The outer castle gates crashed open as Prince Andrew galloped in on his noble steed. His hair flew in the wind, and his eyes lit up as he saw the majestic door looming close. He booted his horse, and it sped up towards the castle, kicking up a dust storm as its hooves clattered on the bridge. Inside, Consuela huffed. She could hear the ruckus the prince was making and squeezed her temples.

“Why always before my library time? Curse these royal intruders,” she muttered, painfully walking away from the stone passage that would lead to her large, comforting library.

She plodded towards the door, watching the cloud of dust getting bigger and bigger through the numerous tall glass windows in the corridor.

“I hope he is at least entertaining,” she murmured.

She reached the door and yanked it open.

“Showtime!”

The horse neighed nastily as Prince Andrew yanked at his reins, forcing him to stop. Consuela chuckled.

“Every single time.”

The horse looked reproachfully at his owner who gaped at the door, his hands clutching the reins tightly. He had heard about a monstrous dragon guarding the castle, and he had expected an attack. But he had not expected it to stand on the doorway with its–hands?–claws?–limbs on its hips. Wait, was it–dear God–it was beckoning him with its finger!

Consuela saw him hesitate for a few moments before he relaxed the reins and began to trot nearer. Consuela taught her pupils never to judge anyone on first looks. Hence, she blushed at her hypocrisy because she thought this prince looked like he sprang out of a ‘How to look like Prince Charming’ catalogue.

Glossy hair – check 

Puffed chest – check 

Shiny armour - check 

The seal on his chest showed that he was from Gregor – a prosperous kingdom in the east, known for their coal mines. He stopped in front of her, looking tiny on his twelve feet horse against her fifty feet largesse.

“Hello,” she said.

His horse jumped back as he gasped. Consuela allowed them a few minutes to get to terms with a talking dragon.

“Yo-you-uh-mmm-You-c-ccan…” he stuttered.

“Oh, get there faster!” she snapped. “Yes, I can talk. All dragons can talk.”

With all the grandmasters teaching them reading, writing, history, mathematics and what not, you’d surely think some of them would know this tiny fact about dragons. Consuela found this lack of knowledge personally offensive, although, she thought, if they did bother to research, she wouldn’t be having these silly visits in the first place.

“What’s your name, child?” she asked.

“P-Prince Andrew Berkhmire of the great land of Gregor.”

“Andrew. All right.” Consuela nodded. “You want to get off the poor beast, lad? He looks exhausted.”

“Yes ma-umm-drag-yes.” He jumped off. The horse gratefully walked off; he could smell hay nearby.

Consuela and Andrew’s eyes followed its trail in silence. She then turned her attention to him, amused as she observed a slow realisation dawning on his face. He had just let go of his escape plan. Sweat beads formed on his forehead and his fingers slowly inched towards his sword.

“You can put that away, Prince.”

His hand remained steady. She shrugged. “Look Andrew, unlike popular lore, you do not need to slay the dragon. In fact, there will be no need to fight.”

“No?”

“No.”

Consuela picked off a tick from her scales as Andrew stood in silence. He opened his mouth a couple of times but promptly shut it. She waited for him to ask questions, but they never came.

Finally, she said, “Andrew, I presume you’re here to ‘rescue’ Princess Cristina?” She made air quotes with her claws.

“Yes!” His voice gained vigor at Cristina’s name.

“Why?” Consuela folded her arms.

Andrew was stumped. Whatever did the dragon mean?

“Well, she is a princess who has been captured and imprisoned here by…er…you. I want to free her and take her back home.”

“Is that so?” Consuela yawned. “What is it about her, lad, that has made you embark on this dangerous quest, to fight a dragon no less?”

“She is a princess–the Princess of Merina. And just like all those poor princesses your kind captures, she is an orphan.”

“But her kingdom is in good hands for now. I’ve heard excellent things about the justice and fairness of Sir Vandor, the minister.”

“But she is the queen now. She is the rightful heir to the throne, not Sir Vandor!” Andrew said, his voice the appropriate mixture of indignation and anger.

“Which, as far as I know, Sir Vandor agrees with too. He is just holding her place till she returns. Isn’t it so?”

“Yes–but you never know–”

“Oh, but we dragons do!” Consuela smiled. “Now, what else have you heard about Princess Cristina?”

Consuela pursed her lips, feeling the fire rushing towards her nostrils. “1…2…3…4…” she began counting. The last thing she wanted was a royal barbequed on her doorstep.

“OKAYYY!’ Consuela said, cutting him off. “It’s clear you’ve never met her. So, am I correct in saying that you’ve simply seen the paintings made of her?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Alright. Now, may I ask what you expect as a reward for the ‘rescue’?”

“Well,” Andrew said, “her hand in marriage of course! I’ll take her back; she’ll fall in love with me and then we’ll–“

‘Don’t say it. Please, don’t say it,’ Consuela thought.

