."
    The dragon pursed scaly lips.  Helm looked at its fangs and smiled.  They didn't bother him in the least.  Greed always overcame dragons.  Thomas had told him so.
    "My, that is quite an offer.  You realize, of course, that it goes against my nature?"
    Hah, like ducks hating water.  Nothing was more natural to a wyrm than gold lust.  But everything--even dragons--had pride.
    "Sure.  Under the normal circumstances ...."
    "I would never do such a thing."
    "Of course not.  But, just once, with no one the wiser."
    The dragon smiled.  At least, Helm though tit was a smile.  "Why don't you come inside and we'll discuss it?"
 

    "The dragon's your guardian?"
    "Certainly.  Dragons always have Damsels.  Surely you knew that?"  Trudie hooked a kitchen chair with one foot and straddled it.  "Have a seat.  Kettle's almost boiling."
    "Thank you.  I never gave much thought to it before, but now you mention it, pretty maidens always seem to be in their vicinity."
    "Drasha's been with our family forever, I think.  She says it's a hobby of hers.  Finding suitable Charmings, marrying us off."
    "You mean she might give you to Helm?"
    Trudie raised an eyebrow.  "No one gives me to anyone."
    "But--but, that's terrible!"
    She tried to explain.  "Drasha, bless her, raises us, teaches us everything a proper princess must know--from simple manners to cooking to state craft.  'I cannot abide a vaporish Damsel,' she likes to say, and does her best to ensure she raises none.  Oh, I admit, it's old fashioned, but Drasha does vet each Charming who comes along."
    "But don't you see?  I never thought she'd want to be rid of you.  I, well,"  Thomas cleared his throat.  "I let Helm think that your Alexandrasha was the princess."
    "Well, I understand she is, among her own people I mean."
    "No.  The princess."
    It didn't take her long.  "You mean, he thinks she's the one he came for?"
    "I thought she'd swallow him in one gulp--I didn't tell him about her anti-magic amulet, and if they actually begin to bargain--"
    "Amulet?"
    "The spectacles."  Thomas parroted her.  "You mean you didn't know?"
    But Trudie wasn't listening.  "So that explains it!"  The kettle began to whine.  Trudie stood and poured the boiling water into the teapot.  "When I was younger, I fancied myself quite the sorceress after reading the Arcanum.  But none of my spells ever worked except the simple cantrips."  She chuckled.  "Well, there was the one time when I transformed all the lambs wool into purple feathers ... while it was still on the lambs.  Drasha was not pleased."
    "Spells wouldn't work.  Not so long as she was wearing her spectacles."
    "I bet she knew, too, the old dear.  Probably didn't want me to hurt myself."
    Thomas helped her load the tea service on the tray.  "Well, I shouldn't worry.  Helm's magic will do him no good in battle so long as the dragon has her amulet."
    "Oh, but they won't fight!"
    "Of course they will.  You already said she wouldn't just hand you over.  And, believe me, Helm's determined to have you.  Or at least your dowry."
    Trudie poured the tea.  After a quick search, Thomas located honey and cream.  They joined the tea on the tray.  Trudie smiled her thanks.
    "Drasha doesn't fight.  Not ladylike, you see."
    "But how does she hunt?"
    "She doesn't.  Other than the occasional haunch from the butcher's, she only eats greens."
    "Vegetables?"
    "Some fruits.  Nuts when they're in season.  We have some fine walnuts out back."  Trudie leaned against the trestle table.  "Relax and drink some tea."
    "But we should warn her!  Don't you see?  If your dragon won't fight, Helm will slaughter her."
    "Oh, I have faith in my dragon.  Damsels generally do.  I imagine she'll invite him to join her for tea."
    "Tea."
    "Mmmmm."  Trudie set her cup on the table.  "Drasha always serves tea.  Are you sure you're a dragon specialist?"
    Thomas sank into a chair.  "It appears I have a lot to learn."
    "Maybe ... maybe you've lacked a proper teacher."
    Before he could remark on that leading question, Trudie hurried on.  "I do hope you're a better herbalist than dragonist--is that the correct word?"
    "I'm an excellent herbalist.  Why?"
    She'd been considering their options while the talked.  "I thought we'd just put something suitable in your prince's tea.  That should solve the problem."
    "I'm not a murderer!"
    "I should hope not!  What sort of person do you think I am?  I simply thought if we could find something to put him to sleep Drasha could fly him off someplace and leave him."
    "Would she?  It doesn't sound very 'proper' to me."
    He sounded a bit put out.  It must be upsetting to discover he actually knew so little, poor dear.  "Oh, you'd be surprised," Trudie assured him.  "I think she'll be absolutely riveted by your tale.  Now, what do you have in your bag of tricks?"
 

