I storm out of the room, leaving the little woman behind me. How can that tiny creature be the lost princess? Gizmel assured us that this Dani Storm was the one. Lost since birth in another world. She looks small and weak, lacking inner fire and even the strong teeth she would need to defeat our enemies. There is something wrong with her. She is deformed, surely.

Gripping my sword, I look out over the stone wall of Castle Warren. Beyond the high gates to the south, the land rolls with fertile fields. Below the blue mountain, I can see the fires burning. Orgs. Their newly hatched army lies in wait, biding their time before they strike at the heart of our two kingdoms. The bride must choose.

In her choosing, she will save us all. The new king needs the power of hilock, the bonding. When the king and queen dragons bond, their power increases. It is the only way to win the war.

In these times when there are no dragon-born females left on Endor, the Org have hatched, rising up from the bowels of the mountain to devour us all with their stinking mouths. The king cannot make hilock with a commoner. The dragon's blood is the only way to secure the future of our civilization, our race, and the safety of our planet.

Below in the main yard of my keep, I see my knights fighting. I take the stairs down into the yard under the fading light of the sun. What I need is a sparring round to take my thoughts off the runty princess and the Choosing ritual.

She is so small, round, and soft. I've never seen a woman like her before. Gizmel informed me that all women of her world look this way. But she is of the old blood, a princess of Endor, why does she appear so foreign?

I walk into the sparking ring where my soldiers are practicing. They are not of the old blood; there are so few of the royal dragon lines left on the planet, but they are strong Endorians. I pray to the Gods that they are strong enough to defeat the Orgs.

I pull my sword from its scabbard, and the men all turn their faces to me. I smile, showing my strong teeth. The enchanted blade hums in the air as the men draw their steel. It is an unfair fight, one-on-one, but this will be a one-on-fifteen match.

My blade glows as I circle around, facing my best men. They grin at me, their swords glinting in the orange light of late day. I cock my head, smirking. Dragon blood runs through my veins, priming me for the fight. They come at me in groups of five. As blades, fists, and feet slice toward me, I spin, whirl and counter each move.

The groups fall back, stunned, or slightly wounded. They must keep from being hit by my enchanted blade, or it will take off a hand or leg with even the slightest touch. I've trained my men well; they will not let me disfigure them. If they lose a limb, they lose a place in my honor guard.

We continue our fight, steely eyes flash, as my men try to get the better of me, to find any opening, and take me down. But they cannot. Even in the form of a man, I am far too formidable for mere mortals. The giant Orgs, on the other hand, may prove a greater challenge for this body.

As I beat my men down into a panting, groaning mess, I laugh at them. "Good fight, gentlemen, keep practicing," I say, grinning as I circle around to take in my men. None is injured beyond repair. Good. They honor me with their skill. They will fight by my side another day.

"Prince Trav," I hear a voice call. It is Gizmel, my wizard. I cock my chin at him and slide my blade into its scabbard.

"What is it, Gizmel?" I bark at the little man. 

"Your Highness, please come quickly."

I growl and jump into my dragon form, flying up to the balcony of the second floor of the keep. Once there, I flash into the form of a man, and land before him. I love to see the look in his eyes when I do that. I sniff. He hasn't shit himself. I laugh at his wide-eyed shock. 

"Yes?" I ask. "What is so important that you interrupt my fighting practice?

"Prince, please, come with me," Gizmel says in a breathless voice. I follow the little man up a winding staircase in the high tower overlooking the kingdom until we come to his laboratory. His cauldrons bubble. I sniff the air; it smells of shit in here. Disgusting.

"What?" I bark.

He hurries to scrying pool and moves his hands through the air. I see a scene of the Org army; their bodies erupt from a pit of mud. They crawl out to be armored and join the growing mass of repugnant forms that make up the brutish legion. I frown. I've known this was coming for some time.

"They are amassing a great army. What do you have to tell me?"

Gizmel flicks his hand over the pool and mutters something about his spell. "Here, look. We previously believed they only had one giant. But see those pits hold dozens of such giants."

"Damn," I say. "I thought we had more time. I will go make hilock with the princess now. She must bond with a prince so we have a king and queen. We cannot wait any longer."

I turn to go, but Gizmel yells behind me. "Wait. Your majesty. You cannot force the princess into hilock. It will not work if you do. She must freely bond with you, or the power will not flow through either of you. Please. Be gentle with this female. She is our only hope."

I smash my fist against the stone wall, sending hairline fractures through the rock. Gritting my teeth, I turn to him. He is right, but he should not have the impudence to question his prince. I want to knock his tiny face out the high window, but slowly, my blood cools. I sigh.

"You are right, Gizmel. I will not force the princess. But how do I convince this weak little woman that she must make hilock with me?"

"That, sire, I cannot help you with."