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Leona’s body was heavy with fatigue, and yet he couldn’t sleep.
It had been like this since the spelldrive tournament, since his overblot, where the brief flashes of competition and adrenaline overpowered the lingering effects of his monstrous transformation. He’d slept soundly, profoundly exhausted, that night in the infirmary, Ruggie just a cot over, the Ramshackle herbivore being dismissed before curfew. They’d both woken up an hour after the sun did, and didn’t say a word about what had happened, falling into their usual routine as if he hadn’t carved out a piece of Ruggie not even a day ago. Ruggie was quiet. Leona was quiet.
There was sand on his tongue, and that had been the last good sleep Leona had gotten.
Now, even in a nest of his softest blankets, curtains drawn and the air pleasantly warm, Leona couldn’t keep his eyes closed. His limbs ached with exhaustion, yet tingled with a frantic energy. His tail flicked back and forth, ears twitching. Why the hell couldn’t he just relax?
But for all his body couldn’t stop running, his mind was much, much worse.
The invisible heavy weight over him wasn’t anything new. It had warred with the hunger in his gut for years, the opposing tug-of-war between proving the sniveling naysayers wrong and knowing deeply they were right. He was a destructive force, a failed runner-up.
A monster.
Couldn’t deny that now, not with the memories of blot seeping in every time he looked at the back of his own eyelids, or when he looked at Ruggie’s bandaged arm, shaking and frail.
His recollection of the overblot itself was dim and distant, beyond blurred at the edges, but he knew enough to get the gist.
His insides, his internal poison, that corrupted bit rooted in his heart that others must’ve just been able to sense, that others had whispered he had since he was a damn kitten, had manifested outside. His body had twisted, become grotesque and macabre, strong and wild, and utterly nauseating. Leona had always been called handsome or strong, his body one of the only worthy things about him, though the whispers said he did himself a disservice with his lack of grooming.
Leona didn’t agree. He’d never been satisfied with his body. Mirrors were sanded in magical outbursts and never replaced. Clothing fittings were avoided, cancelled, or skipped. He didn’t care if others oogled at him, even if the eyes burned across his skin.
The only thing he’s good for, the faceless onlookers whispered.
Leona wanted to claw their faces. Make them match him.
Or maybe he wanted to claw his own skin. Could he carve himself into a shape he liked?
Not even his own private room was comfortable anymore. He scowled alone to himself in the dark. Still it was better than the palace. Better than Falena’s cloying disappointment, Kifaji’s patronizing judgement, Cheka’s head-piercing eager giggles, and Jasiri’s stern, knowing eyes.
His sister-in-law had always been the smartest in that damn place from the moment she’d moved in, though it wasn’t hard compared to his sunshine, do-gooder brother and his equally floaty son. Her gaze was as sharp as her spear, and she was as physically swift as she was quickwitted.
Leona had never liked her, though he wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t respect her. She was everything a future queen should be:
Steel-spined yet graceful. Powerful but elegant. Confident and clever.
Leona had been so terribly jealous of her when they’d first met.
Her smile, sharp but not scary. Her strength, intimidating but not monstrous. Her body, trained and scarred and yet still so soft and lovely.
She wanted to be like her. That thought was never allowed to cross Leona’s mind, not since he first met her.
Not until right now.
Leona’s eyes felt hot. Her His skin felt tight. Even the touch of the blankets made her him want to scratch away the bone's deep itch. Why did she he have to be cursed? Why could she he just be herself–
A dragon burst through the walls of her dorm room.
Leona screamed, startled in a way she rarely, if ever, was, as the pillars of her windows crumbled and brick and stone rained down around her, though none seemed to leave a scratch on her. An odd sensation of magic prickled over her skin, like a thin barrier of electricity keeping the debris off of her. It glowed a faint and annoyingly familiar green.
The same green of the massive dragon's eyes and flickering flames.
The same green of the infamous draconic fae prince on campus.
Of fucking course.
Malleus Draconia was paying her a visit. And she couldn’t even pretend not to know why.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t pissed when he reached into the rubble of her room, picked her up with his massive claws, and started to prepare to fly away.
Flying via dragon paw was nothing like a broom; with no control over any of it, the wind whistling painfully loud in her ears and her hair getting in her mouth, moved around by the wind and the flaps of his massive wings.