    "Let's stomp through the manure," Helm exclaimed.  "I want Princess Alexandrasha and I'm prepared to pay you for her."
    "Alexandrasha?"  The dragon cocked its head, interest sparking its eyes.  "Not many have come looking for her."
    And he bet it had gobbled down any who had.  Well, Thomas had told him how to deal with dragons.
    "It's her money."  Helm scooted forward on his chair.  "You see, I'm in rather a bad spot.  I'm stuck with a sty of a princedom in the sty of the world, if you catch my drift, and I want out.  That takes gold--cold, hard gold."  He smiled, charmingly, of course.  "But, hey.  I'm not greedy.  I like to share.  You help me and I'll help you."
    "You want Alexandrasha's money?"  Quick puffs of smoke erupted from the wyrm's nostrils.
    "All that I can get my hands on.   Damn!"  A scrawny kitchen wench wheeling a rickety tea cart rattled into the room.  Helm hated interruptions.  Right during his best pitch, too.
    The dragon turned at the racket.  The spikes along its mane pricked up when it saw the girl.
    "Tell her to go away," hissed Helm.  "We have business to discuss."
    "I never do anything without tea."  The dragon's disapproving stare, though, brooked no good for its servant.  "But I will send her away."
    The wench gave a quick bob and Helm rolled his eyes.  Not even worth a leer, he thought.  Dragons had no taste in women.  He hoped this Alexandrasha was more substantial.
    The girl set the tea before them.  Swearing, Helm cuffed her and the tea aside.  The cups crashed to the floor.  "Leave us!"
    Holding her hand to the red mark already appearing on her cheek, the wench stared at the brown liquid puddeling across the stone floor, then fled the room.
    A gout of flame shot past him and incinerated the tea service.  Helm sprang back.  The dragon loomed above him, spikes fully erect.
    "She was just a wench!"
    "She was my wench.  You'd do well to keep your hands to yourself, Prince Helm."
    The Charming spread his hands and shrugged.  "Hey, I didn't mean to intrude.  Next time you can handle the discipline."
    "Oh, be assured.  I will."
    Helm smiled his most engaging smile.  "Now, back to Alexandrasha...."
 

    Trudie swept past the waiting Thomas.
    "He didn't drink it.  Spiteful cur!"  The look she threw at the scholar made him back up.  Trudie forced her hands to unclench.  "Not you. Damn. I wish Drasha would eat him!"
    "He struck you?"
    "I wasn't expecting it, or I would have dodged, believe me."
    "It's all my fault.  I should never have brought him here."
    "What else could you do?"  Trudie touched his sleeve.  "I...I'm glad you did.  If not, I never would have met you."
    Thomas' eyes widened slightly.  Slowly, he raised his hand and stroked her cheek.  "I see his hand print."
    "It doesn't hurt.  Please don't blame yourself.  We'll come up with some other way to be rid of him.  I know we can if we just put our heads together."
    "Yes.  Together.  An excellent idea."  Hesitating but a moment, Thomas leaned forward and kissed her.
    Afterward, Trudie could only stare, her glib tongue having deserted her.  "Well."
    Flushing, Thomas stepped back.  "I'm sorry.  I had no right.  I'm a simple man--"
    "And I'm a simple woman."  Her touch on his sleeve froze him in place.  "I'm not much of a princess.  Truly.  I can't help who my parents are any more than anyone else.  Not even magic can change that."
    But Thomas had stopped listening.  "Magic."
    "That's what I said.  Not even magic--"
    "No.  Don't you see?  You've practiced the Arcanum.  Surely it contains a sleeping incantation?"
    "Of course.  But it didn't work."
    "On your dragon.  Remember?  She wears the amulet."
    It felt like sharp claws had just dug into her stomach.  "No!  I couldn't!  I wouldn't know where to start, what to do."  And the worst, "what if I fail?"
    "You can do it."  Thomas caught her hands in his.  "Some of your spells have worked?  Remember the feathery lambs?  That means you have the gift. You may not think so, but you're anything but simple."
    Trudie straightened her shoulders and raised her chin.  "All right, then.  Help me find the book."
 

