Chapter Text
“Your highness!”
Herb opened his eyes, breaking what remained of his meditative trance. From his perch on a large boulder, he looked down at his retainers. Mint and Lime, an odd pair to be sure, but one forged through the tumbling of youth alongside Herb’s very own training.
Being the shorter of the two, Mint made up for it in his energy. He waved up at Herb as if the prince could not see him from where he sat. Lime followed after with an assuredness that came from strength alone. Both appeared worse for wear, the hides that marked their lineage of wolf and tiger respectively had been mauled down to the bare necessity of modesty. Nicks and slashes had dried on their arms but no higher.
Here they returned to his resting place. Lime carried a basket over his shoulder that had to have been stolen. Hopefully it was from a farmer or traveler that happened to be near the valley rather than the neighboring tribes. The two stopped before the two artifacts resting before the boulder until the time came for their use.
If the goofy grins on their faces wasn’t enough of a hint, then their shoddy rope work was. Using what was no doubt an entire spool and three different knots, they had tied their stolen basket shut. Messily and inefficiently but tied nevertheless. Lime could have held it shut with his bare hands and it would have been equally effective. Really, were it not for their keen senses of smell, neither would have returned with any measure of success in their quest.
“We captured the dragon!” Mint cheered for all the valley to hear. The warrior of the wolves raised his fist in the air in triumph. By his side, his tall partner in crime patted the straw that imprisoned their prey.
Stepping off his boulder, Herb floated down next to the artifacts he had readied for this moment. “Set the basket down,” he commanded and so it was done. Mint and Lime stepped away, steering clear of the splash zone.
The ropes themselves would take too long to undo. The messy ties still accomplished their job with the bonus of confusing those that beheld them. Rather than stomach that headache, Herb flicked out a hand, sending out a thin wave of energy that sliced through the bindings. All at once, the ropes fell away from the lid.
Yet the basket remained still. Had these buffoons failed in their task? No, the two retainers suffered scratches on their arms and clothing. Those wounds were too shallow to come from any of the birds and the women playing at being warriors would have followed until dying at his hands. No, those marks came from a beast and every beast would be cowed into hiding by the presence of his lineage. It was simply the way of nature, no matter the majesty of the creature.
By that very same nature, it was left to him, the prince of the Musk, to unveil their latest prize. The lid slid off in one fluid motion, knowing better than to catch and ruin this moment. Rays of sunlight peeked into the basket, dancing off red scales and hooked curves. Something within, small as a squirrel, squirmed around until a glare hit Herb’s eye.
“Ah!” Wicked sharp teeth snapped shut on his nose. The soft cartilage, once remarked upon for its strong shape, bent and broke under this creature’s will. With superior strength and firmer will, Herb yanked the assailant off of his person and held it at arm’s length.
The offender didn’t even give him the courtesy of looking ashamed of its actions. It stared him in the eyes while blood—his royal blood—coated its lips. No amount of shimmering of its bright red scales would absolve it of guilt. Nor would its wide eyes, more akin to glimpses of the sunset, be able to make him falter. He bore the soul of a king and the blood of dragons. No creature would make him bow before them.
“Enough. You are benea—Ah!” Those tiny jaws clamped down on his hand. “I am a king, you dull creature.” He tightened his grip on the lizard lest it attempt another treasonous escape. “And I will not be bull—aaaAA! Fuck!”
Mint and Lime gasped in unison. They looked at him like he had committed some cardinal sin rather than shout in pain. Yet they were also standing around with their thumbs up their bums instead of trying to help him with the cretin biting off his thumb.
“Should we get the pail, your Highness?” one of them asked. Herb didn’t know which one but it didn’t really matter. Either way it was the stupidest question he had heard in his life.
“No, you numbskulls.” Herb pulled and flailed but the beast stubbornly held on to bone and muscle. What more did it want? It had already ruined his perfect nose.
“Then what do I do with the ladle?”
“Does it do anything without the pail?”
“I don’t think so. Should we test it out?”
“Don’t you dare!” Fed up with the cretin, Herb slammed it on the ground and stepped on the tip of its tail. Just as he expected, its jaws flew open as it cried out in pain. “Mint! Lime! Hold this thing down!”
“As you wish, your Highness.” At least those two could take simple orders. Mint dropped the ladle unceremoniously and hurried to join Lime to hold down their prey. Between the two of them, pinning the lizard down was a simple task. Even just one of the idiots should have been enough. Although with how feisty this one was, the precaution was probably warranted.
Looking down at his hand only filled Herb with disdain. Bone remained concealed behind a mess of skin and muscle that may as well have been mixed together in a bloody mess. To think that a creature no bigger than his arm was capable of such damage. Were the circumstances different, he may have pulled together the resources to bring this one under his metaphorical wing.