Leona yelled, clawing uselessly at the thick scaled hide of the beast carrying her away, kicking persistently at his underbelly from where she dangled in his claws. Yells, faintly audible, reached her ears and she looked down through wind-watery eyes.
“What the Sevens was–LEONA?!”
“Leona-senpai?!”
“HEY! LET THE BOSS GO!”
At least her idiots weren’t completely deaf. She watched as Ruggie, Jack, and crowds of Savanaclaw students gaped at her, getting smaller and smaller as she was carried away. Some were gearing up to throw things, rocks, or spells. Ruggie looked shocked but…considering? And Jack just looked utterly confused.
Maybe he hadn’t heard of this campus tradition yet, somehow.
With how big his ears were, you’d think the pup would’ve at least heard about it, Leona thought sardonically.
Damn dragons and their ‘princess-snatching’ instincts. Or maybe it was just the insanity of the Draconia line. Not like Leona had much to reference it to.
But truly, you’d think Night Raven College would have a scarcity of ‘princesses’ for Malleus to snatch, but somehow, no!
(Honestly, it was like their school was becoming co-ed with all the girls who’d realized themselves during their three years on campus. Mostly thanks to the dragon.)
Malleus would smash down a wall, catch a newfound maiden in his talons, and take them off for Diasomnia for a week of torture (or makeovers and spa days if the rumors were to be believed). Leona was not interested, even if she was coming to realize she was a girl.
Unfortunately, Lizard Brain didn’t seem to give a fuck what she wanted. Unsurprising.
(Maybe this was a part of his payback for the tournament. For her plan. For her failure. Maybe he was going to humiliate her, or torture her (though it didn’t seem his style). Not like it wouldn’t be an earned grudge, even if she hadn’t managed to scratch him in the slightest.)
It certainly already felt like a punishment, the wind sharp and cold, and the only refuge the heat from the dragon holding her. It felt even more dreadful when the dreary architecture of Diasomnia came into view. Is this what approaching your own execution felt like?
Maybe if she kicked hard enough she could get him to drop her directly in the dorm's thorny barrier. Wishful thinking, probably. Bastard's skin was too damn thick…dense just like his head.
He floated over the dorm, still far too off the ground when he let her go, though it was only a split second before the green glow of his magic had surrounded her again, gently lowering her to the ground as he flitted overhead like an oversized bird.
Guess he couldn’t go in the front door at his size. Maybe they had an oversized dog house for him or something. She snickered at the thought.
Maybe I can make a break for it. Not like I know where the hell to go from here, Leona mused half-heartedly. Seriously, how did the Lizard expect her to find her way to wherever he wanted her to go? She’d only been here once or twice and all borderline if not outright against her will.
As if answering her question, the green glow of magic didn’t dissipate, instead concentrating around her wrist like a new bracelet. It tugged her forward, uncaring of if she wanted to move or not. Great. She was soooo happy about this. Being tugged around like an animal on a leash in a dorm full of people who thought she was scum, where the air itself made her hair stand on end.
How fun.
The dorm’s main room was as grandiose and dour as she remembered from her brief experience with it. Thankfully, it was underpopulated at the moment. Unfortunately, the few people in the room she did recognize. And they recognized her in return.
Silver looked at them from her spot on the couch, her long namesake hair swaying in the eerie wind of her dorm's halls. She didn’t look surprised nor upset by seeing Leona here, her auroral eyes flicking down to the green magic wrapped around her wrist. Her solemn expression didn’t change, but she lifted her hand and waved softly.
Leona didn’t wave back.
Seeing as she was the Lizards' first victim in this, if rumors could be trusted, she was probably used to it by now. She must’ve seen it all by now. Guess even an attempted murderer wouldn’t be a shock. Or maybe she was just that stoic. Not like Leona knew her well enough to tell.
Next to her was Vanrouge, the Vice Housewarden. He was less welcoming. His eyes were cold, even as he sipped on a cup of tea in a garishly bright mug. There’s no ready acceptance here, and he certainly doesn’t wave in greeting. But he doesn’t stop them either. And he doesn’t look…disgusted.
