I peer between the slats in the lattice-covered window. Below, I can see what appears to be a medieval-type castle. Weird. I can see men fighting with swords in some kind of arena before Trav joins them in the ring.

He is a foot taller than all of them, and the width of his body seems huge by comparison. Trav whips out a glowing longsword and fights all fifteen men without even getting winded. The men below look like freaky elves, but they are human-sized. Trav is obviously stronger than dozens of the smaller ones.

Then Trav looks up, and I watch his expression change. He's irritated. But suddenly something happens that nearly makes me shit my pants. The huge elf man is replaced by the body of something that can only be described as a dragon. Holy shit. The creature flies up to the second floor and turns back into Trav, clothes and all.

I gasp and back away from the window. My heart is going like gangbusters in my chest, and I think I'm about to faint again. Clancy looks up at me from where he's lying on the bed. Clutching my heart, I stumble over to the bed and lean against the thick post, trying to catch my breath.

It must be a nightmare, I tell myself. My head spins and blackness clouds my vision. I need to find a way out of here. My broken mind can't take it.

Visions of the war swim across my consciousness. I see the broken bodies of children littering the street. A woman moans and cries as she clutches the body of a little girl. I want to vomit, and I hold my stomach as I sit down on the bed next to Clancy.

As I begin to get my breathing under control again, my door swings open. Trav, the dragon, stands before me, and I pass out.

When I open my eyes again the first thing I see is Trav's emerald colored eyes glaring down at me. I scramble back, panicked, and I press my back against the headboard.

"Why are you frightened?" he asks. "Did no one ever tell you who you are?"

"I'm a photojournalist from Idaho," I spurt out. "I don't know what is going on here. I don't understand why people keep calling me a princess. I saw you turn into a monster out there in the yard. God. Let this be a dream."

"Why did your parents never tell you who you are?"

"My parents were fourth-generation potato farmers. They told me I was a potato farmer. What were they supposed to tell me?"

"Dani, you are the last dragon born princess of Endor. Why you look so tiny and weak is a mystery.”

"I must be on drugs," I rationalize. 

"I assure you, this is very real. We are at war, princess, and the sooner you come to terms with your responsibility the better."

"What is my responsibility?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"You must choose the next king. Either Conyac or me. Once you choose we will make the hilock, the bonding, and we will both come into our full powers."

"And what is this bonding thing entail?" I think I know where this is going. 

"We mate. I place my seed inside you and draw your blood with my strong teeth. Once we are mated, the hilock will bind us and we will evolve into the full powers of king and queen. I can guarantee I am a better choice than Conyac. Now, take off your clothes and spread your legs."

I scramble away from him again. This dude is insane. I'm not letting anyone hilock me or anything else until I understand what is going on here. How could I be their princess? I'm human, from Earth. I don't look anything like these people. I'm short and curvy. Even the regular-sized people around here are tall and slender with perfect features, pointed ears, and long canines. I am not one of them. I'm certainly not a dragon. 

"Be not afraid, princess. The hilock should be pleasurable for you. Now spread your legs for your king."

"Cool off, buddy. I'm not just going to spread my legs for you. Not if I have a choice. Maybe I want Conyac. He seemed like a nicer guy anyway. That's if I wanted to mate with either of you in the first place. I still don't get why you people keep calling me your princess. I'm not one of you. I'm human. Isn't it obvious? Maybe you got the wrong girl. Now. Let me and my dog go back to Montana. The sunset over the mountains was promising to be particularly spectacular tonight, and you've made me miss it."

"I do not know why you look like that. Believe me. It is a shock to us all. But you are the one and only princess of our people. You are the last dragon-born female left alive on this planet. In these dire times, we need the power of a dragon queen. There can be no other."

"Okay. Let's just say for a moment that I believe that I'm this dragon-born princess person, and I accept that I'm supposed to choose a king and save your planet. In that case, why should I choose you?" I'm not really buying this whole story, but fighting against it isn't getting me anywhere. Maybe if I play along, I'll be able to get out of this room. 

Trav smiles broadly and stands from the bed, puffing out his chest like an overconfident high school jock. He hits his hand to his massive pecs and stares me in the eyes. 

"I am Trav Warren, son of Mordon Warren, king of all Endor. My dragon fire is strong. My arms are thick with muscle, and my army is mighty." He finishes as if he's told me everything I'll ever need to know about him. I guess he doesn't go for long walks on the beach. 

"That's nice," I say. "How about you show me around your castle?"

"Of course. But first, princess, please change into something appropriate. Your clothing is distasteful."

I look down at my brown cargo shorts and my denim sleeveless shirt. I know it isn't red carpet ready, but they kidnapped me in the middle of a hike. I frown at him. This guy had no idea how to talk to a woman. 

"What do you suggest I wear?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. 

"The closet is full of clothing fit for a princess. I will send in your servant to prepare you. I will come back later to escort you to the feast prepared in your honor."

"Sounds great," I say. I'm not really ready for a party, but hey, he's going to let me out of this damn room. 

He bows with a flourish and leaves. I still don't feel like I have any grip on the situation, but at least I'm making progress with the dragon prince. A few moments later, Uria steps through the door and curtsies deeply.

"My lady," she starts. "Would you like me to draw your bath?"

"Sure. That sounds super." I cross my arms over my chest and watch her walk to a wall within my chamber and press it lightly and a panel clicks open.

"How do you open the doors?" I ask.

