The Dragon in the Stone

Evernight Publishing ®

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright©
2016 Doris O’Connor

 
ISBN: 978-1-77233-711-2

Cover Artist: Jay
Aheer

Editor:
Karyn
White

ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or
distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
 
No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters,
and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

Rhonda, this is for you. Enjoy your dragon
story.

THE DRAGON IN THE STONE

Naughty Fairy Tales

Doris O’Connor

Copyright ©
2016

Prolog
ue

Ancient Britain

Prince
Atlan’s
Wedding Feast

The doors to the great hall swung open with so much
force they bounced off the castle walls. A castle that had withstood countless
attacks, yet that very stone turned to dust under the wrath of Lord Drorgan.
His presence was most unwelcome at the wedding of her beloved brother, the heir
to the thro
ne.

Perched as she was under the table to retrieve the
goblet of wine she had dropped moments earlier, Princess Lasiandra didn’t need
her governess’s warning hand on her shoulder to stay put. The air seemed sucked
out of her lungs, out of the very room. The music stopped as abruptly as those
doors signaled their protector’s—or as Lasiandra called him their
menace’s—
presence.

All she could see from her vantage point and
through the crack where the tablecloths didn’t quite meet the ground were the
lord’s boots. Dust marred the fine black leather, handcrafted to mold to
muscular calves, and carrying his unmistakable crest. A sleeping dragon curled
on its side.

Never wake the dragon.

Everyone in their kingdom was taught that simple,
terrifying diktat from the cradle, and Princess Lasiandra had been no
different. Just like her brother, however, she had grown to resent
that
statement. She couldn’t fight like Atlan did, wasn’t
allowed to openly flaunt convention like her brother had done when he’d refused
to invite Lord Drorgan to his wedding, but she had other means.

Ancient power and wisdom flowed through her veins,
and standing at the cusp of impending womanhood as she was, she had never felt
stronger or less stable.

“
Lord
Drorgan, what a pleasure to see you.”

Her father’s voice trembled slightly, and a gasp
went through the parting crowd as those menacing boots advanced toward the
raised platform that held her father’s throne.

“
I
would be inclined to believe you, had I received an invite to this …
wedding.”

That voice alone seemed to send the fear of God
into the assembled crowd, because ladies shrieked and a stampede of feet kicked
up the dust off the stone floor, as the assembled guests rapidly sought their
escape. Not that they got very far. With a flick of his hand, the huge doors
flung shut, taking off the arm of one of the fleeing men in the process. The
limb slid to the floor, leaving a smear of blood behind. Its previous owner’s
high pitched wail of pain made the fine hair on Lasiandra’s exposed arms stand
to attention, and she hastily swallowed the bile collecting in the back of her
throat, when she saw the dark pool of liquid appear from under the door. The
severed arm twitched, the hands flexing in a pathetic show of previous life,
seemingly pointing toward the man—no, the monster—who had caused this.

The restraining hand on her shoulder drew blood as
Lasiandra tried to pull away, but heedless of the pain, she yanked free and
struggled to her feet, just in time to see the imposing figure of Lord Drorgan
throw back his head and laugh. It wasn’t a merry sound, but an evil one, as
dark magic surrounded them all, and threatened to pull Lasiandra, too, over to the
other side.

Straightening, she swallowed hard, fear for her
brother churning her insides. Her beautiful, golden haired brother, who stepped
in front of his bride and his father, sword drawn to defend what was his.

“
That’s
because you weren’t invited, Drorgan. You are not welcome at my wedding, and
this kingdom does not need your protection. We never did.”

Brave, yet foolish words, which would get Atlan
killed as surely as night followed day, unless Lasiandra did something.

Drorgan laughed again, running a hand over his
harsh features, and Lasiandra stopped in her tracks, when his piercing blue
gaze settled on her. His brows drew together in a frown, and heat licked at her
skin, under the sheer force of his gaze. The flames of his dragon lit up his
eyes, pulling her under his spell. It took all of Lasiandra’s own powers to
break free, to stop the probing into her mind, into her very soul. Dragons held
powerful magic, and this one was the most powerful of them all. Men and women
alike bent to his will, and if the stories were to be believed he ruined
whoever he touched, his heart as black as the night sky and utterly incapable
of compassion, let alone love.