The green-haired loudmouth isn’t here, and for that at least, Leona could be a little grateful. Her ears were still ringing lightly from the howling wind, and she didn’t feel like adding to it from that stubborn croc's yells of “WAKA-SAMA” or whatever other nonsense he wanted to say.
Maybe the quiet acceptance or that small wave is enough to explain why she doesn’t tug against the magic, doesn’t curse or claw or fight back anymore.
(Or maybe she just wants to exist. Wants to be welcomed as she is.)
She lets the magic take her hand and guide her down a long hallway.
The door it leads her to is large but not overly ornate (probably because it gets barrelled down by a large dragon frequently and even Briar Valley’s royal funds are not unlimited for such frivolities), the hall empty of any other doors for a significant length. The door unlocks with a click of the same green magic that was unraveling from her wrist.
What a damn showoff the Lizard was, she thinks, as she walks into the room.
It was large, large enough to house a dragon (as it currently was) as well as a massive bed, piles of bedding, a mini fridge, and several closets worth of clothes of varying style, size and material. The air smelled like lingering smoke and artificial flowers, the detergent scent of the laundered clothes drifting. The room was well tended, but it still rankled Leona's nerves. No amount of blankets or soft rugs could cover up the cold stone walls, or the dorm's overall unwelcoming presence.
Or maybe just unwelcoming to her.
And worse, was the large, lumbering dragon staring at her, puffing breath so hot it bordered on steam. She wondered if he couldn’t return to his human-like form, or simply didn’t wish to. Did he enjoy dwarfing her like this, his shadow swallowing hers?
His eyes were locked onto her, green and glowing and dangerous. Leona had made it a point to never feel like prey, but under his gaze she felt as weak as a newborn cub. He could kill her very easily. A snap of his jaw. A blast of his flame. A swing of a claw.
Instead, he used his tail to drag over a rack of clothes.
She wondered to herself if she’d gone insane.
The clothes were all around the same size (her size from the looks of it), but varying styles, materials, and colors. She brushed her hand across some, testing the feel. Hm, the quality seemed to vary as well. If Ruggie was here, he'd snicker about her delicate royal skin if he noticed her fingertips flinching off some of the rougher pieces. And then she’d threaten to dock his pay, he’d backpedal, and the dance would continue as usual.
Here, there was no familiar grating laugh, just the hair-ruffling strength breaths from the overgrown lizard in front of her. Or overgrown puppy, she mused, watching his massive tail swing back and forth.
Her fingers brushed on a soft fabric cut into a loose-looking dress, something about its gentle yellow color appealing. Would it fit her? Would she…
(Would she look like herself?)
Impulsively, she pulled it from the rack, tugging it less gently than she probably should, but the fabric didn’t tear.
She held it up to her chest, feeling it swish as she moved it. She wanted to try it on. But first–
“If you look while I’m changing, I’ll sand this whole room.” She growled, letting her canines flash. If he wanted to do anything, she couldn’t stop him, but at least let him know she wasn’t fucking around. All this assembled glitter and fluff could be turned to sand (worthless, course, disgusting–) if she wished. She stared for a moment, or glared more likely, challenging the dragon in his own den.
Said dragon sat down with barely a huff and…covered his eyes with his massive paws, hiding his head like a scolded puppy.
What a ridiculous sight.
She made quick work of her clothes, kicking them to the side until she was just in her underwear. Her skin crawled with goosebumps, whether from cold or anticipation, and she crumbled the dress in her hand for one second, two seconds, three, trying to calm her breathing.
Then she tugged it over her head in one simple motion.
It immediately felt odd on her body, on her skin. The softness of the fabric sent sparks where it touched her. The fabric clung to her chest, slightly tight around the shoulders, but hung loose from her hips, and swished pleasantly around her ankles. Simple embroidery danced around the hem and the short sleeves, small leaves floating away, an autumn immortalized.
There was a mirror against the wall, one she’d been avoiding looking at since she’d walked in, but now she stepped up towards it. No cowarding away now.
She lifted her gaze from the pretty hem and looked. And staring back at her was…
Leona Kingscholar.
Her arms weren’t softened. Her shoulders weren’t slimmer. The dress sat awkwardly on her bare chest and bunched around the waist. Her jaw was sharp, her eyes unfriendly, the scar cutting through making it even worse. Her hair was too long, tangled from the journey here.