But shedding the blood of a prince deserved nothing less than the harshest punishments the Musk could give. Herb could think of no worse punishment than the fate already in store for this pathetic excuse of a dragon.
Herb gathered his tools, ready to enact retribution. The ladle had been hastily discard by one of his oldest allies but the specks of dirt were easily flicked away. On the other hand, the pail required more care. Next to it sat a small cask, tied down and labeled for safekeeping. He poured out its contents into the pail, wary not to get a single drop on him. Only once the waters stopped sloshing around did he pick up the artifact.
When he stood over the prone creature, it tried to growl at him. A series of clicks echoed from its throat, a pure primal strategy. The guttural warning would never strike fear in his heart—the heart of a king. “You should be grateful that I have not killed you already, mongrel,” he spat. “Do not think what comes next is mercy.”
He scooped up the pail’s waters, and with a flick of the wrist, drowned the lizard beneath its eternal fate. It grew under his retainer’s hands, amassing an entire body where a salamander had once been. In the blink of an eye, the dragon had been cursed into the form of a woman.
Stunned by her own transformation, the once-dragon looked at her newly formed hands. Her claws had been reduced to thick nails yet still possessed a knife’s edge. Scales receded behind fresh layers of skin that still glistened thanks to beads of cursed water. If the shock itself did not cease her pathetic growling, then her sudden inability to do so put an end to such primitive threats.
Her gaze, still bearing those dark eyes of the luminous horizon, rose not to her new king but those holding her down. Mint and Lime’s hands had moved to the flat of her back between the scales dotting her spine. With that change, she was no longer pinned flat to the ground and that information sparkled in her eyes and danced on her lips.
Clawed hands planted onto the ground and she swung the rest of her body. An unexpected swiftness struck the two retainers, knocking them away from the cursed woman. Crouched on the ground, she grinned at her newfound physical prowess. Sharp teeth flashed at the two warriors, whether threatening to bite them or to strike them another way neither knew.
When she finally stood on her two scaled feet, a new problem presented itself. Although with Mint and Lime’s attention where it was, one would be hard pressed to think of any other issues. In utter amazement, the two muttered, “Woah… boobs.”
And, well, the former-dragon was certainly, maliciously cursed, so to speak. Even Herb found it difficult to resist the twin charms before him. Their heft and shape, the darkening around those small nubs, and the cursed droplets crawling around her curves. It was all too much. He could not observe or—or take in—the sheer weight he had saddled her with.
Under the gaze of the falling sun, she shined brighter than any blaze he could set. Her body was bare for all to witness. The swell of her breasts was cupped by ruby red scales that few blades could separate. When she curled her claws into her palm, light danced around her body as if it could not decide which part it liked best. Would it be her mane of fluffy pink hair? Or perhaps the horns branching away from her soft features. Better yet, the tail trailing behind her, nearly thick as her waist. Despite its girth, she swung it as swiftly as any other punch.
Wait what—
Corded muscle and scales slammed into his skull, rattling him even before he received a mouthful of dirt. Worse, he had opened his mouth and grass now weaved into his teeth. Great. As if the bite to his nose didn’t besmirch his face enough. Speaking of which, ouch. That definitely needed to be cleaned.
A task for later. Right now, his prize was running away from his grasp. “What are you two standing around for?” Herb very princely spat out a clump of soil. “I don’t pay you to stand there and look pretty!”
Mint blinked. “We’re getting paid?”
“You think I’m pretty?” Lime asked while two trails of blood stained his face.
“No!” Herb stomped his foot. “Shut up and go find my dragon!”
The two retainers looked at each other and grinned in unison. “After the boobies!” they cheered as they set off on their next quest.
At a significantly slower speed than their quarry. Maybe he should have chased after her himself. That would have been a swift hunt. Then again…
The pail of preservation laid mostly still where Herb had initially put it. At a short distance away, the waters were a much smaller threat than they otherwise would be. Meanwhile, the locking ladle rested at his feet. He must have dropped it in his shock. Whether that was because of the dragon’s cursed form or the sudden tail tot he face, he would rather never know. The point is that he had two Musk artifacts important to their people’s culture to take care of.
He would really rather not repeat his great-grandfather’s mistake. Losing the pot of liberation was a massive blow to the trust of the Musk people and resulted in his great-great-grandfather’s banishment after being cursed for eternity to be little more than a house cat.
Being cursed into any form seemed miserable. The form of a cat could at least hide one’s shame. If he was locked into the form of a woman, he would never be able to live with the indignity.
That reminded him. Herb kicked the bucket over and watched as every last drop flooded out. Then for good measure, he shook the pail vigorously. It was still probably somewhat dangerous to be near, but such a risk was par for the course when dealing with such ancient magic.
Now that the danger was mitigated, he just needed to store the pail and ladle back in their rightful place. After that, and only after that was done, he could begin his pursuit. She may have had a head start, but he would have his dragon. He would be the king of a dragon!