“
Who
have we here? Such a fine young maiden, you’ve been holding out on me, King
Atta.”

Before her father, who seemed to have aged ten
years since Drorgan’s arrival, could say anything, Atlan intervened.

“
My
sister is none of your concern. Besides, she is just a child. Even one as
depraved as you would not force himself on children.”

A murmur went through the crowd at the inherent
insult in those words. King Atta winced and shook his head at Atlan, not that
her hotheaded brother paid his sovereign father any heed.

Drorgan smiled, showing an even set of teeth, and a
brief flare of amusement replaced the fire licking at his blue spheres.

“
Depraved,
you say?” He inclined his head in a mock bow and flicked a speck of dust of his
dark tunic. Dressed all in black as he was, he made an imposing figure, from
the impossible width of his shoulders, the bulging biceps, down to the slim
hips, shapely ass, and tree trunk thighs, which he now spread aside, while
crossing his arms over his wide chest.

Lasiandra noticed the man’s attributes with
detached observance. No wonder the women fell at his feet, and much to her
secret horror, her brother’s new wife seemed no exception. The daft woman’s
cheeks turned crimson and her breathing sped up when Drorgan settled his gaze
on her. Stepping out from behind Atlan’s back she seemed utterly unable to tear
her eyes away from Drorgan’s groin, and some of Atlan’s fighting stance fled
when he noticed his wife’s reaction to the other man.

“
I
shall show you how depraved I can be, shall I, you insolent pup?” In the blink
of an eye he moved, and when the dust settled he had Atlan’s wife in his arms,
kissing her. Rather than fighting him off, the silly female clung to his tall
frame as though she was a vine, or maybe that should be a hideous sea creature,
all arms and legs, making slobbery noises that made Lasiandra want to gag.
Grownups were so disgusting in their mating rituals.

It had been bad enough coming across one of the
stable boys rutting into one of the kitchen maids yesterday. The sight of his
cock disappearing into the girl’s cunt in much the same way as her father’s
stallion impregnated the mares…

Lasiandra shook herself remembering that scene. To
keep her powers she would have to remain untouched, which was just fine by her.

Atlan’s face flushed with rage, and the hold on his
sword grew white knuckled as he raised it ready to strike.

“
Get
your filthy hands off my wife.” Atlan’s shout brought an end to the disgusting
display, to a degree anyway. Drorgan lifted his head, his lips shiny from the
kisses he’d shared with Atlan’s wife. The woman gasped when he ripped her
bodice. Her breasts fell free, and Atlan ground his teeth in an audible crunch,
seeing Drorgan grasp each rosy nipple. He twisted the small points, eliciting a
deep throated moan from Lasiandra’s new sister-in-law, which only served to
enrage Atlan further. Gathering up her skirts, Lasiandra flew across the stone
floor, and hands on her brother’s chest stopped him from advancing on a
smirking Drorgan.

“
Don’t,
Atlan. It’s what he wants. He’ll kill you.”

“
Listen
to your little sister, boy. I have no wish to spill more blood today. I only
came to claim what’s mine.” He yanked Atlan’s wife in front of him, and shoved
her to the floor. Lasiandra winced as the woman’s knees made contact with the
stones, and a gasp of pain escaped Bettina. It finally seemed to bring her to
her senses, because she made a frantic grab for her ruined bodice and,
wide-eyed, stared up at Atlan with tears streaming down her face.

“
No,
please, I don’t … I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Crawling along the
floor she wrapped her hands around Atlan’s boots, and Lasiandra’s heart
clenched in sympathy. “Please, I love only you, Atlan, you know that.”

Atlan grimaced as though it pained him to hear the
words, and Bettina blanched when he shook her off him.

“
Get
up off the floor, woman, and go tidy yourself up.”

Drorgan laughed, and Lasiandra’s fingers itched to
swipe that infuriating smirk off his face.

