Page 1 of Lady Dragon
1
SAMANSA
Meeting the dragon was a surprise.
Not because Samansa, Princess of Andrath, didn’t know she would meet the dragon. She was traversing the long, pillar-lined gallery for that exact purpose, with Dara, her lady’s maid, and Jamsens, the captain of her guard, flanking her down the hall. And her mother, Queen of Andrath, had been preparing her for this moment for the eighteen years Samansa had been on this earth.Warningher, more like.
Age six:Dragons are not like us. They are especially notsilly, as you are being, Samansa, in playing with your food like that. Take your role as princess seriously.
Age eleven:If you cry like that in front of a dragon, they will think you weak. They cannot think that. Now pick up your dagger and begin with Jamsens again.
It wasn’t as if her mother had ever met a dragon in person. Dragons only came to Andrath on an official state visit like this if it was time for their fierce queen—Mother, as all dragons somewhat euphemistically called her—to choose her successor.Choosewas a kind word, as the dragon queen’s daughter wouldsomeday kill her mother to take her place, because that’s how dragons managed succession.
The future killer washere. The daughter of the current dragon queen. The soon-to-be matricide, not to mention regicide. In the receiving room, no less.
And Samansa needed to ingratiate herself. The future of her queendom depended on it.
She shivered, and veered her steps into a stretch of sunlight slanting from the tall, many-paned windows running alongside the gallery pillars. Nearly tripping her maid was worth it for the brief comfort the warmth gave her through the silk of her gown. She steadied Dara even as she tried to calm her own breathing. And yet, the light only reminded the princess of her duty, making her mother’s colors glow—igniting the veins of gold in the deep blue marble columns all around her and illuminating the stained glass window in the center: a skyscape of clouds in various shades of blue, shot through with gold and silver sunrays and scattered with the darker, looming shapes of dragons in flight. The dragons always felt like a shadow over Andrath. Sometimes even over her mother’s reign.
Samansa couldn’t imagine fighting her mother—murderingher—for the throne. She found that particular draconic custom rather beastly, though she knew she wasn’t supposed to think such things. She winced in silence as she walked, clutching Dara’s arm, imagining the dozen lectures she would receive if she saidthatin front of her mother, never mind a dragon.
Maybe:Dragons are different, yes—but they are not beasts. They live long lives, have a rich culture all their own, and are incredibly powerful. They deserve our utmost respect.
Or:Without dragons, we wouldn’t have the queendom we have today. We owe them immense gratitude for their trust in women.
Or even:You must maintain the ties and mutual respect between our realms—no, findharmonywith the dragons. Your rule depends on it.
Respectwas a common theme. Samansa could at least try her hardest to give it if she couldn’t earn it.Harmony, she was more confident she could manage. All her life, she could befriend almost anyone. Anyone human, anyway. She only had to befriend a dragon, this time.
No overlarge task, she thought, and choked on a giggle.
Jamsens slid her a sideways glance. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, just imagining my imminent failure to do my duty,” the princess said, her voice higher than she would have liked. “You know, the usual.”
Jamsens knew her fears well. “Remember,” he said, “you could charm the birds from the trees with your laugh—”
“Or turn curdled milk sweet again with just your smile,” Dara added, giving the princess a smirk that Jamsens couldn’t see. Because Jamsens had once said that as well, and then blushed furiously. Dara had teased Samansa about it for days, insisting Jamsens fancied her, and repeated the line whenever she could within his hearing, earning his scowls. He resolutely didn’t look at Dara now, and she said, more sincerely, “You can do this.”
Samansa hoped she could. She smoothed her hands over her skirts as she walked, as if that could settle her nerves. Her smile was feeble in return.
“You look like you’re about to be sick,” Dara murmured out of the corner of her mouth.
Samansa could always rely on her maid to tell her the truth, even if it was one she didn’t particularly want to hear.
Be strong. Don’t look weak, Samansa scolded herself. Especially now, when she was going to meet the dragon. Dragonprincess.
Probably a better way to think of her thanfuture matricide.
“Maybe if I’m truly sick, I could avoid this meeting?” Samansa muttered back at Dara, earning a sympathetic grimace from her friend and a disapproving one from Jamsens.
Before long—althoughnotlong enough to draw inward and quiet herself, as her mother always told her, to present a queenly presence—their small party arrived at the towering, gilded double doors of the receiving room. Her mother was already in there. The dragon, too.
Samansa realized she was smoothing the flawless, creamy silk of her skirts again, probably staining it with her sweaty fingers while she was at it. Good thing she didn’t have to be perfectly queenly yet—that was her mother’s job. Samansa wished her a very,verylong rule and planned to do everything in her power to preserve it, unlikesomeprincesses.
She took a deep breath and schooled her features to stillness as the two guards flanking the doors threw them wide. She felt Dara’s hand squeeze her elbow, and Samansa was grateful for the contact, brief as it was, before her maid withdrew to let the princess enter first. Samansa could at least pretend to be proper, if she didn’t feel it inside.
Act it until you embody it, her mother always said.
