THE DRAGON KING
Flora was searching the old town for a gift for her lover. The wind was icy cold and she pulled up her velvet hood against the chill. At the end of the street was a pokey little antique shop with a string of fairy lights in the window. Desperate to get out of the cold she stepped inside. The shop smelled of silver polish and wood varnish. There was a case of gold rings with precious stones, pendants and pearls. Next along stood a cabinet and on it a gold chalice with a serpent entwining the stem. She picked it up and her fingers tingled with excitement. That was the perfect present for a king!
The door behind the counter opened and an old man with a grey beard entered. His cough crackled and he reached under the desk for a hip flask.
‘Would you be after anything partic-lar.’He croaked in a broad Irish accent.
‘The goblet... How much?’ She enquired.
‘One hundred Cuerringas…’ he replied stuffing his pipe with tobacco. There was a warm woody smell of something she did not recognise.
‘I’ll take it then,’ she said rummaging in her purse for two crumpled paper notes.
The man took the money from her and wished her a good day. She placed the item carefully into her bag and made her way out into the winter night.
Branwen castle stood on a hill high above the town, its dark turrets gleamed with snow. The queen was away today on royal visits. The castle windows glowed with a welcoming yellow light.
The dray was on its way up to the castle with a delivery so she hitched a ride and sat amongst the beer barrels and crates, jolting along. They crossed the huge bridge and the horses coughed in the cold as they wound their way up the steep cobble pathway to the main gates. The guards stopped her at the doorway.
‘What business have you at the palace?’
‘Seamstress for the royal robes,’ she said showing them the yards of fabric she carried in her bag.
‘Very well, pass through.’
She walked up the long staircases. Her long dress rustled as she went. Soon she came to the king’s quarters and knocked.
‘Who is it?’
‘Seamstress for the royal robes.’
A smile crept across his face.
‘Enter.’
As the door closed the tension in the air dropped. Flora put down her bag and stripped off her thick cloak and fur gloves. The King picked her up and embraced her.
‘Wait your majesty,’ she said playfully. ‘I have a gift for you.’
The king put her down and she took the gleaming golden chalice from her bag and gave it to her lover.
‘This calls for a celebration,’ he said taking down a bottle of the finest mead from the shelf. He found a crystal glass for her.
As he poured the dark red liquid into the goblet it effervesced and steamed a little. So great was their happiness that they paid no attention.
‘To us,’ said the king clinking glasses with his mistress. ‘I love you.’
He took a sip. It choked him. Flora looked concerned. He strained to cough. He was shakeing violently. A seizure! The woman panicked. His body was beginning to swell, clothes ripped, hair fell out, and as he tried to cry for help his mouth began to grow. He grabbed his neck. Nostrils flared. Hands retracted and then gnarled, fingertips bore sharp claws. Crystal shattered. Flora felt the urge to run but she was frozen to the spot too terrified to move a muscle. By now his whole body was a lurid shade of green. Scales formed, an arrow like tail sprouted, large leathery wings burst though the shoulders. Ears pricked. There was a moment of utter stillness, metamorphosis complete. The young woman stood before a dragon.
She screamed, too terrified to run. Smoke emitted from the beast in a grey haze. Soon all that was left of the seductress was a scattering of torn clothing and the dragon slammed the door, hungry for his next meal…
