Sleeping Nightmare

(Warning: Suggestive themes, suggested violence, mild blood)

Everyone knew the stories, the rumors, the legend, but only a few ever endeavored to venture further than the whispered words. Because those who braved the ruins of the sleeping castle never came back the same—

If they came back at all.

Decades had come and gone, and still, there was no boon to be won. Yet, it was not treasure that Ser Marcus sought.

It was a heart–the heart of the slumbering beauty who had been placed under a curse nearly a century ago.

After all this time, she should have been naught but ash and bones, but those few survivors who had miraculously returned had all uttered the same thing: the princess lived, and she was as beautiful as the day she was cursed.

The new king had placed a ban on returning to the ruins, claiming them too dangerous and haunted. There were reasons, after all, why a new kingdom had been rebuilt and the old castle now lay abandoned.

Ser Marcus knew the repercussions of his mission should he fail, but he had spent endless nights listening to his great uncle's stories. His father claimed he was only mad and that Marcus shouldn't listen to the old fool's ravings.

But Ser Marcus had fallen for the tales that surrounded her, and he’d stop at nothing to claim the legend for his own.

I will not fail, he thought hopefully as he first set off on his journey to find her, treading across treacherous terrains, freezing rains, and forests alive at night with wicked beings craving his flesh.

I will not fail, he told himself as he counted the corpses littering the walls of the abandoned ruins, eyeing the sky for any signs of the infamous dragon.

I will not fail, he reminded himself, wiping black soot upon his brow to blend into the shadows of the castle, and as he peered up at the agonizingly high, spiraling staircase that led to her tower.

I will not fail, he realized triumphantly as he finally–finally–stood just outside the open bedroom chamber, staring at the gauzy curtains that separated him from the cursed princess.

He was here. He had done it. He had not failed.

He slowly approached the bed as if to savor the moment, one hand reached for the gossamer curtain shielding the prone princess while the other went for the jeweled dagger sheathed at his hip.

For her. This was all for her.

He would do anything. Anything to feel the way her arms wrapped around him, to feel the warmth of her lips as they pressed to his skin, and hear the soft lilt of her voice when she was–singing?

“Oh, sweet little bird. Have you come to see me? What song shall we sing?”

He froze. A voice as sweet as honey stroked the hairs along his neck and plucked at his heartstrings like they were a lyre.

He was meant to be alone in this castle. Just him. Just the eternally sleeping princess. No one else.

In a panic, he jerked the curtains back, revealing an empty bed.

“Oh, sweet little bird. Have you come to hear me? What game shall we play?”

He spun, weapon in hand as a door he had failed to notice earlier creaked open, and the source of that song appeared–wet and wrapped in a plush robe.

"Oh sweet--Oh!"

A woman halted just in the doorway, eyes widening as she took him in. She clutched the towel tightly around her chest and inadvertently lifting the short hem and exposing long, satiny legs.

The princess, Ser Marcus realized with a jolt. The very awake princess.

His gaze swept across her, as if searching for the answer to her non-slumbering state, but his search only served as a swift reminder of her state of undress instead. With his ears beginning to heat, and his thoughts led to immoral, traitorous musings. He cursed himself but he refused to turn away from her even as the dagger in his hand began to tremble, and he fought his resolve–

But, then she laughed, and–bless any gods above–she sounded like an angel.

Before he realized it, he was suddenly lost in those bewitching sapphire eyes and lilting, rosy mouth.

“I wonder,” she purred. “Which dagger had you planned on using against me?”

Her eyes shifted to the dagger, then lower, suggestively before returning to his gaping mouth and widening gaze.

“I-I…” he stammered stupidly and cleared his throat to try again. He attempted for an introduction, an explanation of his being there–anything–but suddenly, no words would come.

He was helpless, immovable. Only able to stare at her in growing panic as their shared glance evolved from curious something more… predatory.

Her head cocked contemplatively as she pulled at the white towel wrapped around her head, and dried, bouncing golden locks fell along her waist.