And yet, her eyes were drawn to the sunny yellow. To the dress that danced as she swayed. To the curve of her waist, gently held by the stitching. To her lips that had curved, unbeknownst to her, into a small smile. Not a taunting smirk, or a sly grin…but a genuine smile.
This was her. Her body. Not for anyone’s eyes but her own. Her eyes still caught on all the things she hated (and there were so many), but the swaying hem, the dancing leaves, were enough to keep her gaze.
It was so lovely, she might cry.
…
No, she wouldn’t. Sevens fucking dammit, she would not cry over a dress…or at least not in earshot was an annoyingly pushy meddling dragon, and the possibility of any other annoying eavesdroppers (Vanrouge might not have thrown her out, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think there weren’t precautions in place. No feral beasts could be let loose, of course.)
The warmth that flooded her bones retracted, leaving a chill she couldn’t shake off behind.
What was she doing?
Getting comfortable? Feeling safe? She was a rat caught in a maze, a fly stuck in a trap, a frog stupidly content in its slowly boiling water. They’d dragged a monster into their home, plied her soft clothes and flowery smells, and for what? A makeover? Or was it some kind of revenge?
Surely it hadn’t been enough, her overblot and her humiliation at the tournament. Fae were prideful. They held grudges. There was no way Malleus just forgot. Because this was Malleus Draconia. Not a random classmate. Not an overgrown lizard. Not even just a random dragon.
It could never be so simple.
So what did he want?!
Hated as she was, he couldn’t get away with outright killing her, and if he had wanted to, he could’ve done so a dozen times already. So, what was it? Punishment? Payback?
It couldn’t just be simple joy. No desire to help. No one ever wanted that. Not without a second wish coming shortly after. She wasn’t naive, nor a gullible child. She never had been, always too ‘sharp for her own good’, as she’d heard a million times before.
Her fists clutched at the dress she donned, her deadly hands crumpling the delicate fabric.
“...why?”
Her voice came out strangled, deep in a way she’d almost forgotten it was. It was met with the shuffling of a large creature trying to belly its size. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his massive paws shift off his face, revealing wide, curious eyes. His head tilted like a curious puppy.
Her stomach curdled unpleasantly.
“Why are you doing this?” She continued, barreling onwards. “Actin’ like we’ve got no history, like we didn’t–, like I didn’t try to trample you a month ago?!” Her voice got louder, saliva pooling in her mouth until it bordered on a shout. “Where do you get off, parading me around like this, like nothing’s a problem, like this is normal?”
She could taste blood from where her fangs pierced her cheek, a familiar sting.
“Just drop the other shoe already. I ain’t a fool, alright?”
Silence. Just her own heavy breathing clouding her ears, her own frantic heartbeat pounding away. Her vision was blurry. When had she last blinked? Why were her eyes wet?
Malleus stood on his four legs, his shadow falling over hers. He blinked at her, bright green and unknowable. Could he even talk like this? Or would he just show his displeasure in a more simple way, like roasting her or tossing her out the window into the briars below?
He lumbered forward, each step sending a tremble through the room (and Leona’s own frame), until he was but a foot or two away. And then his tail came sweeping up, dropping something into Leona’s hands.
A bag of jerky? She nearly laughed. And it was an expensive kind too, better than the stuff she slid her wallet to Ruggie for him to buy from Sam’s shop.
“What the hell is this…?” Her lips quivered unbeknownst to her. “Some kind of peace offering?”
Malleus huffed, warm air washing over her. His head nudged at the bag in her hands. His teeth didn’t even flash. She threw her head back and laughed, wild and free. Malleus’s eyes widened and sparkled.
“...You’re ridiculous.” She shook her head, claws slitting the top of the bag. She wasn’t gonna ignore these, as weird an offering as they were. Her hair tickled at her back, and she hummed consideringly.
Let her make an offering in return.
“So are you stuck like that, or can you go biped again? I want a haircut, but I don’t think those paws could hold a pair of scissors. And those claws are not getting near my head.”
Malleus jolted, eyes going wider and somehow, even shinier. She popped a piece of jerky in her mouth and waved the bag slightly.
“Though if you mangle my hair, you better have a lot more of these to pay the price.”