“
Yes,
do run along. When you get fed up with this boy, you know where to find me, my
pretty. That’s if he lives long enough to crawl between your legs once I am
finished with teaching him a lesson for the insolence he’s shown me.”

Atlan’s chest muscles jumped under her hands as her
brother readied himself for a fight he would lose, and shaking her head in
exasperation, Lasiandra looked up at him, all too aware of Drorgan’s menacing
presence at her back. Atlan was tall, but Drorgan towered over him,
nonetheless, and both men completely dwarfed her small frame of five foot. In a
brief flash of gallows humor Lasiandra knew what a bug about to be squashed
must feel like, before her governess’s chanting filled the air, and the very
atmosphere in the room shifted. Tendrils of power wrapped themselves around her
feet as her mentor’s strength flowed into her.

Atlan pulled in a sharp breath and stepped away,
while behind her Drorgan laughed. His dragon reared to life, its hot breath
singeing her back, and when Lasiandra spun around she wasn’t at all surprised
to look into the slit eyes of his dragon self.

Puffs of smoke curled up and out of his ears, nails
formed into menacing claws, and he grew bigger, more menacing, as the air
shimmered around him.

“
Lord
Drorgan, please. She’s just a child. If you need to take someone, then take me.
Better still, take the witch. There is no room for magic in my kingdom.” When
Drorgan swung his head round to look at King Atta, her father paled, dropped
his head and mumbled, “Other than yours, my lord.”

Atlan cursed under his breath, and while Lasiandra
winced at the crude words she had to agree with the sentiment. She loved her
father dearly, but his refusal to acknowledge the fact that magic could be used
for good, could in fact be used to rid the lands of the curse of the dragons,
had not only caused her mother’s untimely death in childbirth due to his
refusal to call in the healers, but had also meant that Lasiandra had to keep
her emerging powers hidden.

Her governess was the only one who knew, had helped
her to harness and come to terms with her gift as much as they dared to in
secret. She was the closest thing to a mother Lasiandra had, and as everyone
turned to stare at the elderly woman, while those nearest to her slowly stepped
away, the thought of losing her burnt a hole in Lasiandra’s heart. Power surged
through her, and not thinking of the consequences she stepped in front of a half
shifted Drorgan.

“
No,
you’ll not harm her or anyone else in this village. I won’t let you. These
people, my people, are under my protection.” She glanced at her father, who
shook his head in disbelief, and seeing the utterly shocked and wary expression
on her brother’s face brought a lump of apprehension to her throat. An
expression that was mirrored in the faces of the guests still in attendance.

Drorgan, however, just threw his head back and
laughed.

“
I’d
like to see you try, little girl.” He reached out to her, and his amusement
fled when she batted his hand away with a growl.

His dragon hissed at her, and Atlan drew his sword
again ready to defend her it seemed, as Drorgan shifted. Wings flapping and
tail swishing, his actions threatened to bring the hall down around their ears,
as the man transformed into his huge dragon. Fire breathed from his mouth,
setting light to the tapestries along the walls, and bricks rained down on them
as his spiked head knocked off the roof. Sunlight streamed in through the gaps,
and Lasiandra froze as Atlan drove his sword right into the middle of Drorgan’s
chest while shouting at her.

“
Move!
For the love of God, run, Lasiandra.”

Shoving her out of the way, he pulled his bloody
sword out of the dragon’s scales and sliced across his neck. The sword bounced
off and slid across the stone floor, and Lasiandra watched in mounting horror,
as Atlan drew a dagger and threw himself at the dragon. With an almighty roar,
Drorgan shook her brother off, and he would have stomped on him as he lay dazed
on the floor, had Lasiandra not summoned the power, which surged with her
anger, and blasted the monster with the blinding light emerging from her
fingertips.

The brief surprise that registered in Drorgan’s
green, slit eyes would have been comical in other circumstances, but Lasiandra
had no time to appreciate it, because Drorgan sent her brother flying through
the air. He crashed into the opposite wall with a sickening crunch and slowly
slid to the floor where he lay in a crumpled, unconscious heap.