He cursed himself for the details he kept missing in his prior, single-focused blindness. He had intruded into her room, unannounced, catching her in an improper situation, and he was too distracted with her incongruous state to speak or notice the smallest of details about her.

Shaking out of his original stupor, he found his voice now free and cleared his throat to try once again, ignoring the erratic way his heart thumped when she grinned even when it did not reach her eyes.

“I have crossed treacherous terrains, battled lethal foes, slayed the beast guarding these ruins–”

“You killed the dragon?” She interrupted, her expression masked by genuine surprise.

A lie, but he had thought himself blessed to not encounter the beast that guarded this castle. Perhaps it was dead, or perhaps it was simply luck. Either way, it was gone, and he had not failed to reach the princess when so many before him had.

When he returned home, he would fabricate an intricate battle that would be a ballad worth singing at every tavern.

The Knight gave the princess a smile oozing charm and well-won glory; it was one he had practiced countless times with perfect practiced speeches.

Her answering grin dripped with wickedness, and her eyes were positively feline as she prowled towards him. A single finger traced from his throat, down past his collarbone, and stopped on his heart. His pulse thrummed wildly beneath her touch, the grip on his dagger tightening ever so slightly.

Long, deft fingers tugged at the fragile knot binding her robe, and he sucked in a tight breath as he tried–tried– to look away as it came undone. The robe spilled around her feet.

“So, you've heard the legend, and you're here to claim me.”

That finger slid along his shoulders as she circled around him.

He checked his restraints, but he was still bound except for his words. “Everyone has heard the tales about you.” A satisfied, curious sound–a purr– emitted from behind him, and he continued, “A princess cursed a hundred years ago by the Black Dragon, placed to rest in an immortal slumber, waiting for someone to find her.”

Nails scraped against the exposed column of his throat as she moved to face him once more. He could smell the scented oils from her bath–jasmine and vanilla. It was divine.

Her hand pressed flat against his chest, and he tensed as she pressed her body into his, angling her face towards his as if she were about to kiss him, only to stop a whisper away.

Her words came out sharp as she quietly demanded, “Finish the story.”

He obliged, completing the story he had begun to tell, each word growing louder as he set his resolve. “And, when you find the princess, you can cut out her beating heart to bring anyone you love back to life.”

For her. This had all been for her. His wife.

“Slay the dragon, then cut out the beating heart of the cursed princess, and use it to bring back the dead.”

All of this–for her.

The corners of the princess’s lips titled into a razored smile. A sharp nail tapped against her sternum. “Then you better not miss.”

He lifted the dagger above his head.

I will not fail, he roared as he drove it down into the princess’s chest.

Only, when the sharpened tip touched her skin, the blade shattered.

“W-what?” Ser Marcus babbled, his arm reverberating with pain as if he had struck a boulder and not a woman. He examined the hilt in his hand and the remnants of steel littered across the floor.

The princess tskd in disappointment as she padded a few steps backwards. “Poor thing. Did you really think you could take my heart?”

That cruel grin flashed again, but this time, it was full of sharpened teeth like those of a mighty predator. Rivulets of blood ran down her chin as two sharp canines bit down into her bottom lip.

“Do you not remember what guards it?”

Eyes wide and heart hammering like an anvil in his chest, he dropped the useless, broken dagger and darted for the door.

Faster than he could see–faster than he could move–she pounced on him like a cat would a mouse. She flipped him over with inhuman strength and straddled him as she pinned his arms to his sides.

“No!” he begged. “Please, no!”

A low growl rumbled from her through him, and he trembled, fighting against the vice-like grip she held on his wrists. He thought he had known fear before, but it was nothing compared to the helpless feeling screaming through his very marrow.

But impending death began to seep in, and a cold numbness settled into his blood as he stared and stared into her once beautiful face.

Up to those yellowed irises and vertically slitted pupils. Black plates tessellated over her cheekbones, the onyx scales slowly consuming every inch of flawless skin.

This was not the sleeping princess—but a nightmare.

His voice was a hoarse whisper. “What are you?”

“I am the dragon.”