    "I see no problem with your having the princess you seek."  Trudie almost fainted at Alexandrasha's words.  She wouldn't!  She couldn't!  No.  She'd never believe it of Drasha.  Never!  She crept further into the room.
    "It's a deal then?":
    "You have my word on it."  The dragon held out a clawed forehand.
    Helm grimaced but grasped a claw and shook it.
    "Well," remarked Drasha, removing her spectacles and polishing them with a bit of cloth.  "I'm certainly glad that's taken care of."  She looked up, seeing Trudie sneaking up behind the Charming.  "Damsel!  What are you doing?"
    Trudie froze.
    "Damsel?"  Helm whirled around.  "This is Alexandrasha?"
    "Now!"  Thomas shouted from the hallway.
    Before she could think better of it, Trudie blew the handful of fine sand she clutched directly at the Charming.  "Ylliaznartdarazniak!" she shouted.  Coughing, Helm stumbled toward her, then dropped like a stone to the floor.
    "Oh, dear me."  yawned Alexandrasha and sank back on her haunches.  Her claws waved at the dust motes that hung before her snout.  "I do wish you'd stop reading that bo--"  The dragon's eyes blinked shut, a loud snore erupted from deep within her, and the spectacles clattered to the floor.
 

    "They're broken, I'm afraid."  Thomas handed the wire frames back to their owner along with a pouch containing the shattered lenses.
    "Well, that is a pity.  I shall miss them."
    "But how will you see?"
    "My dear Damsel.  I never used my spectacles to see with.  Dragons have excellent vision.  Have to.  How else are we to find suitable prey or dens or mates?  If you'll recall, I only began wearing my spectacles around the time you began tinkering with Alchior's Arcanum.  Or was that your great-grandmother?  I can never keep all my Damsels straight.  The spectacles were useful, but I shan't need to worry about magic where I'm going."
    Trudie blinked back tears.  "Do you have to leave?"
    "Certainly.  I did give my word.  Prince Helm wanted Alexandrasha, and he shall have her."  The dragon smiled fondly at the slumbering Charming.  "I imagine he'll be quite surprised at the bargain he's made.  Between you and me, it's about time I turn my focus on the males of your species.  Simply shocking, the manners they've bred up.  Why, if this one here would only apply all his craftiness to something constructive, he'd make a paradise out of his swampland.  Laziness, I call it.  Pure laziness.  Well, we'll be producing a new breed of Charming now.  The Damsels are quite satisfactory."
    "Satisfactory?"  echoed Thomas.
    "Of course.  Do you have any idea how many generations it took to train a proper sorceress?  You humans learn so slowly."
    Trudie's chin quivered.  "You mean I was just livestock?  An experiment?  That's all I meant to you?"
    The dragon lay her huge head against Trudie's shoulder.  "Of course not, dearest Damsel!  How could you think so?  I love you; have loved all my Damsels.  But, something had to be done.  The human leaders were breeding themselves into stupidity."  She raised a clawed finger at Trudie's outraged protest.  "Can you truly claim that your cousin Darlina is a fit ruler?"
    Trudie frowned.  "No.  You know Darlina has the brains of a turnip.  Oh, I suppose you're right.  But I don't have to like it!"
    "No intelligent woman would, my dear.  Which is exactly my point."  The dragon gently lifted her new Charming in her forearms and prepared to leave.  "Oh,"  She turned back to Thomas.  "Do give my regards to King Hubert, Prince Thomas.  Tell him I heartily approve."
    "Prince?"  Trudie squealed and turned accusing eyes on Thomas.
    He scuffed his shoes against the floor and wouldn't meet her eyes.  "Younger son, really.  Not worth mentioning.  Minor kingdom.  I am a scholar first."
    "And quite a good one, I must say," Alexandrasha beamed.  "Do close your mouth, dear, or flies will light there.  I always did say ... one can never be two charming!"