“–live happily ever after.” He beamed.

‘Oh, dear God.’

“Prince Andrew, have you ever thought what you’d do if Cristina turns out to be, you know, boring, or weird or heaven forbid – a curly haired woman who excels at archery and herbology?”

Prince Andrew snorted, looking at Consuela incredulously. “Hah! She’s a princess.”

Consuela could almost hear the ‘Duh!’ in his tone.

“Ah-yes! How silly of me. She was manufactured in the Princess Factory after all–they are all the same.”

Andrew simply grinned in reply.

‘Doesn’t get sarcasm – check.’

Consuela buried her face in her arms. She rued the day she argued with those wretched Grimm brothers over the price of parchment. They took their revenge in their dratted tales, making her kind into all sorts of villains. Dumb villains–the audacity!

Maybe it was her defeated stance, maybe it was the calm way she spoke or maybe it was just sheer lack of sense that suddenly made Andrew puff his chest further and say, ‘DRAGON!’

Consuela lifted her head lazily with an ‘Oh boy!'

Andrew drew his sword. He was ready to kill the dragon and bring home his bride…or so he thought.

“Go ahead lad, take your best shot.”

The rest played out like an amateur comedy sketch. Andrew gave a warrior’s cry and charged at Consuela. His sword hit her scales and got stuck. This was followed with a lot of futile twisting and turning as he tried to get it out while Consuela simply watched with a bored expression. After several minutes, Andrew finally gave up, exhausted. He stepped back and stood, rubbing his neck, and looking everywhere but at her.

Consuela gave a soft whistle. Andrew’s horse came galloping, looking rested. She then bent down, pulled out the sword and threw it at Andrew’s feet. Andrew picked it up and made a move towards his horse.

“COME ON ANDREW! DON’T GIVE UP! I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!”

Princess Cristina’s tiny head popped out from a window above.

“PRINCESS!” Andrew lit up.

“ARE YOU LEAVING? AREN’T YOU GOING TO RESCUE ME? OH! WOE IS ON ME! WILL NO ONE FREE ME FROM THIS BEAST?”

Cristina struck a tragic pose, her arm resting on her forehead. Consuela shook her head, trying to hide her smirk.

“That’s enough, child. Go back to bed.”

Cristina scowled at her. 

“SEE ANDREW, HOW SHE BOSSES ME AROUND? MAKING ME GO TO BED AT THIS LATE HOUR? SHE IS HEARTLESS, I TELL YOU, HEARTLESS!”

“Oh, fear not, my princess! I’ll save you, I will!”

“OH I—wait a minute–DID YOU JUST CALL ME YOUR PRINCESS?”

Andrew blushed. “Ah, I’m sorry if I was being too forward, Princess. But I fell in love with you the minute I laid eyes on you.”

Cristina frowned. She looked at Consuela.

“Is he for real?”

“I can’t roll my eyes any further, child.”

Andrew’s eyes swept from Consuela to Cristina.

“I-I don’t understand...” he said.

“That seems to have become your motto,” Consuela said.

“Tell me Prince Andrew,” Cristina said, resting her elbows on the windowpane. “Why would dragons kidnap princesses and lock them up in a castle? What exactly would be their endgame?”

“Uhhh-” Andrew began.

“It doesn’t make sense, does it?” Cristina said. “Prince Andrew, this isn’t a prison, it’s a school. Dragons are wise and skilled and princesses from around the world come to learn from them, especially the ones who have no parents to look after them or teach them. Teaching princesses about running kingdoms, as you must be aware, is frowned upon. However, when good sense prevails, some princesses are sent here to learn. I’m being trained to become a ruler, not chained up in a dungeon.”

“But…the stories...” Andrew said.

Cristina smiled. “Prince Andrew, they are just that. Stories.”

“So, I rode hundreds of miles for nothing?”

Cristina shrugged. “Sorry."

“But,” he said, “I’m a prince. You are a princess. We are supposed to be together, right?”

“Are you telling me or asking me?” Cristina said.

“I am a great archer too; I know all the Latin scriptures and I–”

“Son,” Consuela interrupted, “I think for the sake of your pride, you should just go.”

Prince Andrew nodded, his face filled with confusion. He grabbed his horse’s reins, jumped on it and threw a last look at Cristina.

“You may be here of free will, but you will regret letting me go.” He squared his shoulders and galloped away.

They both watched as his horse became smaller and smaller. Looking down at her teacher, Cristina said, “Consuela?”

“Yes dear?”

“Are stories really so powerful? I mean, this has got to be what – the seventh prince who came here? Don’t they pass the word around?”

Consuela stared at the prince, who was now just a speck on the horizon.

“I don’t think so, not so much, my child. Probably too embarrassed. And as for stories,” Consuela looked up at Cristina.

“Yes, they are immensely powerful–they are magic. So,” she smiled, “make sure yours is nothing short of spectacular.”