"This bath chamber door is opened with a light push. You entrance door is enchanted to keep out Orgs. It will only allow Endorians or dragon born through when you stand before it.”

“That’s why I’m trapped in my room,” I say, annoyed.

She nods uncomfortably and goes to a large copper basin. She pulls a chain from the bottom of the tub, and water begins to bubble up through the hole at the center. It takes a few minutes for the entire large basin to fill with hot water. Uria plucks a bottle from a shelf against the wall and pours sweet-smelling oil into the water. It smells of almonds and lavender.

"May I help you disrobe?" she asks expectantly.

"No. That's fine. I can manage. But where is the shampoo?"

"What is shampoo, your highness?"

"For washing hair?"

"Ah. Yes. Hair tonic. Here." She hands me an amber bottle before curtsying again and backing out of the room. "I will wait for you in your chamber and help you dress, my lady."

"Sure, great."

The door slides closed behind her, and I sigh. This is weird. I don't know if I like this "my lady" stuff. Yesterday I was a broke photographer with PTSD living in an old RV with my stinky dog. Now I'm somehow a princess. Not how I was expecting the day to go.

I pull out of my dusty, sweaty clothing and climb into the basin. The water is perfect, almost too hot, and smells like a dream. I settle in, luxuriating in the warmth. This is exactly what I needed. My sore muscles, tired from months of hiking and sleeping in a cramped, lumpy bed begin to unwind. I let out a little moan of pleasure. Maybe I could get used to this princess thing.

My life back on Earth wasn't exactly going well. My parents died after the farm was foreclosed, years ago. They'd been older when they had me, but losing the farm just made them both give up. They got cancer and died within a year.

I never had any brothers or sisters. Apparently, I was something of a miracle baby.

My career is in the toilet. After I left Iraq, totally shell-shocked and pissed as hell, I couldn't cut it at the paper anymore. All the New York bullshit and office politics drove me insane. Literally, I had a nervous breakdown over someone stealing my breakfast burrito out of the refrigerator.

Well, it wasn't just the burrito. It had been compounding for months. After what I'd seen go down in Iraq, I wasn't in the mood for the pettiness of normal life. I saw a shrink once a week to help me deal with the fucked up stuff that constantly ran through my head. On top of that, I had to deal with skinny, twenty-year-old interns, misogynistic bosses, and being handed one too many puff pieces.

There wasn't really any way of hiding the fact that I'd nearly lost my mind in the Middle East. Dead babies will do that to you. They brought me back, and my old paper let me go. I got a job at a gossip magazine. It sucked big hairy balls.

So I quit. To put it more correctly, I rage quit. After that, I bought the RV and decided to do what I'd always really wanted to do, nature photography. Growing up in Idaho, nature was all around, and it inspired me more than anything else. But after college, I got into a practical career. Not that there weren't parts of photojournalism that I loved. It was an intensely exciting and challenging occupation. But after the war... 

I pick up the bottle of hair tonic and rub it into my wet hair, breathing in the fresh scent. I duck under the water to rinse it off. When I'm done, my hair feels so soft, it shocks me. My course, wavy brown hair has never been what I'd call soft. 

After I get out of the bath, I wrap myself in a thick robe hanging on the wall. The plush material wicks the water away from my skin. Standing in front of the door, I place my hand at about the same place Uria had. To my relief, the door clicks open. For a second I was afraid I'd be trapped in the bathroom.

Out in the main chamber, I find Uria standing beside my closet. The curtains are drawn back, and I can see dozens of dresses within. I peer inside, my feet damp on the warm stone floor.

"This color would suit you, my lady," Uria pulls a creamy yellow dress from the rack. The bodice is covered in intricate violet embroidery with many of the same patterns I saw on in the cave in Montana. I run my finger over the thread, musing for a moment on the shapes.

"What are these designs?" I ask Uria. She looks up at me and that "you're an idiot" look flashes over her face. She gets it together and smiles.

"These are the symbols of your race, lady. Of the dragon born."

"Oh," I say, actually feeling like an idiot. Why they believe I'm a dragon princess is beyond me. Even the maid is in on it.

"I beg your pardon, my lady,” Uria starts. “But what happened to you?"

"I don't know, Uria. I don't know. I seriously doubt that I'm this dragon princess person. But everyone keeps telling me I am."

"The great wizard Gizmel is never wrong."

"I'll take your word for it," I say, skeptically. There is a first time for everything, and I'm betting the great wizard is wrong about me.

She helps me into the dress and works on my hair. The dress, while beautiful, is about a foot too long for me. Uria spends the next twenty minutes patiently hemming the thing at my feet.

When she's finished with the dress, she works on my face, applying the Endor version of makeup. When she puts it on, it just seems like fragrant oil, but when I see myself in the mirror, I look like I've been to a salon.

My long brown hair cascading down my back in perfect ringlets while my round face has been expertly contoured into something pleasing. Usually, I just look pudgy and tired. Now, I am beginning to look the part of a princess.

Uria has lined my eyes with black eyeliner and covered the lids with cocoa-colored shadow. It brings out the swirling, changeable hazel of my irises. My cheeks look high and pink and my skin is clear and golden tan. I actually look...beautiful. I'm stunned. I've never seen myself looking so feminine.

"Wow," is all I can say.

"Your ladyship is pleased?"

"You are some kind of miracle worker, Uria. Jeez. You missed your calling as a cosmetologist."

"What?"

"Never mind."

The door swishes open, and I turn to see Trav enter the room.