Night settles in thick and damp. Campfire crackling. Mosquitoes bold as tax collectors.
Loma is curled up in her cloak on the ground, knees drawn, face twisted in a very un-royal scowl.
"I am cramping," she mutters. "Deeply. Regally. Possibly cursed."
I'm sitting on a rock, polishing a knife that doesn't need polishing, absolutely beaming.
"Worth it," I say cheerfully. "You should've seen the hag's focus. Real craftsmanship. Artisan work."
The Dragon snorts without opening his eyes. "I hate it when you say things like that."
Loma shifts, hissing softly. "She poked things. Magical things. Things that hummed."
"See?" I say proudly. "Attention to detail."
The Dragon opens one eye. "Did you watch?"
I wave a hand. "Of course I did. Quality assurance."
He groans. Long. Suffering. Ancient. "I did not need that sentence in my life."
Loma glares at me. "You said it wouldn't hurt that much."
"And it didn't," I say reasonably. "It hurt professionally. There's a difference."
She grumbles something about betrayal and pillows.
I stretch, utterly satisfied. "Honestly? Excellent job. Clean lines. Symmetry restored. Very convincing."
"I am begging you," the Dragon says, pressing his snout into the dirt, "to stop describing your inspections."
I grin wider. "Relax. I just took a peek."
He lets out a sound halfway between a growl and a prayer.
Loma pulls her cloak tighter, cheeks still pink even in the firelight. "Next time," she mutters, "I'm marrying a baker."
I pat her foot gently. "Give it a day. You'll be pristine as a lie told often enough."
The Dragon groans again.
And I sit there, smug as sin, absolutely certain I did the right thing.
Loma shifts again, groaning softly. "It still aches."
I wave it off, airy. "Normal. Means it took."
She blinks at me. "Took… what?"
"Oh," I say lightly, "the hag once did the same to me."
There's a beat.
The Dragon doesn't even look up. "Three times, actually."
Loma's head snaps toward me. "Oh."
I smile, tight and innocent. "Long story."
"Several poor decisions," the Dragon adds. "And one festival."
I point at him. "Uncalled for."
He rolls onto his side, fixing me with a dry, ancient stare. "You are a terrible influence on her. First you teach her every whorish trick known to ports and gutters, and now this. Surgical purity scams."
I scoff. "Excuse you. I didn't teach her anything she didn't already want to know."
Loma opens her mouth. "I didn't—"
I immediately hush her, pressing a finger to her lips. Gentle, firm. "Shh. Don't argue with dragons. They monologue."
She deflates, muttering something about aches and destiny.
The Dragon sighs. "She was a princess."
"She asked," I say simply. "Every step. Every question. I didn't drag her anywhere."
Loma frowns, thinking. "…I did ask."
"See?" I say brightly.
The Dragon closes his eyes again. "This is how it starts. Next you'll be teaching her how to fake innocence with eye contact and timing."
I grin. "Already did. Yesterday. She's a natural."
Loma looks horrified. "I am?"
I stretch, hands behind my head, utterly pleased with myself.
"Look," I say, breezy but firm, "these are quality skills. Practical. Educational. Deeply transferable."
The Dragon snorts. "That's one word for it."
I keep going. "Our little Loma will pass the purity test with her future mother-in-law, the midwives, the matrons, the inquisitors, the candle, the sheet, the whole ridiculous ritual."
Loma groans weakly from her cloak. "Please stop listing them."
"And," I add brightly, "once all that ceremonial nonsense is over, her future husband will be extremely grateful for the skills she's picked up in between the sheets."
There's a long silence.
The Dragon lifts his head just enough to glare at me. "You are poison wrapped in silk."
"Experience," I correct. "Wrapped in survival."
Loma mutters, "…He doesn't need to know everything."
I crouch beside her, lowering my voice, warm and bossy all at once. "No. He doesn't. He just gets the benefits. You keep the knowledge."
She hesitates. "That feels… dishonest."
I gently hush her again, fingertip to her brow this time. "Sweetheart. That's called marriage."
The Dragon groans so hard his scales rasp. "I'm going to molt just to forget this conversation."
I stand, dusting off my hands, satisfied. "You're welcome, both of you."
Loma exhales, half-annoyed, half-relieved. "…You're awful."
I grin. "And yet, still helpful."
The fire pops.
The night settles.
And somewhere between pain, relief, and dread, Princess Loma learns her first truly adult lesson: purity is a performance — and performance is a skill.
Later that night, campfire low, embers breathing like tired lungs.
Loma is wrapped in her cloak, staring into the flames like they owe her answers. The Dwarf is still out cold, snoring from somewhere behind a bush. I'm poking the fire with a stick, thinking.
The Dragon finally breaks the silence.
"Pristine," he says thoughtfully, "is not exactly the word I would be using for Her Highness."
Loma stiffens. Just a little.
I don't even look up. "Careful."
He sniffs. "I'm not judging. I'm cataloguing."
She turns on him. "I did what I had to."
"Yes," he says mildly. "And you did it thoroughly."
I jab the stick into the coals a bit harder than necessary. Sparks jump.
"She's fine," I say. "Functional. Skilled. Alive. All upgrades."
The Dragon tilts his head. "Royal courts tend to prefer illusions."
"That's what we're giving them," I snap. "An illusion that holds under inspection."
Loma's voice comes small. "They will touch me. Examine me."
"They will," the Dragon agrees. "With candles and hymns and too many opinions."
I finally look at her. She looks terrified again. Not of pain. Of being found out.
I soften my voice. "Hey. You pass for whatever they need you to be. You always have."
She swallows. "You're sure?"
I grin. "I'm not sure of anything. But I know how these games work."
The Dragon exhales smoke, thin and dry. "You are, without question, the worst possible tutor a princess could have had."
"And yet," I say sweetly, "here we are. Still breathing."
Loma huffs despite herself. "You two are horrible."
"Welcome to adulthood," I say. "It's mostly pretending and hoping no one checks too closely."
The Dragon lies back, wings rustling. "Gods help the court of Kishkh."
I smile at the fire.
"They won't," I say. "That's why they've got me."